Chapter 21: Time

Three weeks were gone, and Claire felt like an eternity separated her from her past. Since the bathroom incident, she and Wesker had returned to being professionally detached but friendly. In fact, being friendly was getting easier, much to her concern. She knew that seeing Wesker as human was dangerous, and she knew that it would only make future situations more difficult; however, none of that changed the fact that it was too late for her to retreat into a corner, avoid him, and stew in anger. Time was a factor, she was aware, and part of her conceded how pointless keeping herself in perpetual misery would be. And, she reminded herself, that is the only thing being aggressive would accomplish. Wesker could probably care less if she hated him, so she would be the one to suffer for her negative emotions. Sometimes she wondered whether or not she was building flimsy excuses for seeking out his company. Well, what the hell else am I suppose to do? Shut up, self, and make the best of things.

The fire in her wasn't dead. No, it certainly wasn't. She confidently strode passed Wesker on his couch without even acknowledging him today. She tried to never immediately interact with him, because she felt that it made her look like she had been waiting to speak with him. It was a point with her to keep dignity by appearing stronger than that, but really, Wesker thought she was being foolish. He knew that she needed company like many other humans. It was a common predisposition, and he would hardly have expected her to act differently. In fact, he found it a testament to her strength that she could speak with him on calm, unafraid terms and retain her spunk. It showed pragmatism could win out over her stubborn, moralistic streak. Chris would have been dumb enough to bash his head against the wall rather than allow himself peace of mind in her circumstances.

Wesker wondered if Claire saw the dangerous line that she was walking. Her survival technique could easily lead her to forget what kind of man he was. It would be her biggest mistake. Claire would lose if she let herself become resigned.

The first snow had arrived today. Claire sat on the indoor porch watching it float downward and remembering making snowmen with Chris. Sis, you can't make the head as big as the body! Watch. Do it like this. She again thought about time, her constant enemy. Claire figured it was early December. She usually had several presents hidden for people by now. She did shopping early while Chris was the exact opposite.

With a sigh, she stood and walked to the glass walls. Her breathing fogged it, and she drew a stick figure portrait of her, Chris, and their parents building a snowman. Wesker had never built a snowman, she was sure. It seemed to her that he had probably missed a lot in life. His childhood couldn't have been nice with the way he turned out, but there was no way to tell. Wesker tactfully avoided the few questions she dared ask him about his personal history. She could see him through the door-less porch entrance. The man probably didn't even celebrate Christmas.

"Do you think I'll make it home for the holidays?" she asked rhetorically as she stepped inside. Wesker didn't even glance at her; he didn't need to. She sighed and pulled her sweater about her closely. "I bet Umbrella didn't decorate for Christmas. Everyone would be too busy working with corpses to care. Maybe the company distributed extra test subjects or something." She put as much distaste into the last comment as possible.

"They hosted parties," Wesker corrected.

"Really? That's surprising."

"Just because I did not choose to, does not mean that all Umbrella employees were unmarried and antisocial. William had a family he brought to the parties." Claire pictured Sherry in a Christmas dress and smiled distantly and sadly.

"So you went to the parties and celebrated?" Wesker sneered.

"They were occasions for making connections." Claire rolled her eyes.

"It's always about work with you. I went to a big Christmas party once."

"Because you were only ever invited to one?" Wesker mocked.

"Because I prefer smaller, more intimate celebrations," Claire tersely corrected. She had no idea why she was telling him this, but she felt like talking, and he was responding. Great, someone probably died to put him in such a decent mood.

"It was a big bash and Chris weaseled tickets from a friend. I wore a silver cocktail dress. It was horrible—I mean the event, not the dress. It was supposed to be a party and half the people were talking about work and the other half was drunk. We were escorted out after Chris pushed someone into a table for grabbing my ass. But that's what big brothers are for…" She begged any powers that be that she'd see him again. "The best Christmas ever was when Chris came home from Raccoon for the holidays. We stayed up all night making truffles." Part of her hoped that talking about Chris would annoy Wesker, but he was passive. She shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "I'm rambling."

"If I objected, I'd be at the lab."

"But why don't you mind? You used to stay locked in another room—your dark, dingy hole," she recalled. "Gosh, that was…three months ago." Had it been that long?

"I'm accustomed to having you around," Wesker stated as if he were coolly rattling off a report. He'd clearly thought about this already. "And it may surprise you, dear heart, but your perspective and wit are…a change of scenery. You do not belong to this world." The world of Umbrella? Claire mulled the thought over. Compared to the heartlessness she had seen from these organizations and its employees, he was correct.

"You're right and wrong," Claire decided. "I wasn't part of this world, but I was forced to be. I'll never escape it—not now, not being infected. I had hoped someday this mess would be cleaned up and sent to Hades where it belongs. I'd get to go back to my old life…talk about lost hope." Wesker seemed to be working, but he watched her from behind his shades. She was pensively tracing the scars on her hand. What he didn't know was that she was considering how utterly expunged from something nearing personal interaction Wesker would be if she were absent.

She left the room and began making herself a cup of hot chocolate. She paused and examined Wesker's back. Two mugs of water went into the microwave. When she was done, she strode into the living room and gently set one of the mugs beside Wesker's computer. She took her mug out onto the porch. The gesture had simply felt right. She almost felt like he needed someone to do that for him, just once. Everyone should have a cup of hot cocoa on a cold day with the first snow. Tomorrow they could go back to being detached, but for one moment, let there be a truce. She was happy to see that, after Wesker left for a long night at the lab, his mug was empty.

***************

"Nash is somewhere in a Mexican morgue," Ada reported. Her voice was slightly scrambled from poor signal.

"Any complications?" Wesker asked.

"None. It was smooth and simple. Is there anything else you'd like done?" Ada's voice was so sleek and confident that Wesker had no real way of knowing whether she was telling the truth or not. When unsure, always assume dishonesty. It was how he thought, and Ada knew it. She was sitting on a balcony overlooking nighttime, pedestrian-strewn Mexico City.

"Fair lady, you wouldn't be remaining in Mexico to meet someone, would you?" He knew she'd lie to him, but he asked to remind her that he kept tabs on her and her visitors, company agents or otherwise. She was not surprised that he had traced her already, and she nonchalantly slid her hair behind her ears. Wesker was good, but he wasn't god. She was confident that she slipped plenty of subterfuge by him.

"How I spend my personal time is none of your business, Wesker," she curtly responded. "Unless you have more work for me, I'm going to enjoy some sunshine and tequila."

"Actually, I am always most interested to learn how you spend your time," Wesker coldly ground out. "And I do have work for you. Find the report that the company council received on a recent incident in Brazil. I want it A.S.A.P." He couldn't risk acquiring it on his own or he'd alert his superiors' suspicions, and he didn't want Ada hanging around. That woman became too clever for her own good when she had free time. She was fortunate that she was so good at what she did or Wesker would have cut her life short for her betrayals.

"I hear you, Wesker," Ada yawned. "Now let a woman get her beauty sleep. I'm sure you have distractions of your own to attend to also…" She shut the phone and reclined further into her seat. Why did Wesker have Claire Redfield? Of course, what the man did was of little concern to her, but it was curious. Her boss was the most ruthlessly efficient man she had ever met, but, unlike other powerful men who had used her services, he lacked their vices. He did not chase women, hanker after money, or flaunt his power. His subtlety and practicality were far more dangerous than other men with ambition such as his own. There was always a sense of hunger about his moves, a hunger for more control and dominance, but not visibility. She did not like to think that she was helping him, but she was.

"Ada?" Leon cautiously called. Her heart jerked. So he had found her, as she had hoped, but it wasn't safe for either of them. Wesker had sources everywhere.

"I can't tell you anything, Leon," she said as she heard him approach her back. "I don't know where he is." His hand rested on her shoulder and she closed her eyes.

"And if you figure it out?"

"Leon, I won't make promises, and I won't jeopardized myself," Ada stated, more coldly now. "It's not personal. You've exhausted your favors." Leon sat beside her and rested his arms on his knees. "And Wesker is being very secretive concerning his latest hostage."

"That's settled then," Leon neutrally agreed. Ada was Ada. When the time called for it, she usually came through for him, but she was still a professional. "Mind if I stay for a while?" Ada smiled in her sly, beautiful manner and leaned toward him.

"Not at all, handsome, not at all."