Chapter Eleven:
Lethal Poison Through Their System
xxxxx
Sherry's last week of school managed to pass rather smoothly, although the sudden reappearance of Samantha on Friday morning had made her final day a bit discomforting. Regardless, she was done with that school now, and she would hopefully never have to return. But, because Wesker had been busy throughout the week he had very little time to arrange for Sherry's personal tutor. Following the meeting Sherry had with her principal and Claire, Wesker had indeed taken her back to the facility, but only to be present as he requested transfer papers from The Agency bureau. Since then, he hadn't brought up the subject too often; however, she wasn't too bothered about this, given that he already explained The Agency was still deciding who her tutor would be and where her sessions would be held. Today would be the day she'd finally find out, she supposed. After all, she had been stuck loitering around The Agency facility since noon, and while Wesker had brought her lunch and allowed her to watch television in his small, cramped office, it was utterly boring to sit and wait.
It wasn't until 4 p.m. that Wesker showed up again, carrying a thick manila folder in his hands and asking, "Sherry, you remember Trent, correct?"
Sherry looked up from the rubber band she was stretching, spotting Wesker standing in the doorway. She instantly readjusted her position on the swivel chair, taking her feet off the man's desk and clearing her throat. "I, um… Yes, I remember him," she stuttered out, then realizing why he was even asking her such a question.
Behind the blonde stood a clad-looking man, tall and thin with the blackest set of hair she ever remembered seeing. His eyes focused on her carefully, the familiar green color reminding Sherry of when they first met. Back then, the man's fixating stare had done little to comfort her after being brought to The Agency facility for the first time; but, now, something about them was soft and comforting, an empty threat she didn't think existed in the first place. Just as she was about to smile brightly, hoping to provide a friendly greeting, Trent moved forward, placing a single envelope on the desk.
The girl blinked, looking down at the envelope. "What's this?" she asked, cocking her head.
"Sherry," Wesker began, "I hate to reiterate myself for the hundredth time, but I feel this may be for the best before arriving at my central point."
Now Sherry was nervous. And, maybe a little scared, too. She folded her hands in her lap, leaning forward as both Wesker and Trent took their seats at two empty chairs. It really should have been the other way around—Sherry sitting in front of the desk and the two men sitting behind—but the serious atmosphere left little time for the girl to dwell on such a trivial fact.
"Okay…" Sherry said, her tone low.
For a second, Sherry thought she saw hesitation in Wesker's eyes. It was easier to pick up on now that he removed his sunglasses and placed them on the desk. "Your father and I worked with Umbrella for twenty years," he stated, "and after I decided to leave the company, Trent assisted me in establishing a new career here."
"I know," the girl acknowledged, nodding slowly. "I also know neither of you are fond of Umbrella… At least, not currently."
"Yes," Trent established, finally speaking. "While I am interested in Umbrella's bio-weaponry research, the company itself is not something I applaud. It is run crookedly, and it treats its employers as slaves, not people."
Sherry eyed Wesker after Trent was finished talking, searching for a reaction. When she saw nothing, she refocused her attention on Trent.
"Umbrella murdered both my mother and father. My father, James Darius, was a researcher, and Umbrella used him to develop a synthesis for tissue repair. Afterwards, they had him murdered, stole his research and kept his accomplishments for their own greed." The man shifted in his seat before continuing. "This is completely similar to what happened to your father, Sherry," he finished.
"…Yes, it is," she voiced, narrowing her gaze.
While Sherry had discussed this event endless times, hearing it from a man who spoke so apathetically almost pained the girl. This wasn't something you were supposed to speak freely about. While it was clear Sherry and him could relate to an identical tragedy, the girl knew she was nowhere near as comfortable discussing her father's death as he appeared. However, Sherry couldn't shake the fact she knew both her father and Wesker had performed a similar conspiracy against James Marcus. She had learned this in the course of snooping through Wesker's files long ago, and she had to admit, the whole thing still troubled her. Wesker and her father were friends, and they conspired a murder together. Years later, Umbrella conspired a murder against her father. It was all so ironic and harsh. Did Wesker feel any shred of guilt for having killed a man and stolen his research? Did he feel guilt now for having the same thing happen to someone who Sherry assumed truly was his friend?
God, Umbrella sure enjoyed killing their employees after their "potential" expired. Perhaps it was hypocritical to criticize and loathe a company that was researching the same as The Agency, but somehow, Sherry completely understood Trent and Wesker's displeasure.
"I thought this was supposed to be about my tutoring," Sherry then stated, hoping to change the subject. "I don't understand why you're here, Mr. Darius."
Trent let out a small exhale. "This is about your tutoring," he insisted. "You are the daughter of William Birkin, and your intellect has been proven to match his to a great extent."
"Um, thank you," she stammered, raising an eyebrow. She looked at Wesker, hoping he would get to the point. "Is he going to be my tutor, or what? I don't understand what's going on here."
"Sherry, before your father's death, he himself planned to leave Umbrella. Just as myself, William intended to move to The Agency with Trent's assistance and carry on his research of the G-Virus here. At the time, I was busy with S.T.A.R.S., but just as I am doing now, I had every intention of studying the viruses once again."
"Very little of our staff is qualified to handle the G-Virus research," Trent continued for Wesker, "and while we are seeking new employees to help develop the virus specifically, your father's absence will undoubtedly slow down the process."
"Well, yeah, he's dead," Sherry droned, still not grasping the point.
"I want you to open this letter," Wesker announced, pushing the white envelope closer to the girl. "It is from your father."
"What?" Sherry shouted, immediately grabbing the envelope. It had been facedown the entire time, and only now, as she flipped it over, did she realize it had her name scribbled across the center, clearly in her father's own handwriting. "Oh, my God," she breathed, touching the ink with her fingertips. "Why… why didn't you give this to me before?" she demanded, glaring at Wesker.
"Read it, Sherry," he said smoothly.
Sherry gripped the envelope tighter. It had already been opened—of course it had been; there was no way Wesker and Trent would've allowed its contents to remain a mystery—but that hardly mattered. This was from her father. She had never said goodbye to him, and now—now—she held a remaining sentiment of him, something intended to be given directly to her. Tears stung her eyes as she carefully removed the folded stationary from the envelope.
But, there was suddenly something increasingly unsettling about the whole situation. For a moment, she paused, unable to open the letter itself. The paper, the envelope, the writing: it was so clean and fresh, and obviously not recovered from a horrific scene in Raccoon City. So, where did Wesker and Trent obtain it? When did her father decide to write this and hand it over to a safe source? There was always the cruel possibility it was fake, that Wesker had forged this and possessed an ulterior motive. Unable to open the letter, Sherry dropped it to her lap, staring at Wesker with obvious doubt.
"It's not fake, Sherry," he said pointedly. "He gave this to me a few months before he died. It was long before Raccoon City was anywhere near infected."
Sherry bit the inside of her cheek. "I don't know if I can read this…" she admitted delicately.
"Would you like me to read it for you, Sherry?" Wesker offered blandly.
She considered this. But, Wesker's indifference toward the situation saddened her, and she knew he would make no attempt to read her father's words carefully. It would be quick and simple, and if her father wrote anything the least bit sentimental, she wouldn't want his words to be destroyed by Wesker's deadpanned tone.
So, instead, she shook her head and looked down at the letter. She sighed, unfolding the paper and began reading:
Sherry:
The G-Virus was my life's work, my single greatest creation, and the choices I made while you were growing up contributed to its success, no matter how unfair those choices may have been to you. But, Sherry—there are few people worthy of being in the presence of my G-Virus. There are even fewer people worthy of working with it.
You are my flesh and blood, my only child. And, if you choose to continue my life's work, I know the G-Virus will grow and prosper, once again proving its beauty, elegance and power.
My fondest wishes,
Your Father
"I'm sorry if this is unsettling to you," Trent chimed in, knowing she had finished reading.
Sherry looked up, gaping widely at the two of them. But, when tears began to press into her eyes, she narrowed them hesitantly. She was speechless. This wasn't what she was expecting at all. Where was his apology? Where were his redeeming words? Where was his purpose? But, all the words—all his written words—were so true to form, so like him that it was a bitter sentiment she almost found bittersweet. Part of her wanted an admission of guilt or even a dumb cliché that read: "If you're reading this, I am dead." Instead, she received a heartless, four-sentenced letter that really only served as comfort to him, not his daughter. It was cold-hearted. And, it was cruel. It was completely empty of any sincere fatherly love.
But, it made sense. Because he didn't love her; he loved his G-Virus. And, she always knew this. The final realization didn't hurt anymore than the first.
Regardless, she looked up again and spoke. "I don't understand…"
"It's vague," Wesker noted. "But, Sherry, there were many things William told me before he died, and one of them was how he wished for you to continue his work."
"…Wait, what?" the girl exclaimed, her mouth dropping open once again in confusion.
"Reread the letter, Sherry," Wesker suggested.
So, she did. And, the last line struck her in a way it hadn't the first time. "And, if you choose to continue my life's work," it read, more blatant than she herself could've imagined coming from him.
"He wants me to..." She trailed off, frozen once more.
"Yes, and that's why you're here today, Sherry," Trent went on, breaking the peaceful atmosphere. "You no longer have to attend school, if that's what you desire. Instead, you may be trained here in the labs. You'll be placed on an observer position at first, but in the following weeks we plan to move you to the—"
"Hold on!" the girl interrupted. "What in God's name gives you any idea I want to continue my father's work?"
"There's little reason for you to continue school, for one," Wesker said, beginning to tap his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Your father was only a few years older than you are now when he started working with Umbrella. He was a genius, and your intellect is similar to his."
"I'm not a genius, though…"
"You're not what people would call a child prodigy, but you must keep in mind you weren't pushed as a child. But, I believe you have what it takes to become a useful asset to The Agency."
"Then, you're doing this for your own benefit."
Wesker look at the girl somewhat sympathetically. "Don't let Claire's daily rants influence this decision of yours, Sherry." The man stood up, straightening his suit. "And, yes, that means you have a decision in this. No one is going to force you to work here, but I want you to think it over for a few days."
Sherry watched as Trent rose from his seat, too, preparing to leave alongside Wesker. The girl stiffened in her chair, surprised by their sudden departure. But, before they could go, she stood up as well and voiced, "Wait! I… I need to know more…"
Wesker stopped in the doorway, but Trent kept going. "Such as what?" he asked the girl.
"What would I be… doing? I mean, would I be hurting animals and people and witnessing horrible, disgusting things? I've had enough of that in Raccoon."
"No," he revealed. "All you would be doing is organizing the tests and going over the results. You wouldn't be doing anything hands-on for quite some time. And, even then, if you choose not to participate in those kinds of experiments, then you don't have to. One thing I can promise you is that you'll always have a choice in this. Your father wouldn't want you forced into anything, and I respect his wish."
Sherry pursed her lips, allowing herself to relax. She wasn't going to overreact to this, not the way Claire always did when Wesker decided to reveal something she didn't know. But, the girl realized she wasn't even angry anymore. Not only that, but she wasn't troubled by the news either. There was something far more powerful running through her, and it wasn't resentment or despair. It was something poignant. And, the feeling was still fluttering through her system when Wesker turned to leave the room.
xxxxx
Claire and Steve were watching The Nightmare Before Christmas on TV, a movie that, according to Steve, was the "single most greatest movie ever made and was totally snubbed out of an Oscar for Best Picture." Claire reminded Steve that "most greatest" was a double superlative and didn't make sense, and that the only animated film ever nominated for Best Picture was Beauty and the Beast, and because it didn't win, the nomination barely mattered. Steve claimed she was overanalyzing, to which Claire countered he was overacting to the situation. This was followed by a quick fight over who got to hold the remote, and thus, the two were sitting on opposite sides of the couch.
Claire glanced at the clock on the coffee table and huffed. She had no idea when the movie was going to end, but she had a feeling there was a long way to go. Steve was busy mumbling the words of This is Halloween beneath his breath, even though that music number had passed quite some time ago.
Finally, the girl stood up, stretching her legs and declaring, "This movie is boring. And, Oogie Boogie reminds me of Wesker."
"What!" Steve exclaimed. "Fuck that. You don't know good cinema. And, how does a character made out of a burlap sack remind you of Wesker?"
"He's evil," she offered, shrugging. "And, anyway, Steve, I'm surprised you even like this stupid movie. Half of its fans are whiny Goths and the other half are whiny Goths who claim not to be whiny Goths, but really are."
Steve glowered from his side of the couch. "It's a fucking good movie, okay?" A moment later, he then added, "And, I'm not going to let its entire pissant fans ruin it for me. Fuckin' Goths…"
Claire smiled a little, but let it dissipate. "I'm going upstairs to read," she informed him, stepping over his legs to squeeze between the furniture.
"Read? Read what?"
Claire stopped and rubbed the back of her head. "Those files Wesker gave me."
"You still working on getting through those?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"They're complicated," she said dully, obviously offended. "And, I still don't know why he gave them to me."
"The same reason he made me read a bunch of shit: he wants you to be informed."
The girl blinked. "About… about what?"
"Everything? Anything? I don't know, Claire, but he made me read countless files, too, and not long after, he had me going on covert operations."
Claire's expression flattened. "Covert operations, my ass," she grumbled. "Sneaking into an Umbrella presentation was no covert operation. Don't exaggerate."
As Claire trotted up the stairs, Steve refocused his attention on the movie, watching as it neared the finale. It was his favorite part of the movie, and Steve wished Claire had a fucking interest in it, because he considered that the two of singing along to Jack and Sally's very last song would probably be the most romantic thing to ever happen to him. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize that sounded totally lame, and he etched the thought, deciding to follow Claire upstairs so he wouldn't have to sit through the scene and relive the embarrassment of what he just thought.
Jack was just beginning to sing when he turned off the T.V., and already, he could hear Claire rustling through all the files upstairs. When he arrived in her room, she was sitting on her bed, examining a photo paper clipped onto a file. Steve recognized it as the NE-α parasite, only recalling the image because of researching so heavily on Lisa Trevor.
Realizing he was standing at the doorway, Claire looked up and immediately said, "There's something missing here."
"Uh…?" Steve started, but Claire cut him off.
"Between the T-102 and the T-103, there's something just missing. I don't get how Umbrella managed to create that TV-002 Tyrant from that Virginia woman. There's a missing link, or something." She placed the photo down, giving Steve a look that revealed she was hoping he had answers.
"Well," he began, taking a seat next to Claire, "at the presentation, the guy said Virginia Waters was a G-Virus/T-Veronica experiment. She has both the viruses in her, like I do." He paused, wondering how Claire would react to him so blatantly pointing that out. "But, you're right, there is something missing…"
Claire pressed her lips together. "Do you think it's possible they were lying about something? Do you think the TV-002 is really something else? I mean, it's such a strange name choice. You'd think they would choose something like T-104."
Steve processed this for a second. "You're right," he said, nodding. "From those files, I learned the T-102 was the Tyrant that attacked the S.T.A.R.S. members in the mansion, and the T-103 was the Tyrant after you guys in Raccoon City."
"Right," Claire said, picking up her pen and jotting that down. "There was also the Proto-Tyrant that attacked Rebecca near the Umbrella Training Facility." She wrote that down, too.
"Do you think Wesker is suspicious of the name at all?"
Claire bit the tip of her pen, pondering. "Maybe," she considered, "but I am sure he's keeping it to himself."
"He did mention something to me a while ago," the boy admitted. "Something about another project Umbrella has been developing. He didn't say what, but it's possible the TV-002 may be that 'other' project."
"I just want to stay one step ahead of the game," she stated. "I don't want Wesker knowing things I don't."
"No offense, but he knows a lot you don't."
Claire glared at him. "Well, I know that, but I'm talking about the current situation, about the TV-002 and stuff. I want to be informed about it. It will help when we go to Rockfort."
Steve's eyebrows shot up. "We?" Steve echoed. "We go to Rockfort?"
The girl gaped, unable to believe she let that slip. "Shit," she muttered, turning away from the boy. "What I meant—"
"Whoa, dude, did Wesker ask you to come to Rockfort?"
"What! No!" Claire turned to face the boy again. "I… Oh, fuck, I didn't mean to say that, but… Well, Steve…"
Steve continued to keep his eyebrows raised, wanting the girl's explanation.
"I didn't mean to hide this from you…" she said, and although it was a lie, she figured it was somewhat true, being that hadn't wanted to hide it. "I found a file the other day. And, it was addressed to Wesker. It said Chris was imprisoned on Rockfort, after he attempted to search the island to find me."
Steve narrowed his eyes. "Wesker's going because of Chris?"
"No," Claire answered, shaking her head. "At least, that's not the full reason. It's like killing two birds with one stone. He gets to steal Umbrella information and also go after my brother."
"Oh…"
"But, Steve, listen," Claire coaxed, climbing further on the bed and onto her knees. "If there's any chance to get the hell out of here, it's this Rockfort mission. And, you have to help me convince Wesker to take me."
Steve felt the girl clutch his hands, an extension of the favor she was asking. Steve couldn't help but feel a bit used. Sure, it was comforting and nice to feel the girl touch him this way, but he knew it lacked sincerity.
"He's going to know you're up to something," Steve muttered.
"I know," she agreed, sighing. "And, that's why you have to help me with it. Try and convince him it's your idea to bring me on the mission. You can hint that I'll be a good way to lure Chris out. Or, you can try and convince him to bring me as a valuable asset to the mission."
"I don't think that will work…" he told her.
"Can't you try?"
"Well, I guess I could, but, Claire, Wesker is not that gullible. I'm going to need a lot of time to convince him, and as of now, we don't know when we're going to Rockfort."
"Well, it's worth a try," she said sternly. "I need to go, Steve. If Chris is there, I just have to go…"
Steve should've felt more hurt by Claire, for he knew full well she was placing all her ulterior motives directly on him. But, nothing painful was surging through the boy, even though he realized there was, in fact, a lot she was willing to hide from him. But, even from the beginning of reuniting with her, Steve had never been fully honest, and so, part of him simply couldn't blame her for hiding such a trivial discovery. Steve would've found out about it eventually. Besides, Claire needed time to process it all.
Of course, while Claire's loyalty to Chris made her appear valiant and noble, Steve had to weigh out the facts, and considering she ditched Sherry for Chris, Claire obviously rated her acquaintances by importance. And, sadly, given any horrific circumstance, Claire would definitely choose Chris over Steve in a second. This was a scenario that could very well play out on Rockfort, and by helping Claire persuade Wesker into taking her, Steve was basically walking straight into a possible heartbreak, or worse.
For someone who wasn't considered human anymore, Steve sure didn't feel as though he lost any of his human emotions. Not only did the possibility of Claire betraying him piss Steve off, it also made him jealous. And, in some ways, it actually hurt emotionally. Goddamn, wasn't he supposed to avoid these kind of thoughts as a Tyrant, or something like that? Clearly, Wesker had emotions, but he did a fine job compressing them. Although, Steve figured Wesker's emotional shield existed way before the man ever decided to inject himself with a virus.
But, Claire… Claire was so blatantly human sometimes that it almost made him sick. Sure, Steve may have felt everything human, but Claire had so much more on him, even on Rockfort. She had compassion and trust, and fuck, dude, she smelt so human. Well, okay, the latter really had nothing to do with anything.
Actually, no… It had a lot to do with everything. Because, right now, Steve could smell her humanity in a way he couldn't downstairs. Downstairs it smelt like the bacon and eggs Sherry made this morning, along with whatever weird potpourri the girl decide to set out two days ago as a way to make the house seem "cozier." But here, inside the room, Claire smelt like sweat and meat and minerals and blood. It was different, however, from the other times he had taken the time to smell her. Her blood smelt… different, a kind of difference that he couldn't place as either bad or good.
Visibly irritated by the long stretch of silence, Claire pulled out the elastic holding up her ponytail and quickly messed with her hair before redoing the loop. Steve watched carefully, noting how she shook her bangs out of her face. The whole scene was suddenly switching from nonchalant and cute to incredibly awkward when Steve realized he was staring. Shit, the whole thing was kind of reminding him of all those American Beauty trailers he kept seeing, what with that girl standing in the gym and those rose petals bursting around her randomly. Steve was positive if Claire knew he was envisioning her like this, she would smack him. But, it was more than just the plain visual. Something about the color red struck him, and that poignant flutter of his senses returned when he took notice of that smell. The smell of blood.
"Steve…?" Claire called out, her tone and expression a clear sign she recognized Steve's trance. Almost subconsciously, she hid her hand behind her back.
But, Steve knew that wasn't it. That wound was nearly healed, having scarred over days ago. He was barely concerned with that anymore. No, this smell—this new smell—was coming from somewhere else.
"Shit," she cursed, rising from the bed and shuffling towards the middle of the room. "I knew you'd be able to tell."
"Tell…?"
Claire was evidently embarrassed, but Steve remained confused.
With a narrow of her eyes, Claire said, "It's the first time since I've been here that it's started." She shifted her weight, remaining embarrassed. "And, I obviously kind of forgot about the whole situation until this morning. And, when I asked Sherry about it, she said it wasn't that big of deal, that there were plenty of times she had hers around Wesker and even once since you arrived."
Steve blinked. "Okay," he drawled, uncertain what she was talking about. But, then, "Oh. Oh. Ah, sick, dude!" He winced at the aroma, finally realizing what he was smelling.
"I guess I'm lucky Sherry's around, otherwise I wouldn't have known what to do about… Well, you know, the proper materials."
Steve continued to wince. "Dude, I don't want to think about Sherry and you exchanging tampons and womanly advice."
Claire grumbled. "That's not what happened, Steve," she informed him blandly.
"Whatever, you know it's true," he said, just to be snide.
The Redfield placed her hands on her hips, ready to lecture him about sexism and post-modern feminism, but she noticed almost instantly how Steve fell right back into his trance, letting his head subconsciously loll to his left and his eyes glaze over with an observant lust.
"Steve…" she murmured, caution looming in her voice.
"It's fucking gross, Claire," he stated, his natural tone reviving. "But, at the same time, it smells so good."
It really shouldn't have been gross, though, Claire concluded. After you ruled out the whole uterine lining and muscle fiber thing, it was just blood. The only real difference was where it was coming from, she supposed. But, in reality, the whole concept shouldn't have disgusted Claire as much as it was—because it was her body, and this was something she had dealt with since she was thirteen. But, the thought of Steve being aroused by her menstrual blood… Well, shit, everyone had their limits.
So, why was it that her body started to react when the boy stood up, approaching her slowly and placing his hands on her shoulders? She shivered, feeling him move closer as she half-prepared herself for a kiss. But, instead of pressing their lips together, Steve aligned their hips, fusing their lower halves and grinding against her in an agonizingly seductive manner. She almost felt herself collapse in his arms.
"Claire," he breathed, moistening his lips just before he pressed them onto hers.
Her limp arms finally found life, and she positioned them around the boy's torso, allowing him to press further onto her. Her jaw went slack a moment later, allowing his tongue entrance just as she responded with more fervor. Thrilled, Steve turned the girl gently around, gently leading her back to the bed. Instantly, Claire stiffened, but she allowed herself to lie backwards before she slid a hand between their bodies, ceasing any further movement.
"W-what?" the boy exasperated, their mouths finally parted.
"You know we can't do this," she said plainly, just as she had when they were at The Agency facility.
Steve didn't look disappointed by her answer, just unimpressed. "It's… it's not that bad," he voiced, taking a long exhale afterwards. "I mean, if you're okay with it, I don't really care."
"Wait, what are you talking about?" she demanded, furrowing her brow.
"You being on your rag."
Claire bit her lip. "That's not it, and you know it," she muttered, creasing her brow even further. "And, even so, that's fucking gross, and I would never do it. I'm talking about protection, Steve."
Protection. Oh, Jesus, what a way to suck the erotic mood away. "Protection from my AIDS?" he spat, bitter once more.
"If that's the way you want to put it, then fine, yes."
"Claire, I've snooped through this house from head to toe. I found condoms."
Given any other situation, Claire would've taken a long time to analyze that statement, because there was something pretty fucked up about Wesker owning condoms, and really, she didn't even want to think about what the hell that meant. Oh, Jesus.
Steve caught the expression on her face, and said, "What, Wesker doesn't have to the right to fuck?"
"Well, it depends on who," she supplied.
"Oh, please, not this again," Steve grumbled. "Sherry and him aren't shagging. I mean, dude, have you ever taken the time to consider the physics of that concept? I'm pretty sure he'd break every bone in her body."
"Sick," the girl gargled, pushing herself up and sighing.
The mood absolutely slaughtered, Steve cooperated and repositioned himself next to her, sighing as well. "Okay, so, the condom thing is taken care of, so what's the problem? I mean, besides you being on your rag, 'cause I know it has to do with a lot more than that."
Claire remained silent, narrowing her eyes as she tried to formulate the correct words.
"Do you hate me, or something? I mean, geez, Claire, just because I've never fucked before doesn't mean I don't know how."
"That's not it," Claire assured, giving him a sincere look. "I may not be a virgin, Steve, but that doesn't mean I'm prepared to start judging the performance of my partners…"
"Well, how many times have you actually, uh… done it?"
"Just a few times," she admitted. "With the same guy."
Steve seemed to glower at this.
"He was my high school boyfriend, Steve," she informed him pointedly, catching onto his jealousy. She was quiet for a moment, pursing her lips, as was becoming a habit of hers. "Steve, I really want to," she admitted softly, almost seeming embarrassed. "But, please, let's take things slow. I don't want to get caught up in this when we have Wesker to worry about."
Steve managed to nod. "Well, okay," he agreed. "As long as we're not fighting anymore…"
"No, we're done with that," Claire assured him, smiling and moving closer to the boy. She placed her hand over his, smiling at him with full sincerity. It may have felt really goddamn lame and tacky, but in the end, it was sweet, because it was just between the two of them.
Steve initiated another kiss, but instead of an enthusiastic mix of tongues and teeth, this one was calm and still. And, in so many ways, it was just plain romantic. Claire had never kissed someone like this, not even her longtime high school boyfriend. All she ever remembered were sloppy kisses and clumsy hands moving under her bra—but this was delicate and pleasant, and had Claire not known the factual truth, she would've sworn Steve was far more experienced with girls than he was letting on this entire time.
The two only broke apart when they heard the front door open downstairs, a clanging of keys and metal. Sherry's voice soon emitted, echoing through the house as she said something about chafing underwear and foot blisters. Claire really didn't want to know what Wesker and her had been talking about before entering the house, not that she really wanted to know what happened while they were at The Agency facility together. Claire felt her mood instantly drain, and she suddenly resented Sherry for the lousy timing of Wesker and hers arrival. Steve and Claire may not have planned on shagging, but their time alone today had been serene. It almost felt like the first time the Redfield managed to be at 100 percent peace in the household.
"Should we go downstairs…?" Steve asked, his expression flat.
Claire gave a tired shrug, but released herself from Steve's remaining embrace and straightened herself out before deciding to roam downstairs. Steve followed, spotting Sherry in the living room.
"You were there all day, Sherry," Claire immediately began. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, of course," the girl replied, almost too flippantly.
Claire smelt coffee beginning to brew from the kitchen. She turned the corner from the living room, giving Wesker a pointed stare from where he was taking out a mug from the cabinet.
"How was your day?" she bitterly spewed.
Wesker only glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You look flustered," he said. "Did we interrupt something by coming home?"
Claire flushed, biting her lip and walking out of the kitchen. "It's a good time to start mentioning Rockfort," she whispered lowly to Steve. "I'm going back up to my room."
Sherry heard the last part and perked up, interested. "Good, I need to talk to you," she revealed.
"Remember what I told you, Sherry," Wesker voiced from the kitchen.
Claire gave a puzzled look, ready to demand an explanation. But, Sherry tugged at her sleeve, pulling for her to come upstairs. The Redfield made sure to give Steve a final look before being carted off, a clear sign she wanted him to begin persuading Wesker into having her come along for Rockfort.
Hesitant, Steve wandered over to the kitchen, emerging from the side wall and biting his bottom lip. There was no point of lurking, however, and Wesker made this inescapably clear by giving the boy a frank look, disapproving of his sleuthing.
"What?" he asked, on-edge.
"Claire and I were talking…" he decided to say. His eyes darted to the floor, averting the blonde man's gaze. "And, well… It kind of brought back some memories."
Oh, Jesus. Steve was pretty sure he never sounded more retarded in his life.
"I'm not sure I can help you, Steven," Wesker stated, resuming his coffee making.
"Well, Claire's upstairs with Sherry!" he whined. It was frightening how sincere his tone was, too. "I need someone to talk with right now."
"Fine," the man grunted, not sounding interested.
"I'm not sure if I can go back there," he explained, figuring it was the obvious thing to say.
"Oh, please," Wesker sighed out. "You saw a few monsters, had some exercise and flew a plane for about six minutes before Alfred took over. I've definitely heard of more exciting adventures."
Steve scowled, taking a step forward and crossing his arms. "It was more than that!" he defended. "But…" he continued, not wanting to get distracted by Wesker's obvious attempt to anger him. "I don't know what that island is gonna be like without Claire with me." He immediately lowered his eyes, realizing this was a rather poor start.
"You two spent varied time together," the man noted.
"I know," he acknowledged, frowning. "But, it'll be weird, that's all I'm saying. What if I start thinking back to something and something bad happens because I was distracted?"
"What is this all about?" Wesker asked, raising an eyebrow. "I can tell you're avoiding asking a question."
Steve tried to remain unaffected by this comment. "Well, no," he voiced. "But, don't you wonder what will happen while we're gone? I mean, Claire will be alone here."
"I'm having her stay at the facility," he explained. "Sherry will be there, too, but for different reasons." The man began pouring his finished coffee into a mug.
"Okay…" the boy said, trying to think of something else to say. "Is she going to be doing anything there, though? Claire, I mean. If she stays here, she'll just be miserably trapped in a room for a couple of days. Wouldn't it be of more use to, well, uh…"
"Bring her with us?" the man finished.
"…Well, yeah," Steve replied with a gulp. "I know she wouldn't cooperate, but maybe if I was there, and she didn't have to do anything vicious, maybe she'd agree. She's survived two outbreaks. She could be a good, uh, soldier, or something."
"Soldier," Wesker echoed in a huff, amused. "She's human, Steve. Not only does she have a conscious that won't allow her to take part in an Agency mission, she's not professionally trained."
"She has experience," Steve pointed out. "Isn't that enough?"
"Perhaps," Wesker offered, "but that doesn't change the fact she's a fucking Redfield, and she'll do everything in her power to ruin the mission."
"But, if she doesn't have to do anything—!"
"Why are you pushing this, Steven?" Wesker stiffly asked.
"I… I just don't…" Steve shook his head, rephrasing his sentence. "I want her there. I want her to be with me." It came out well enough, partially because it was the truth, and Steve hoped Wesker heard the sincerity in it.
There was a slight pause as Wesker sipped his coffee. He was having it black, straight up. Normally, Steve would've been disgusted by this sight, but it wasn't surprising. This was Wesker, after all.
"If you want to know the truth," the man said, "I have been considering this myself. It would be a good way to bribe her."
Steve blinked. "Bribe?"
"If she comes along with us, there will, of course, be strict guidelines. And, she must follow every single one in order for her to benefit from it. If she manages to do this, I'll do something for her."
"Like what?" Steve wondered, suddenly becoming very nervous.
"I'll let her contact Chris."
"What!" Steve balked a bit. "That's too easy! You're lying!"
Wesker took another sip of coffee. "Contact him," he repeated, "not see him. Of course, I'll be the one doing the contacting—something simple and quick—but it will be Claire's message."
"She's not going to trust you," Steve pointed out, still not believing it himself.
"Then, I guess she won't be going to Rockfort." He shrugged. "I'll discuss it with her tonight."
Steve watched the man leave the kitchen, grabbing some kind of file from the counter and walking towards his room. Or, the den. Whichever it was these days.
Alone, the boy let out a frustrated grunt. Claire wanted to go to Rockfort, so she was obviously going to agree, but something was very suspicious about Wesker's behavior. Why would he agree so easily to this? And, if Chris was already on Rockfort (which was the whole reason Claire wanted to tag along), then why would Wesker offer something such as being able to contact Chris? Maybe he meant something else. There was a possibility he would let them see each other on Rockfort, but Wesker didn't even know Claire was aware of Chris' presence on the island. He was probably already planning some kind of malicious reunion between the siblings. But, still, something didn't make sense.
Then again, this was Wesker. And, many things didn't make any goddamn sense when it came to him. For one, why the hell was Claire living here when he hadn't even attempted to do something horrible to her, like experiment with the girl, or lure Chris out of hiding so he could kill him? …Or, maybe that's what he was trying to do now.
"Shit," he cursed in a drone, kicking one of the floor cabinets.
His head was starting to hurt.
xxxxx
Upstairs, Claire was attempting to listen to Sherry and still eavesdrop on Steve's conversation with Wesker. It ended up colliding after about two minutes, and somehow she ended up formulating some kind of theory involving laundry's ability to cause a colostomy on an individual, and being that this made no sense and probably never would, she realized the whole double listening thing was not effective. But, Sherry was talking about laundry now, or at least Claire assumed, because she was throwing things into her laundry basket. At least Claire got something right.
When Sherry realized Claire wasn't listening, she put her hands on her hips and gave a loud sigh. "What's up, Claire? You're a million miles away."
Claire narrowed her eyes. "Sorry," she said. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"I got offered a job today," the girl blatantly stated.
"A… a job?" Claire hesitated, appearing worried.
"Yeah," she said, now loosening up a bit. "I don't know if I'm going to take it."
Claire had either figured it out already, or was just stupid and couldn't decrypt Sherry's words. Both were reasonable explanations for the blank look on the Redfield's face and her inability to say something.
"It involves a lot of training first," Sherry explained, "and I've been thinking about it all day, and as much as I would feel like a hypocrite to accept it and be doing all sorts of garbage I was previously opposed to… Well, I think things change, Claire, and I, for one, know this may be my only opportunity to take charge of my life and do something other than stupid school, which I don't need."
"Sherry!" Claire exclaimed. "You're… dropping out?"
"I'm only thirteen," the girl reminded her. "So, it's not dropping out per se. I'll just be studying something else. Somewhere else, too."
There was a slight quiver in Claire's face, and she turned away so she could no longer look at the girl. This definitely wasn't the reaction Sherry expected, and she had to admit, she felt sort of bad for being so direct about it. Well, if Claire was Claire, she would start screaming in just a matter of minutes.
"Wesker said I wouldn't have to do anything I didn't want to," she continued. "And, once I'm done training I get my own lab and everything. Isn't that neat?"
Claire gaped. "No! No, it's not neat!"
"Claire…"
"Sherry, you've been through Umbrella's mess. You survived Raccoon City, for Christ's Sake! How can you turn around and be one of them?"
"It's The Agency, Claire, not Umbrella."
"I fail to see the difference."
"Well, there is one," the girl affirmed. "And, I don't need your permission to do this. You're not my mother. In fact, you're really nothing to me right now."
"Sherry!" the girl repeated, this time with more emotion.
"Well, with Steve around here, you're distracted by him, so why shouldn't I busy myself with a new hobby?"
"Working with a biological weaponry company isn't what I would call a hobby."
"It's not your choice, Claire."
"I don't care!" she shouted. "I'm not going to let this happen. Never."
"I already agreed," Sherry told her. "I'll be staying at the facility for the next few days. For training purposes, of course."
Claire heaved violently, turning on her heel and racing out the room. In a matter of moments, she arrived downstairs, having pushed Steve on the way and causing him to fall backwards on the last few steps. He let out an angry curse, demanding an explanation, but Claire was busy banging on Wesker's door.
"Open the door, you fucking bastard!" she screamed, hitting the door with her palm. "I swear to God, I'm going to kill you!"
Wesker opened the door. "It wasn't locked, Claire," he told her casually.
Claire lunged forward, trying her best to push the man out of the doorway. She half succeeded, but ended up falling forward and stumbling into the room. She recovered and turned back around to glare at the man. "You have no right to make Sherry work for you!" she blared, clenching her fists. "Do you even know what she has been through?"
"Plenty, I'm sure," he answered. "And, she made the decision, Claire. Not me."
"You manipulated her, you fucking asshole!"
"Hardly."
"I'm going to kill you!" she threatened again, now seething.
Steve appeared at the door, completely confused. "What the hell?" he asked, presumably still taken back by Claire having shoved him down the stairs.
"He's fucking insane, Steve! He's going to make Sherry his slave!"
"Oh…"
"Oh?" Claire echoed in disbelief. "That's all you have to say?"
"Well, Claire," Steve reasoned, "how did you not see this coming? I mean, she's been living with him."
"I don't care!" Claire yelled, taking another lunge at Wesker.
He caught her by the wrist and sighed. "As much as I would enjoy this, there are more important matters right now." The man released his grip, shoving the Redfield away and walking over to the fax machine. He picked up a single piece of paper and offered it to Claire. "We've just received orders to head out to Rockfort Island tonight," he explained before she had a chance to read. "Would you like to come along, Claire?"
"E-excuse me?" she stuttered, catching her breath.
"I have an offer for you," he told her. "In exchange for your services on Rockfort, I will offer you one chance, and one chance only, to contact your brother."
Claire scoffed. "Why the hell would I need that when he—?" She stopped herself. Wesker had no idea she was aware of Chris being on Rockfort, too. But, if that was true, why the hell was he so easily allowing this? She glanced at Steve, and from his expression, she could tell he was still trying to figure it out, too.
"Is there a problem?" Wesker asked.
"What do you think?" she said, grinding her teeth. "How stupid do you think I am? And, why the hell would I want to go?" It was a good act. Or, at least she thought.
"Coincidently," he stated, "we're low on men. Many of The Agency operatives are in Russia, investigating the Umbrella facility there, and so you would simply be acting as a stand-in. Besides, you can keep Steve on his feet."
"Hey!" Steve shouted. "Excuse me, but that's not what I meant when I suggested this."
"I don't trust you," Claire spat, ignoring Steve.
"I wouldn't expect you to ever trust me, Claire. There are many conditions to this favor. Many. And, being that we're running low on time, I'd prefer to go over them on the plane ride."
"No. I want them now." Finally having caught her breath, she appeared less unkempt and far saner. "First of all, I'm not killing anyone."
"There will be no need," he assured blandly, taking the fax back from the girl.
"And, I'm not doing your dirty work either," she countered. "No snooping, no stealing, nothing."
"I would never ask."
"Tell me what your conditions are, then."
"Later," he said plainly. "Now, you two, change into something more appropriate. You'll receive equipment at the facility."
"We're really leaving now?" Steve asked, frazzled.
"Yes, Steven," Wesker said, nodding. "Tell Sherry to pack her things, too. She'll be staying at the facility for the next few days."
"I know," Claire glowered, walking out of the room. "For training purposes. She told me."
End of Chapter Eleven