Disclaimer: I do not own RE.


Claire ain't doin' so hot this chapter you guys


fluffybunny4eva: Thank you! cliff hangers are my expertise.

MOONLIGHT SHADOW HUNTRESS: You play mvc3? cause that game is my shit. oh and as for claire, she doesn't do so hot this chap, she might need a blanket and a plate of brownies.

tvrs01001: As long as you guys keep reviewing, I'll always keep writing!

Betusta Morla: What do you mean? I don't ever intend to write Wesker OOC. That's pointless. The fic follows the canon story line of RE1 to an extent, obviously, Claire and Wesker aren't together, canon wise, but this is also an AU. Canon to specific events that help the development of the story. It will extend to Rockfort Island and beyond. But I'm glad you're enjoying it and I'm sorry if there was any confusion! (( but if you were expecting a Wesker that's not "Wesker", then you're reading the wrong fic, my friend. :\ ))


Chapter 7: Adapt

7:00 AM

The sun rose slowly over Raccoon City. Families stirred, but the birds were first. Engines warmed, but cyclists were already gone. This small mountain town awaited for their heroes to return, and return they did. The station was buzzing with life, everyone had prepared for the helicopters descent but no one prepared for the five members of S.T.A.R.S. that landed home again. Just five. The press hounded, asking numerous questions that fell upon dead ears. The surrealism of a silent welcome hit hard like the crack of a baseball bat. The crowd that had gathered outside had fallen silent…

Out of the original twelve members of The Special Tactics And Rescue Service… Five of them survived. Questions, so many questions time seemed to stop for each one of them.

Where on earth is everyone else?

What went on up there?

Why so many casualties?

Where are your captains?

Each question was answered promptly by the remaining members, it was too early for this anyway.

Everyone had fought bravely, especially our captains. May they rest in absolute peace.

A horrendous lie they let slither between their teeth. Albert Wesker was not brave. He was a traitor.

7:32 AM

They just wanted to go home. They wanted to curl into their beds and forget that this ever happened. Hug their loved ones tighter than before. Hide against the shadow of cruelty that they were burdened with that night. An empty feeling of dread bloomed in each gut, a feeling of utter loss. The butcher had led them into to the barn and slaughtered his flock. Cursing his name in the only language he knew, Chris drove silently through the neighborhood, Jill curled up in the passenger seat like a cowering child. Pulling the Jeep into the driveway, Chris gazed upon the small home that Albert Wesker shared with his sister. The blinds were still drawn, the lights were off too. The red door that separated her from the truth was now being knocked on. The two waited for a moment before they heard the jiggle of the lock and it swung open to reveal a groggy Claire, shading her eyes from the early orange sun.

"Albert you had me worried sick all damned night I thought I wouldn't get any—"

Her hand dropped down to her side slowly as she realized that Wesker was not standing on her porch in the early morning. Claire's eyes softened and they flicked left to right, her head began to shake.

"Where is he?" She croaked. "Where is he…?"

Chris sighed and shook his head silently, knowing well that his sister would get the memo. "Claire we're so sorry… Wesker… didn't make it…" His voice was sincere, he truly was sorry. Wesker's actions burned themselves into Chris' head but his sister was not at the end of his malice for her relationship with him.

"He promised!" She shouted, digging her hands into her hair, squeezing her eyes shut as tight as they would allow. Feeling as helpless as a leaf in a riptide, Claire sunk onto her knees. "Tell me…" She pleaded quietly.

XXXXX

PREVIOUSLY 6:17 AM

The coppery scent of blood filled his nose, his muscles would not react, his brain would not send its signals. His body felt like it weighed a metric ton, mixed feelings of exhaustion and rehabilitation flooded through him. His body anchored against the cold floor, the darkness of the room seemed to spin and then explode like a white hot light as breath finally caught in his lungs, eyes snapped open wide, full and gasping breaths echoed against the metallic structure of the room, and coughing followed shortly after. Blood speckled it jaw as it hacked itself from his mouth, the sheer pain of the ruptured breathing almost forced him to scream. Groans no louder than the toned beeping of monitors sounded from his throat, the unbearable throbbing of his head and the agony of the pain in his abdomen threatened to put him down again. His arm lagged across the ice cold steel of the floor until his bloodied fingers swiped against the damp and glossy paper of the photograph that had once rested against him. He squeezed it, forcing his head to turn, eyes beheld the gore stricken family portrait that had a young Albert Wesker slashed and shredded from it.

Resisting the urge to throw up, Wesker pushed himself against the control panel, eyes scanning over the puddle of dried blood that surrounded him. Gouts of it that made him shiver, that dried crimson spray was his humanity, drying up like a body in the sun. Soon it would be a stain, a simple memory of red. Slowly getting to his feet, it felt as though he was learning how to walk again only this time, he was learning to walk again on a tossing ship in a storm, bile rising to his throat, nausea creeping into his stomach, legs weaker than dead trees. Out of nowhere, an alarm began to sound, making Wesker flinch at the severity of the noise level.

The self destruct system has been activated. All personal must evacuate the premises immediately. Fifteen minutes until detonation.

Flicking his unshaded eyes about the room, Wesker spotted a computer that looked as though it had been used shorty before he reanimated. Someone was busy.

He rapidly typed in information onto the computer and it began to deny his access. The data that he required was logged onto Umbrella's mainframe and if he could download and wipe it in two minutes, it would save a significant amount of time in the long run.

The monotone voice of the mainframe buzzed its prewritten lines: Due to the emergency condition, all data has been backed up to the U.M.F.-013.

"Sergei was busy…" Wesker growled. That spineless Russian fool thought he could get away with all of Wesker's work. He was sorely mistaken.

Entering his access code to the computer, it began again in the same buzzing female tone: Wesker, AlbertI am afraid that as of 24 hundred hours, I have taken it upon my authority to revoke your access privilege to the mainframe system.

"That's impossible…" Wesker muttered. Attempting to override the command, he managed to jump the first firewall, allowing questionable access to the intelligence. "Who are you?" He asked in the dark while typing.

I am Red Queen. My primary objective is the management and protection of Umbrella assets.

Like a viper, Wesker's fist flew towards the computer screen, the sheer force of his punch cracked the glass, making it spark wildly and die out. However, The Red Queen's voice still reverberated through the room, stating her secondary primary objective which fell on deaf ears.

"You will regret this, My Lady." Wesker pronounced with malice in his voice. "That I promise." And unbeknownst to him, his eyes did burn like red hot coals under the intensity of the fire.

XXXXX

7:03 AM

He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, following the train tracks that led down the mountain. His lungs burned and muscles strained against the uneven ground. In the distance, he could hear the seconds counting down on the intercom, echoing through the trees, chasing him like a ghost. Wesker's face strained, wincing from the pain in his abdomen and the burning in his lungs. He had only a few meters left before he was at safe distance. He knew if he followed the tracks down from the mansion, they led to a small underground bunker that Wesker knew hadn't been used in years. Sliding to a halt on the gravel path, Wesker could feel the tremor of the explosion shudder under his boots, and then the crashing sound of the rupture fell to his ears… the sky turned red as nearby vegetation were ignited into flames and black smoke rose into the scarlet view, blocking out the sun. The sudden darkness and noise, startled animals as they bound past Wesker frantically, paying no mind to him. Embers floated about like dead memories that began to lose themselves with the destruction. Wesker frowned as he turned his back and began walking down the paths against the tracks… Thirteen years of his life had exploded into scorched debris, his humanity was stained upon the ground, his rebirth reverberating through the halls. So much of his time and effort had gone into that place and now, it was no more than a pile of ash. His boots crunched under the gravel road that he traveled upon, his wounds now completely healed. It was working. Wesker thanked his lucky stars, William to be more exact, he had come through. Wesker was in debt to his friend, something that he thought he would never exact. However, he would not withhold the fact that William was a genius and Wesker was grateful for that.

The bunker was up ahead, he could see where the ground had stooped downward and an old chain link fence came into view. A rusty sign that was nearly falling from its bolts, read in large red letters "PROPERTY OF UMBRELLA ARKLAY RESEARCH FACILITY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE APPREHENDED." Wesker pushed open the fence and descended the narrow staircase to the code-locked door. Thinking for a moment, he punched in a code that released it. Swinging the heavy steel door ajar, the bunker was pitch black, he couldn't see a foot in front of him. Cold crept out from it as if he had opened a crypt and the stale air buffeted his skin. This is where he'd have to hide until everything settled down and he could get out of the city without being noticed. Pressing his palm against the wall, Wesker felt around for a switch before shutting the door. The florescent industrial-grade lights jolted on, illuminating the hallway that had two rooms on either side. This was it. Poking his head into the room on the left, it contained a two cots that were shifted into bunks, a metal end table, and a breaker on the wall. The other room was larger and housed a toilet, sink, and a shower head that jutted from the wall. There was a drain on the floor just below it and a small mirror that hung above the sink. Aside from his makeshift bathroom, there was a punching bag suspended in the corner and a large metal cabinet. Walking towards it, there was a key that was taped onto the door, stripping it off, Wesker stuck the key in the lock and opened swung it open. Inside, there was at least six months worth of canned goods, water, and dry mix. Spaceman food.

Checking his watch which had dried blood speckled on it, Wesker sighed, feeling a sharp pain in his abdomen. It was 7:30 in the morning and he hadn't realized until now, but he was exhausted. He walked back into the bedroom and in the end table drawer, found a small pile of folded white t-shirts, socks, and two pairs of black sweatpants. They smelled fresh, as if they had just left the wash. Time had never once touched this place and Wesker was silently thankful for that. Stripping off is mangled Kevlar, he tossed it onto the floor and his crumpled and bloody Wesker Family portrait tumbled out of one of the pockets. He slid it over carefully with his foot and leaned down to retrieve it. Unfolding it, he did he best smoothing out the corners and wrinkles. His seventeen year old self had been shredded from the photo, leaving only his mother and father, their arms slung around his shoulders, now slung around the ghost of the boy he used to be. Frowning, Wesker gently placed the picture on the end table and proceeded to remove the rest of his uniform. His blue button up shirt and white undershirt were torn and bloodied just as well, and he balled them up and threw them towards his Kevlar. His pants were next, and he folded them atop the table for they hadn't been ruined in his "accident". Leaving himself to his briefs, Wesker walked into the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror. Rusty red blood had dried upon his skin, leaving it only as a reminder of what had transpired just hours before. The gaping hole that the Tyrant gave him, was now absent, leaving only fresh skin that had healed. It was sure to scar later. His muscles flexed easily, no strain anymore. Wavering his neck from side-to-side, it popped loudly and he rolled his shoulders to work the soreness. However, one thing stuck out like a sore thumb… his eyes. Surrounding the iris, there were subtle bursts of red. He wondered if it was a side effect, for he hadn't noticed eye color change in any other subject aside from those whose eyes drained of color completely, leaving them milk white. Leaning in further, he pulled down the skin around one eye, trying to inspect it closer. They didn't hurt, they weren't irritating either. The discoloration was something that he would have to look into, perhaps ask William when the time came. For now, he would disregard it.

Cranking the dial under the shower head, he waited for a few minuted and deducted that it wasn't going to get any warmer and took of his briefs, setting them on top of the toilet seat. Stepping under the stream, it was an immediate rush of cold, but it felt wonderful. The blood ran away, flowing onto the white tile below him. He stood under the ice cold water and let it wash away the last drying remnants of his humanity.

XXXXX

8:00 AM

Claire was curled up quite pathetically on the couch, clutching a pillow as if it was going to keep her from falling over the edge of insanity. It was still early, Chris and Jill had just left, their words still ringing harshly in her ears.

"Weskerdidn't make it…"

They decided it was best to spare the details about Umbrella, leaving it simply to, "a creature called the Tyrant killed him, he was probably dead on impact".

She hugged the pillow closer to her chest, wishing that she had something else to think about. The service would be tomorrow, they would honor each fallen member of S.T.A.R.S. and specially honor their captains who had died protecting them. Chris' words hit her like a hurricane, they fell like a harsh rush of cold water to her ears… He said he would come back… He promised. The very thought of him made Claire shiver, tears threatening to fall again. She had devoted so much time and effort into their relationship, she was certainly serious seeing as she loved the damned man. She felt as though she existed in an entirely different time and place when she was with Wesker. He treated her like she was the most important thing on this godforsaken planet, treated her like she was the only thing that mattered. And that, every little thing he did for her from making breakfast, holding her while she slept, to taking her like she was a woman not an object, made her feel so very loved. It was a feeling of complete serenity and connection.

Polar oppositesClaire thought to herself. They were, in fact, polar opposites. They grew up on separate sides of the world, they were raised with different morals and beliefs, moved through life at different paces. However, a tricky little slip called fate had brought them together, stitched them side by side like the most unique patches on a quilt and called it dating. But it was more than just "dating". Claire hated that term. Dating was when you would visit the other at their apartment, have a few drinks, and call it a night. Dating was meeting each other for coffee after your shift was over and you wanted to chat. Stealing his clothes, washing them the next day, and returning them at the end of the week. No, Claire and Wesker weren't "dating". They were just together. Two souls apart of the same universe. They lived together, slept in the same bed, shared a bathroom, and shared a bowl of popcorn, whenWesker was in the mood of course. Smiling to herself as she brought back memories, Claire thought of how they were simply with each other. They both hated labels, "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" sounded too childish, too college. They were adults who could hold each others hand in public and not be giggled at for blushing, well, Claire always blushed. They were two independent people who were secretly dependent on the other.

Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, trying not to continue her little pity party. Her stomach growled but Claire had lost her appetite. The sun was now high and her neighbors peered at her home as they walked by, knowing very well what had happened. As the hour went by, people had begun to place flowers on her doorstep and sometimes, small cards with condolences handwritten on them. Claire was in the kitchen, poking at a bowl of cereal with the spoon, the television was on and was blaring a news report on what had happened in the woods. Her entire body stiffened when she head the reporter say Wesker's name. Her ears tried to shut everything out…

Comrades say he fought bravelydid his best to protecthis body was not recovered from the explosion

Claire slammed her fists down onto the table, the bowl clattering to the side, spilling its contents. She clawed her fingers into her auburn hair and pulled as hard as she could, trying to feel something else than this sadness. Her ragged breaths soon turned into a pathetic sobbing as she folded her arms around herself.

"Fuck…" She muttered. "Fuck!" She shot up like a bullet and threw her spoon across the kitchen. It collided with a few glasses that were sitting in the sink and the force of her throw managed to shatter them. Claire was wracked with grief, anger, and pain. She slumped against the counted and slid down to the ground, her head hung between her legs. There was a sudden knock against her door and it startled her. Wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, Claire managed to stand up and wobble to the door.

When she opened it, there was a middle aged man standing across from her. He looked as if he had been worked to death all his life, dark circles under his eyes, mused dirty blonde hair, and his clothing was ruffled, red tie hung loosely around the collar of his white dress shirt. Aside from his disheveled appearance, he seemed timid, as if he was watching his back every second, like he had some place to be and he had to be there ten minutes ago.

"Hello…" Claire muttered. She did not recognize him, maybe he was from the church. "Is there something I can help you with?" Her voice was low and hoarse from screaming.

"Are you Claire?" He asked quietly. "Claire Redfield?"

She nodded. "Yeah but… I don't wanna be rude or anything but, who are you?"

He pushed his hair away from his eyes and thrust his hand towards her. "My name's Will."

Claire hesitated for a moment but shook it anyways.

Releasing her hand, he immediately dug into his back pocket and pulled out a neatly flattened envelope which he seemed to handle with great care. He handed to her but she hesitate again.

"Hold on," Claire started. "I don't even know you… I'm confused."

William shook his head, as if he was internally scolding himself. "I'm sorry," He mumbled. "I knew Albert."

Claire perked up at the sound of his name, only this time, she couldn't feel angry.

"Albert?" Claire started, a quake in her voice. "Come inside, sorry for being rude…"

Will smiled softly at her. "No worries."

Claire led him into the small living room and offered him a seat which he took. "Can I get you anything? Coffee maybe?"

William turned around to face her, smiling again he nodded. "Sure, coffee sounds great."

She disappeared into the kitchen and William sighed. He wondered what was on this slip of paper. However, he knew that whatever it was, it was from the heart. Wesker always put his heart into everything, surprisingly. Claire was just as he pictured. Strong and beautiful, smart and agile. She was defiantly a spitfire, he could tell that about her instantly.

William chuckled, "What did you get yourself into, Al?"

Claire returned with two mugs of steaming coffee and sat down across from William.

"Thank you, Claire." He said soundly. Taking a sip first, William pursed his lips and sighed. "First of all, my name is William Birkin. I'm head of the department of research at Umbrella, along with my partner, Albert."

"You work with Albert?" She asked, her voice cracking again. "Why are you here then?"

"Al is my best friend. I've known him since I was seventeen. We grew up in the same word, with the same people, and the same influence. He asked me to do him a favor." Sliding the envelope across the table, Claire's jaw clenched, she was trying her damnedest to hold her tears in. "He asked me to deliver this to you if anything were to happen to him."

Opening it slowly, her hands trembled as she unfolded the paper enclosed within. Trying to find her voice, she began to read aloud:

Dear, Claire

If you are reading this, it means my plans have gone awry and I won't be coming home today. Forgive me, dearheart. I've asked William to deliver this to you as soon as the news came and I'm glad that he's carried out my request. You can trust him.

My dearest Clairethere are many things that I cannot express on paper to you however, I will say this much; you mean the world to me and I cannot even begin to describe how sorry I am. I made you a promise in which I brokeI have not been the best man, nor have I been the best person I can be for you, but I have broken down every wall I've spent so long building so I could see you smile in the morning, laugh in the afternoon, and howl at night. I am so very lucky to have called you mine, Claire. However, it seems our time had run short. So as long as you remain, know that I will always care for you deeply. Forget what I have done but please do not forget me. You have forged something dear to my heart that I dread seeing taken away. The memories that we've made, I hope you cherish foreverbut we all know that eventually, all good things come to an end. Claire I hope you can forgive me for what I've done.

Forever Yours,

Albert Wesker

Claire folded the paper to its neat state and smiled sadly.

"He made it very clear to me that this was to be delivered to you as soon as possible." William began.

"Thank you, Will." Claire smiled again. "I really do appreciate it."

"You're very welcome."

XXXXX

That night, Claire had trouble sleeping, no surprise to her. The empty side of her bed was like a void of just nothing. Her gut felt empty, like she hungry but could not eat. Her voice was trapped in her throat, like she had no mouth but had to scream. Her arm was extended across to where his form would have been, gazing at her with hungry eyes, his naked body like marble. She was flat painting compared to the way he was sculpted. Wallowing on his memory made Claire begin crying weakly. Her fingers clenched down on his pillow and she pulled it into her chest tightly. The faint smell of his aftershave clung to the fabric and she buried her face deeper, trying to spark some kind of happiness. But it never came.

Sleep was useless, it wasn't going to happen tonight. The funeral was tomorrow and that was going to prove to much more difficult to contain her emotions. She wondered if Wesker had any siblings and if so, would they show up? He never talked much about his family. Only that his father destroyed him when he was young, turned him into the kind of person he was today. And his mother, he loved dearly. There was thunder on the horizon, Claire could hear its low and staggering rumbles approach. She hated thunderstorms. Clinging onto the pillow again, Claire closed her eyes and tried to think of the good memories that her and Wesker had made. A sudden crack of thunder made her jump and she tightened her hold on the pillow.

It was going to be a long night.

A/N: Poor Claire :( Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I hope you enjoy the next just as well. Don't forget to leave me a review, it really, really helps me out. Love you guys :)