Chapter Fourteen:
The Trick to This Place is Slow Approach
xxxxx
Sherry had a conventional take on what a scientist was supposed to act and look like, and she based most of it on memories of her mother and father. They were always tired and moody, and most of the time, they smelt like coffee and latex gloves. And, although Sherry rarely thought of Wesker as a scientist per se, she still had vague memories of interacting with him when she was much younger, such as when William brought her to the labs just before dropping her off at school. It was there she saw Wesker in his lab coat, surrounded by an environment that made his occupation look so official. Nowadays, Wesker rarely wore a lab coat, and while Sherry sometimes thought of him as a soldier—based on The Agency's various "missions"—in the end, she considered him to be a researcher. Not a scientist, but a researcher. Because, for some reason, that term just suited him better.
But, Sherry had no idea what to call herself. Researcher? Too soon. Scientist? Too creepy. Lab assistant? Too lame. Initially, part of her feared maybe she just wasn't cut out for the whole laboratory setting, but she was amazed how quickly she managed to adjust to the environment, even the vulgar aspects. Maybe Raccoon City numbed her conscience rather than strengthened it, because Sherry found herself unable to look away at the human test subjects The Agency kept in the labs. She wanted to be disappointed in herself, but something was preventing her…
"Miss Birkin."
Sherry looked up from the stool she was sitting at, eyeing the man who called out to her. "Um, yeah?" she asked hesitantly. She may have been detached by the prospect of running experiments, but she hated being addressed as Miss when everyone was so blatantly older than her.
"I have something for you," the man explained, placing a manila folder on the table. "It just arrived at the facility. It's research on something called T-A.L.O.S., Umbrella's latest project."
Sherry opened the file curiously. "Isn't this what Albert—uh, Wesker, I mean—was looking for on Rockfort?" She had only heard this through the grapevine, but whatever this T-A.L.O.S. thing was, Sherry had to admit she was interested, especially since Umbrella initially had it under the name of "TV-002."
"Yes," he said, nodding. "Dr. Wesker and the men just returned a few minutes ago. He had this sent down immediately."
Sherry perked up. "They're back?"
The man nodded again. "A few soldiers were injured on the mission, so they're upstairs at the hospital."
The girl frowned. "Okay, thanks," she said, rising from her seat. "I'll look at these later. I'm going to go check on them." Sherry scooted the file aside, then left the lab, pulling off the dumb lab coat she had been forced to wear and finding her way to the elevator.
It all felt really fucking weird. Here she was just walking around The Agency's facility, and less than a week ago she had to be escorted around the building. The whole concept seemed so official, but Sherry was far from being a valued employee to the company, or something retarded like that. She was still being trained, and it would be a long time before she had the chance to do anything meaningful for The Agency. She had spent the last two days doing nothing but reading over files and being taught what to do in case of a hazardous outbreak, among other boring things. It wasn't nearly as exciting as she hoped, but she supposed she just had to be patient.
When Sherry reached the hospital level, she immediately spotted Steve standing in front of an observation window, peeking in curiously, though admittedly anxiously. She approached him, jabbing him in the side when he didn't notice her presence.
"Oww, fuck!" he yelled, jumping back and staring at the girl. "Oh, it's you…"
"Yeah, it sure is," she acknowledged, raising at eyebrow when she noticed his wounded arm. "Hey, are you okay?"
Steve nodded. "Yeah, just fucking fine," he glowered.
Sherry sighed. "Okay, what happened now?"
"Wesker tricked her…" he began lowly. "He planted that fucking file in his room for her to find!" The boy moved away from the window, huffing loudly and kicking one of the stray carts of equipment in the hall.
Sherry peered into the observation window Steve had been looking into, and she saw Claire inside. There was a female doctor with a clipboard, apparently asking Claire questions. Sherry guessed she was getting another checkup. When she turned to look at Steve, she just frowned, not knowing what to say.
"I guess I should've pressed harder about how suspicious it was," Sherry said distantly. "So, Chris wasn't even on the island, I presume? That must've really pissed off Claire."
Steve laughed in mockery. "Pissed her off? Fuck, Sherry, you don't even know. She flipped out, because she thought Chris died… And, there was this girl on the island, someone Claire knew. She was working undercover, and Claire thought she had something to do with Chris' death, and…" He trailed off, not knowing how to finish.
"And, what, Steve?" Sherry asked. "She killed her? Come on, tell me."
Steve looked up at Sherry, his expression drained.
"Oh…" Sherry voiced, rubbing the back of her head. "Well, Claire looks pretty fine now. She can't blame herself."
"Fine!" Steve echoed. "You think she's fine? What the hell is wrong with you, Sherry?"
"Come on, it's Wesker. You can't say you didn't see something like this coming…"
"You fucking cunt!" Steve yelled, lunging forward and grabbing the girl by her shoulders. "You're just like him!" he continued, pressing his fingers into her neck. "You don't even care about Claire anymore! Even though she saved your life countless times in Raccoon City, you little bitch!"
"S-Steve!" Sherry screamed, writhing under his grip.
"You don't even care!" he repeated, shaking her violently in his hands.
"Fuck, Steve, stop it!" she grunted, her eyes widening as he pressed deeper. "Ugh, stop! Steve!"
Steve barely heard her. With his hands wrapped around her neck, he instantly felt her blood running through her veins, human and untouched. When the girl kicked his side, squirming the best she could, Steve dropped her, but only to throw her to the ground and topple over her body. He transferred to attention to her shoulders, pushing onto them and feeling the way the bones aligned against her skin, feeling the way her heart beat in fear and uncertainty. She was so warm, so goddamn human. She was still screaming and kicking beneath him, her hands wrapped around his wrists as she tried so desperately to pull his grip away.
Sherry managed to elbow him in the face when she found a good angle. But, this only caused Steve more distraction, and he moved above her body, his knees grinding into her thighs. It was enough to make the girl scream again, kicking violently. "Ugh! Steve!" she wailed, tears forming in her eyes.
"Steven, let go of her!"
The boy looked up, seeing Wesker at the end of the corridor. His voice was enough to break Steve out of his trance, and soon, he felt the man roughly rip him away from Sherry, throwing him back against the wall.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Wesker demanded, keeping him pinned to the wall with one hand.
"Me! What's wrong with me?" Steve yelled. "She's just like you! You made her into a clone of yourself, are you fucking happy now? She's just like her father!"
"Steven, you didn't even know William," the man hissed.
Behind them, Sherry stumbled to her feet, rubbing her sore neck and shoulders. "You're a freak, Steve!" she declared, approaching with little reservation. "I hope Albert kills you, you sick fuck!" She turned, ready to walk away.
"Sherry," Wesker called out, releasing Steve. "Are you all right?"
Sherry paused, looking at the man hesitantly. "I'm… fine…" she said, averting her eyes.
"If you're done at the labs, then get your things from the dorms and wait in the lobby. We're going back to the house."
Sherry nodded, leaving afterward, still in a huff.
"I'm sorry I touched your pure, innocent daughter," Steve seethed.
Wesker eyed the boy carefully, knowing his words were a reference to the first time Sherry and him met at the facility. The man would've been amused by this at any other time, but right now, he was still furious at Steve, furious he had lost control of himself, furious he decided to take his rage out on Sherry.
"You have no right to touch her," Wesker stated coldly.
"I couldn't help it!" Steve argued. "I suddenly realized how fucking human she was, and it just… it made me sick!"
"Oh, so now humanity makes you sick? I thought that's what attracted you to Claire."
Steve faltered. "It is," he admitted. "But, not Sherry. She's so fucking snide! Just like you!"
"Then, I've been raising her well."
"Yeah? Well, newsflash, Wesker: She's not your daughter! So, stop being so fucking protective of her!"
"She's in my care," the man noted, "and I won't have you of all people trying to murder her."
"Fuck you!" Steve yelled.
Wesker backhanded the boy, a humiliating but strong blow to Steve's face. He stumbled backward, hitting the wall again and letting out a frustrated wail. As soon as he realized what happened, the boy leapt forward, pushing himself against Wesker and knocking the two to the floor. The blonde was quick to get another punch in, and Steve fell, landing on his back and leaving him open for several more blows from Wesker. They struggled for several more minutes, attempting to both strangle and dominate one another. Eventually, when Wesker had the boy pinned, having given him a hard blow to the nose, the boy stilled.
Wesker quickly got up from the floor, dusting off his knees and staring down at him. "You're pathetic, Steven," he commented.
Steve stayed on the ground, wincing when he felt blood drip from his nose. "Leave me the hell alone!" he cried, sitting up and pressing his face to his knees.
"Don't expect me to lap up your wounds this time, Steve."
"I wouldn't want you to, you fucking fag!" Steve bellowed.
"I should've never saved your life." The man shifted, briefly circling Steve. "You don't even know what you want. You can't distinguish between wanting humanity and wanting your own infected blood. You're a miserable Tyrant."
"Leave me alone!" the boy repeated, his volume higher.
"Gladly," he agreed, walking past the boy and entering the observation room Claire had been admitted into. She wouldn't have been able to see either fights—the window was a two-way mirror—but judging from her curious and alert expression when the man entered, Wesker guessed she knew something was going on outside.
"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, glaring at the man.
Wesker adjusted the wrinkles in his clothing. "Don't worry about it," he said dully, walking over to the doctor in the room. "Is everything fine?" he asked.
The female doctor nodded, handing over the clipboard. "She's fine," she explained, "but she's going to need rest. She's very irritable."
Wesker scoffed, dismissing the woman from the room and approaching the small bed Claire was sitting at. She was still glaring at him, the kind of look you'd give your ex-boyfriend from across the classroom. Claire and Steve really were alike sometimes: equally immature when it came to a situation they couldn't control. Wesker had to wonder when the hell Claire became like that, because judging from her experiences in both Raccoon City and Rockfort, there was no element of juvenile behavior. Perhaps it was a recent development, caused by the situation she found herself experiencing within the last month. He was actually quite pleased to have broken the Redfield like that. It was a sign he could do so much more so long as he was patient.
"You're fine, Claire," the man said, showing her the clipboard. "No harm done to you on the island."
Claire rolled down her sleeves. "No physical harm," she added lowly.
"Rebecca always was the weakest of you S.T.A.R.S. members. I can't say I'm surprised she was the first one of you survivors to go. I'm sure Barry will be next."
"How dare you!" Claire yelled, jumping off the bed and grimacing at him. "You're such a bastard…"
"Is this any way to treat your already irritable personality?" the man asked, taking a stethoscopefrom the counter and walking back over to the girl. He reached in, attempting to press the metal amplifier against her chest.
Claire immediately balked back, slapping away his hand and shouting, "Don't even think about touching me!"
Wesker laughed beneath his breath. "I just want to check your heart rate, Claire," he said easily, attempting once more to press it against her chest. She allowed it this time, but instantly went stiff when the cold metal touched her exposed skin. "Take a deep breath," he said, and when she did so, he moved the amplifier, listening in another part of her chest.
"So?" Claire wondered when the man broke away. "What's the verdict?" She climbed back on the bed, feeling weak as she continued to stand.
"Your heart rate is fast," he told her. "You need to calm down."
"I'm calm!" she shouted. "I just can't relax when I have the image of murdering one of my best friends running through my head!"
"You hardly knew Rebecca," Wesker muttered in annoyance. "Your brother was far more close to her. You knew her for, what, a few months? Please, don't mock the dead."
Claire seethed loudly. "Get out of here," she hissed, pulling the sheets out from beneath her and climbing fully into bed. "I'm going to get my precious rest now."
Wesker placed the stethoscope down, but kept the clipboard as he walked out of the room. In the hallway, he noticed Steve had disappeared from the floor. He smirked, but distantly wondered where the boy had run off to. The kid was such a fucking pussy, he probably went down to the lobby to find Sherry and apologize. Wesker may have disapproved for the way Steve had attacked Sherry, but there was no need to apologize for it.
Fortunately, Wesker found the boy sitting in the waiting area, slumped over with a tissue pressed against his bloody nose. As soon as Steve caught Wesker's gaze, he perked up, instantly demanding, "How's Claire?"
Apparently the boy had calmed down. Wesker guessed he wasn't even going to mention their brief scuffle, either too embarrassed by the fact he had decidedly lost or just not wanting to relive it. He was obviously still pissed, though and from the stiff positioning of his back, Wesker could tell he was incredibly tense, trying to control his anger.
"She's fine," Wesker told him. "In fact, I just had my hand up her blouse a second ago."
Steve balked, and his anger instantly rose again. "Wait, what? You son of a—!"
"I was checking her heart rate," Wesker clarified, a malicious smirk forming on his lips.
Steve scowled, not amused by the joke. Or whatever it was supposed to be. "Fucker…" he muttered coldly, averting his gaze.
"As if I would actually be interested in a Redfield," the man scoffed.
The boy frowned, still not amused. "As if you would actually be interested in a female," he corrected, rolling his eyes in a huff.
Wesker looked at the boy curiously. "Now, why would you ever say a thing like that?" he asked.
"Well, there's your flaming homosexuality, for one," the boy spat, removing the tissue from under his nose. "Then, you trying to suck my blood like a fucking vampire. And, your obsession with things that used to belong to Birkin."
The man shook his head. "Please, Steven, don't embarrass yourself."
"Stop denying it!" Steve yelled, sincerely angry.
"I don't recall denying anything," he countered, taking a look at the clipboard he held. He still needed to make a note regarding Claire's heart rate.
"So, you're admitting it, then?"
Wesker sighed, annoyed. "Steven, please, I'm trying to concentrate," he said, jotting something down on the paper.
"No!" the boy yelled, knocking the clipboard out of the blonde's grip. "You're going to fucking answer me! I'm sick of your mind games! You've been doing this since the beginning, telling me that this disgusting virus in me makes me want to feel connected to other Tyrants! And, then, you go and say it makes me want to feel humanity! So, which is it, you stupid asshole?"
The blonde sighed, giving him a deadpanned look. He wasn't in the mood to fight the boy again. "Both, Steve," he answered, bending down to retrieve the clipboard. "Haven't you figured that out already?"
"Stop patronizing me!" he yelled.
Wesker set down his clipboard on an empty chair and approached Steve carefully. "If you want Claire so badly," he began, closing some space between them, "then why haven't you two fucked?"
Steve pushed the man away, uncomfortable by his close proximity. "Because it's what's best!" he explained angrily. "If Claire wants to wait, I'm going to respect that!"
"That's how it works, then? Claire tells you she wants to wait, and you obediently agree? How pathetic, Steven."
"Pathetic? Me? That's fucking genius, considering it's you who's been using Sherry to fill some stupid void in your heart regarding her father!"
Wesker paused, eyeing Steve carefully.
"You think I'm so stupid I can't figure it out?" the boy yelled. "It's been obvious since day one! You're so protective over her because she's your precious Birkin's daughter!"
"You have no idea what you're talking about, Steven," the man said calmly.
"Oh, really? Why else is she here, then? Umbrella doesn't want her! Not nearly as bad as you've been trying to make her believe!"
Wesker grabbed Steve's shirt collar. "Again: you have no idea what you're talking about. So, shut your fucking mouth before you regret everything you just said."
"Go ahead, continue to deny it!"
"And, you, Steven, can continue to deny what you so desperately want from Claire. So, go, Steve, go fulfill what you want from her. She's vulnerable, and you know she'll give you it." He released the boy, pushing him aside.
"You're a fucking fag!" Steve jeered loudly.
Wesker turned to face the boy one last time. "I'm leaving Claire here overnight," he said, his tone back to normal. "You're staying, too. I don't want you near Sherry right now."
"I don't even want to be around her! I'm going to find Claire!" the boy huffed, attempting to walk away.
Wesker grabbed the boy. "What is your problem, Steven?" he demanded. "Claire is not some saint who just dropped down from heaven! And, as far as I know, you have to be dead before you qualify for sainthood!"
"Is that a threat?" the boy spat, backing up. "Because if you even touch Claire—!"
"And, you have the right to touch Sherry?" the man countered. "Just go," he said, pushing past the boy. "Submit to Claire's pathetic humanity." And, with that, the man finally left.
xxxxx
Back at the house, Sherry was reading over the T-A.L.O.S. files one of the men had given her earlier. Wesker was busy making coffee in the kitchen, and while Sherry thought it actually did smell pretty damn good, she decided she was never going to start drinking it. It would've made her fall into the final stereotype of being a researcher, and she wasn't ready for that, at least not yet. She was currently reading about how the T-A.L.O.S. was controlled by a computer chip in its brain, and how a MRL would be attached to every model. She frowned at the image of that in her head, and she wondered why Umbrella stopped focusing on trying to develop Tyrants that could pass as humans and instead turned their attention to this. Maybe it had something to do with the Sergei guy, who was in charge of the project.
"So," Sherry began, calling out to Wesker in the kitchen, "Sergei was a Soviet military colonel, is that it?" Wesker appeared from the kitchen, holding two mugs. Sherry was about to protest, reaffirming her stance on coffee, but when the man set one of the mugs down and the girl saw it was tea, her expression softened. "You don't have to treat me like I'm dying," she said. "Steve didn't hurt me that bad."
"It's not that," Wesker assured her, taking a seat on the other couch. "I just find it is helpful to have caffeine when doing work. Tea has caffeine, too, Sherry."
Sherry looked at the man for a long moment, wondering whether he was lying, and this was actually supposed to be an act of generosity. She doubted it, though. Wesker may have protected her from Steve, but he wasn't ready to start showing all his emotions.
"Speaking of which," she then said, "when do you think Claire and Steve will come back to the house?"
"Once Steve learns to behave himself, I suppose," Wesker offered. "And, Claire… Well, she's irritable right now, but once she comes back, as long as she makes her bed and cleans up after herself, there shouldn't be a problem with her living here again."
"Except maybe the fact she's traumatized from murdering her friend…"
Wesker scoffed. "Claire and Rebecca barely knew each other. And, besides, Steve was right there when it happened, and he didn't try to stop Claire. They're both equally responsible."
"And, what about you?" Sherry wondered, pursing her lips.
"Well, believe it or not, I had no idea Rebecca was even on the island. Her death was not a part of my plans." He paused to take a sip of his coffee before adding, "Not that I regret it having happened."
Sherry's expression fell a bit. "So, the only reason you wanted Claire on Rockfort Island was so you could mess with her? Seems a little pointless to me."
"No, I had other plans," he admitted, "but there's no point in disclosing them, not when I could use them again." He gave a smirk, the kind that wasn't friendly and instead, full of calm malice.
"I can't believe Steve attacked me," Sherry then grumbled. "What an asshole."
"Steven needs to learn how to control himself as a Tyrant," the man deadpanned. "Unfortunately, for him, even when he was a human he had a lack of self-control. It's a shame."
"So… Getting back to Sergei…" Sherry then said, changing the subject back to her original inquiry.
The man paused for a moment, recalling Sherry's original question. "Yes," he said, "Sergei began working for Umbrella after the fall of the Soviet Union. Many of his concepts for projects come from his history there."
Sherry looked down at the file on her lap, trying to gather her thoughts again. "Still…" she debated, looking down at the file. "A MRL? Really?"
"Steven and I found the creature on Rockfort Island, and we fought her," Wesker told the girl. "It was quite strong, admittedly much stronger than any past creations of Umbrella, but the main problem I see is that if Steve and I chose, we could've just destroyed the computer, which would've promptly destroyed the Tyrant as well."
"Hmm," Sherry mused, picking up the mug Wesker gave her and stirring some of the tea around. "I guess they could do a better job hiding the stupid computer. But, I still don't get why Umbrella gave up on designing Tyrants as humans, like you… and Steve."
"Well, Sergei accomplished somewhat accomplished that with his Ivan models. I think there are some files on those somewhere." The man leaned forward, skimming through the files left on the table. When he found what he was looking for, he handed it over to Sherry. "Remember the Tyrant that attacked Ada Wong in Raccoon City? Mr. X, as it was codenamed?"
"Oh, yeah," Sherry said, looking at the picture attached to the file. The Ivan model sort of looked like Mr. X, but much more sophisticated. "Wait a minute. It says here that Ivan is a T-103 model, too. So, does that mean Sergei redesigned those models into these Ivan things?"
Wesker nodded. "Precisely," he said. "They could pass as human, but just barely. They couldn't exactly walk in a crowd on the street, for they would be too obvious, but alone, with just Sergei, they certainly appeared human. I fought one of those models on the night of the Spencer Mansion outbreak."
"Really? What was that like?"
"It was also quite strong, and I never managed to kill it, but it was a fast and a worthy opponent. The Ivan models still do not have the ability to talk, however, but they listened to Sergei and only Sergei, which was quite an achievement."
"So, tell me again how The Agency managed to achieve what Umbrella hasn't with humanoid Tyrants?"
"Your father is the one who gave me the virus I injected myself with," he reminded her. "It was a primitive form of the G-Virus, a strain that wouldn't cause mutation. It only worked so well on me because of my genetic makeup, but otherwise, any other individual who used it would have risked death."
"And, what about Steve?"
"Steven's genetic makeup also happened to be a good fit for the virus, specifically the T-Veronica. The virus didn't infect him per se, but rather, it complemented his cells and worked well with his body. We used the G-Virus strain to rejuvenate cellular function, which combined with the T-Veronica already running through his system and enabled him to come back from the dead."
"I think I get it now," Sherry said, nodding. "But… I also know that because my father infected me with his embryo in Raccoon City, I used to be a… uh…"
"A dormant host for the virus," Wesker clarified. "Don't worry, Sherry. When The Agency brought you here, we managed to disinfect those cells. There's nothing to worry about."
"I know, but… What if you hadn't? Would I have eventually mutated if I ever came in contact with the virus again?"
Wesker shrugged. "It's a possibility. William's genetic makeup obviously did not complement the G-Virus, which was why he mutated so badly. I would assume since you're his daughter that you would have had a similar reaction to the virus."
"Oh, gee," she griped, rubbing the back of her head. "So, whatever happened to the vaccine that Claire used on me anyway?"
"We have the Vaccine Synthesis," Wesker told her. "I'm sure Umbrella still has it, too. If anything were to happen to you or anyone else, we'd have the G-Vaccine."
"Well, that's good, I guess," she said, taking a sip of her tea.
xxxxx
Steve had been watching Claire sleep for a little over four hours. The doctors had moved the Redfield from her initial room, relocating her to a small, more secluded area of the hospital, to which Steve was grateful. It gave them more privacy, and there wasn't an obnoxious window on the wall, allowing anyone who wished to sneak a peek at the two of them. Not that anything interesting was going on anyway. Claire was still fast asleep, and while Steve couldn't blame her for being so extremely tired, he was still anxious for her to wake up. Part of him was just far too excited to tell her what he had managed to get Wesker to admit regarding Sherry and her father, and although Steve recognize that, yeah, it was a little pathetic, he still couldn't help feeling malicious enough to share with Claire. After all, Claire and him had far too many conversations regarding Wesker's motives when it came to Sherry. He was still beyond satisfied for having figured it out.
When Claire stirred in her sleep, Steve jumped a bit, watching in his seat as she turned over. She must have sensed his presence, because she opened her eyes, looking at him tiredly and managing a smile.
"Hey…" she said after a yawn. "God, what time is it?" she asked, sitting up carefully.
Steve glanced at the clock on the wall. "Just past midnight," he told her. "You slept almost all day. I was getting worried. I thought something was really wrong with you."
Claire managed to sit up completely, and she rubbed her eyes, blinking out the light coming from underneath the closed door. "Why did Wesker let me sleep so long? Am I staying in the hospital for the rest of the night?"
At the mention of Wesker's name, Steve stiffened a bit. "Yeah," he answered. "He wanted me to stay, too."
"Why?" Claire asked, adjusting the blanket. Apparently the doctors changed her into a hospital gown, and the flimsy blue and white thing instantly reminded her of when she was first taken to The Agency's facility. That seemed like such a long time ago…
"I kind of lost my temper earlier," he explained, "and I took it out on Sherry."
Claire gaped at him, thrown off by this. "Did you hurt her?" she wondered, furrowing her brow.
"Not… not too much…" he replied. "But, Wesker said he didn't want me near Sherry for the rest of the night." He broke into a smile for a moment, adding, "Pfft, as though that's a punishment! What an asshole!"
"Steve…" Claire whispered. "She's okay, right?"
"What? Yeah, yeah, she's fine. I just… I dunno, Claire. Sometimes the things she say really baffle me. I told her about you and Rebecca and how Wesker tricked you, and she didn't even seem to care. Now I know how you feel, when you look at her, and you start to see Wesker. She's becoming so much like him."
The Redfield pursed her lips. "I know," she said, nodding. "I'm sure her father would be proud."
"That's another thing," Steve began, and he couldn't help the brightening tone in his voice. "When Wesker and I were arguing about Sherry, I told him that he had no right to be protective of her, because she's not even his daughter."
"Well, Wesker knew Sherry's father," Claire supplied.
"Exactly," Steve admitted. "And, when I pointed that out, he was so furious! You should've seen him! And, when I accused of him of having a boner for his dead friend, he totally freaked, Claire. I think I hit the mark there."
Claire gave a thoughtful look. "What are you saying? Sherry's father and him had a thing going on?"
"Yeah, basically," he admitted with a shrug. "Isn't that weak, man? I mean, I always thought Wesker was a fag, and given all those weird things he's done, it always kind of added to the thought, but now, now that I know… Shit. I think it's hilarious. I wonder if Sherry knows."
Claire faltered for a moment. "She doesn't think highly of either of her parents… She probably never thought much of their marriage either…"
"William Birkin and Albert Wesker. Oh, what a hilarious love affair that must've been!"
Claire managed to smile. "I'm sure," she said. "I just… I have a hard time imagining Wesker with anyone. I wonder if they loved each other. That doesn't seem possible…"
Steve snorted. "Well, I'm sure Birkin was just as fucked up as Wesker, so they probably made a good pair."
"How's your wound, Steve?" Claire then asked, changing the subject completely.
"Huh? …Oh, it's fine, I guess," he said, rolling up his sleeve and taking a look at it. "I didn't need stitches, so it's good."
Claire reached out, stroking the white bandage. "I can't believe he made you fight that thing…"
"It wasn't that difficult," Steve replied. "I mean, even though it had a goddamn MRL. But, once it used up those missiles, we just shot at some gasoline tanks, and that pretty much killed her."
"I almost wish I could've been there with you," she admitted. "I mean, I know that sounds really weird, but… When they sent me back to the plane, I was just miserable. I didn't know what to do with myself." She continued to stroke the boy's wound, seeing some blood hit the surface of the material.
Steve exhaled. He enjoyed Claire's ministrations. They felt warm and comforting. It was only then that he realized he was actually quite cold. Claire noticed the sudden change in his body, goose bumps appearing on his arm, and she gently pushed down the bed rails, readjusting her blankets and scooting over.
"Join me?" she asked, smiling as she kept the sheets lifted for him to crawl under.
Steve smiled back, leaving his chair and climbing into the small hospital bed with Claire. It was cramped, and the mattress wasn't even that comfortable, but he enjoyed being so close to Claire. They had shared a bed before… but this was different. It seemed more personal, more intimate. And, when Claire set the blankets down, tucking Steve under with her, the boy felt his body temperature rise immediately, and he welcomed even more of the proximity when the girl leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She looked so frail in the hospital gown, her hair down and her body appearing much more thin and fragile. She almost looked… vulnerable.
'She's vulnerable, and you know she'll give you it.'
Steve narrowed his eyes, wondering whether or not Wesker's words were true. Back at Rockfort, she had practically begged, and while Steve was sincerely glad he talked her out of it, if he hadn't he could've gotten what he'd been wanting for so long. Instead, he said no, and he was proud that he managed to make that conscious decision. But, now, so close and warm next to him, Steve wasn't sure whether he could say no twice, and it was obvious from her quicken ministrations against his arm that she was pressing for something, trying to avoid the verbal invitation but emitting such an obvious hint.
"Claire…" Steve voiced, turning to face her. She gave him a particular look, one that read she didn't want him to say anything. But, he couldn't. This was too important. "Claire, we don't have anything," he told her, and it was instantly a repeat of Rockfort Island.
"I know that, Steve," she replied harshly. "But, I want this, Steve. I've been wanting it for so long, and just… I want you, Steve. You." She placed her hands onto his shoulders and leaned in, pushing their lips together in a heated, fast kiss.
Steve responded immediately, reaching out and steadying her when she deepened the kiss almost too enthusiastically. When he broke apart, he caught his breath, saying, "I don't want to take advantage of you, Claire."
"You're not," she quickly said, hope in her eyes when she realized he was giving in. "You're not, I promise you. I know what I'm saying, Steve, and I want this. So badly. Please."
It was happening fast and unexpectedly, but Steve couldn't say no any longer. He began kissing her again, pushing into her mouth hard and fast. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing into the boy. She felt so pathetic in her hospital gown in comparison to Steve's militia attire, but when the boy's hands began unfastening the back of the flimsy thing, she was almost grateful to be wearing it. The straps fell, revealing her shoulders and collarbone, and Steve leaned in, pressing his mouth against her warm skin.
Claire knew what he was thinking: she knew he was thinking about her humanity, her blood, her flesh. Somehow, though, it didn't matter. Because he was being passionate and quick, and she knew he wanted this just as much as she did. She kissed him harder, pulling up his shirt all the meanwhile and discarding the black material somewhere in the room. She was careful around his wound, briefly stroking it beneath the gauze, knowing he would appreciate the touch.
Now, she was kissing him again, pulling herself close to him and keeping herself locked beneath his body. She could already feel his arousal beneath his pants, and she moaned, opening her mouth enough to let his tongue slip in and tangle with her own. Everything about Steve was so warm, and she loved it. He was inexperienced and quiet—a reservation even she had her first time, the fear to make noise as though you were going to be caught—but he was eager, and it made his movements rough and fast. She was amazed at the way his hands slid under her hospital gown, massaging her breasts and pulling her closer by the waist. Claire helped pull the entire garment off, and she blushed furiously, realizing she was now completely nude. She reached out, helping Steve unfasten his belt and pull off his pants, sliding them down his hips and thighs. He managed to kick them off the rest of the way, removing his remaining undergarment as well.
Claire stared for a moment, not able to grasp the concept of them—the two of them, Claire and Steve—together in a fucking hospital room: nude and groping and kissing and grating against one another. Steve was hard, and she was wet, and the remaining worries she had about doing this without any protection left her mind. He would pull out before he came, and while there was still a risk, she couldn't get herself to care. She wanted this. She had wanted it for so long, and she spent so much time denying it, because she was scared, scared of both his infection and the fact she was so completely human in comparison to him. She was stroking him now, feeling his length between her hands and allowing him to moan softly, repeating her name like a hymn. Claire blushed, knowing it must have felt a million times better than his own hands, and while she was nervous and partially unsure, she felt his entire body stiffen, already so close to the edge, but holding back.
Claire squirmed beneath him, positioning her legs on either side of his body and resting her back against the pillows. He moved between her legs, leaning down and kissing her fully on the mouth before moving onward to her neck, her shoulder, her left nipple. Claire let out a stifled groan, keeping her arm extended and continuing to stroke the boy. Her fingers grazed the tip of his length, and he exhaled deeply, opening his eyes and staring into hers for a moment.
"Claire… I…" he murmured, pushing her legs apart and holding them in the crooks of his arms. "God, you're so beautiful," he decided to say, leaning in and kissing her again.
Claire moaned into the kiss, pushing him down in both the lip-lock and their continual grating. She guided the hardness between her palm closer to her body, squirming a bit more as she widen her legs. When she felt him thrust in, she gasped, releasing her hold on him and transferring her arm around his waist, pushing him inside her more. He was trying to be gentle, but Claire was getting impatient, and she plunged herself down, feeling Steve fully enter her.
"Oh, God… Steve…" she whispered, shutting her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder. "Oh, God, move, please."
Steve listened, beginning to thrust in and out of her body. His moves were uncertain, but Claire was pushing downward, helping to create a rhythm, and soon, Steve caught on, pushing in and out of the tightness that surrounded his length. Claire reached for one of Steve's loose hands, wrapping her fingers around his briefly before resting it on her breast. He squeezed it enthusiastically, concentrating on the warmthwithin her body. God, she was so wet, and it took very little to just easily glide inside her, thrusting in and thrusting out. In and out, in and out.
Claire felt herself let go, her completion washing over her swiftly. She lolled her head back, releasing his name from her mouth. Steve felt the girl's orgasm around him—so wet, so fucking wet and hot—and he grew weak. And, while he so desperately wanted to let himself go within her, he knew better, and he removed himself quickly, letting out his release on her leg, the fluid hot and sticky against her already damp skin.
Steve collapsed next to Claire, grabbing a tissue from the box next to the bed and quickly cleaning up the mess on her leg. God, the risk they had just taken was tremendous. He was hardly even worried about the other thing that could happen; he was far too concerned by the possible infection he just gave her. But, he refused to worry about that now, not when he was surrounded by the kind of afterglow that swept his body into a wonderful oblivion. It felt so good, so wonderful and whole. And, although he so desperately wanted to say more to her, particularly those three words that would have completed what just happened, he kept it in, because he knew she would be hesitant to respond, and he didn't need that, not when he was feeling so perfect.
It finally happened, and that was all that mattered.
End of Chapter Fourteen