The buttery amber sunshine of early morning filtered through the window and Claire awoke as the darkness behind her eyelids turned to dull red glow. Blinking, she stretched lazily. Outside the open window, the sun was a molten ball of gold, like something just pulled from a forge. The tiny slice of ocean visible from her position on the bed was dark and glittering, painted with a deep rosy glow where the sun set it on fire. Simple, childish joy filled Claire at the sight.
She felt Wesker shift slightly against her and she turned her gaze from the window, filled with a dreamy sense of awe as she studied the man facing her. Shifting her body slightly, she let the morning sunlight pour over him, careful to keep his eyes shaded, admiring the tiny sparks the light painted on his thick golden hair. Accustomed to either a smug smirk or a hard glare, she was struck by how relaxed Wesker looked.
Ah, so even super-glue can't stand up to everything, she thought gleefully, noticing that his perfect hair was a little tousled. Seeing Wesker in this rare moment of vulnerability, Claire felt as though she'd been gifted with a singular honor. Her eyes explored the sharp lines of his nose and chin, the faint lines appearing on his forehead and on either side of his mouth, so far the only clues that he was approaching middle age. Claire blushed violently, thinking about the large age difference between them, but she surprised herself by how much she didn't care. A tiny movement drew her gaze to Wesker's arm, the one still draped around her body. Lean but muscular, belying the superhuman strength she knew the man possessed. Reaching out, Claire gently touched the side of his face, still unable to believe that this was actually happening. Now that she knew the truth about Umbrella… about Wesker… it changed everything.
Claire started a little as Wesker's hand moved, closing around her inquisitive fingers. He inhaled deeply, stretching like a lazy cat. Fiery eyes blinked at her, pupils even more than narrow than usual in reaction to the light.
"Good morning," Claire said shyly, embarrassed to have been caught in her moment of curiosity, but Wesker didn't let her pull her hand back. He held on, running his thumb over the back of her knuckles. The arm around her body tightened a little, hand in the small of her back, drawing her a fraction of an inch closer. There was a generous, lazy smirk on his face. Usually it made him look arrogant and smug, but today his smile was laced with genuine warmth. "Beautiful," he agreed, deep voice almost a purr. If only by the smolder in his eyes, he wasn't talking about the sunrise.
Claire flushed straight down to her bare toes as Wesker brought her hand back to his face. "Please, continue," he urged,
Claire's burning cheeks went from pink to crimson, but she accepted the game and ran her fingers along his jaw, slowly moving to ruffle the hair at the back of his neck. Wesker closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of Claire's touch as she worked his shoulder in a shy one-handed massage, working out the tendons he'd unconsciously tightened upon waking. Unless he was the one to initiate it, Wesker disliked physical contact, but this was different. He'd never been touched like this before. Pleasantly. Lovingly.
"You weren't thinking about getting up at the crack of dawn, are you?" Claire asked, afraid of him leaving.
Wesker smiled. "I thought of it, but I think this is a much better use of my time."
Claire's heart quickened as his powerful arms suddenly went around her waist, pulling her close. She wasn't entirely sure how long they stayed that way, but the next thing she knew, water was running in the bathroom sink. Stretching luxuriously, Claire rolled into the soft depression Wesker had left in the mattress, savoring the above-average heat that seemed to cling to the sheets. Chris is going to kill me.
It was a sobering thought. Pulling herself up with a sigh, Claire went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. She felt different somehow, as though something had changed deep inside her. It was a weird feeling, and she couldn't really put a finger on it to explain it. Opening the fridge to look for the creamer – because she most certainly did not drink her coffee black, thanks very much – Claire almost had a panic attack before finding it behind the eggs. There was a moment when the entire universe seemed to wobble, and then she scrambling some eggs and flipping them into a skillet. While they cooked, Claire took a wicked-looking sushi knife out of the drawer and began to chop peppers, because for some reason for other, Wesker always had a stash of them around.
Loves peppers, hates olives, and drinks his coffee black. Oh, and he hides licorice in his desk. Claire paused in mid-chop. These were things you knew about friends and family. That strange feeling swept over her again, bringing with it the realization that she was standing barefoot in the kitchen making breakfast for a man who wasn't her brother. Her stomach tightened. She felt weird. Not sick, but weird. And very, very warm.
"Well, something certainly smells appetizing." Claire heard Wesker's boot scuff on the floor behind her and she straightened, feeling him looming over her. The powerful scent of soap and spices clouded her mind, blotting out the eggs cooking on the stove, as Wesker's hand settled above her hip, holding the curve of her waist. It's like it was made to fit. Oh, God, stop it. Get a grip!
Picking up the cutting board, Claire dumped the peppers over the eggs. She rocked back slightly – she couldn't help it – and leaned into Wesker's granite shoulder. His gloved hand rose, fingers curling through the end of her ponytail and tugging her head back so he could look her in the eyes.
"Yes?" Claire inquired mockingly.
Wesker smirked. "I'm a scientist first and foremost, dear heart. I like to experiment," he said.
"Naw. Really? What's on your color-coded little clipboard today?"
Something beeped softly over the sizzle of cooking eggs. Eyes smoldering with extreme annoyance, Wesker reached into his pocket and pulled out his PDA. Accessing something from a recently downloaded email, his expression immediately went from irritated to smug. Claire turned the scrambled eggs with a fork. "Good news?" she asked dryly, a little disappointed she wasn't going to figure out what Wesker's "experiment" was.
"Indeed. I've just received word that the first phase of T-Nightwish studies have been completed."
Claire was silent for a moment. "I, uh… I know you told Ada to show me that hospital in France. And I want you to know that I am grateful for it," she whispered, not meeting his gaze. "Really, I am. What you did for Beth…"
"What we did for her, dear heart," Wesker corrected, genuine praise giving way to a buttery smirk. "In fact, I'm expected to attend a conference with the project leaders tomorrow. Would you like to accompany me? The accomplishment half yours, after all."
Surprised, Claire turned around to stare. "Me? But I… I don't…" She thought about the last corporate function she'd attended on behalf of Umbrella. The mere thought of the accompanying politics and subtext made her guts squirm with horror. "Look, maybe you were too busy working the crowd to notice last time, but I don't have a clue about politics, or how to—"
Wesker chuckled, smoothly cutting her off. "Don't sell yourself short," he said. "Am I fully aware of what I subjected you to that night and you rose to the challenge admirably. When it comes to people I'm responsible for, I neither exaggerate nor underestimate their abilities. If I didn't think you could handle it, I wouldn't have offered it to you."
When it comes to people I'm responsible for…? For a minute, Claire's overactive imagination was only too happy to provide her with an image of Wesker dressed in a Kevlar vest and combat boots, a two-way police radio clipped to one shoulder. She didn't know if his choice of words was deliberate or not, but at this point she decided it didn't matter. Their implied meaning was the same.
"…Do I have to wear another fancy dress?" Claire asked suspiciously.
Wesker chuckled. "The conference will be over lunch, dear heart. You may wear whatever is comfortable."
An eager spark kindled in Claire's belly, but instead of trying to snuff it out, she timidly stoked the fire. A lunch conference! A lunch conference with Wesker, one of the most powerful men in the world. A buzzing filled Claire, as well as understanding. The idea actually excited her. And as she and Wesker ate their omelet over hot coffee and toast, Claire knew for certain that things would never be the same again. It frightened and intrigued her at the same time. It was like taking her motorcycle out for a drive and discovering a new road, a little-used, forgotten path leading deep into unfamiliar territory. One look and Claire knew the path would be rocky, laced with potholes and fallen branches waiting to get caught under her tires, but she settled in tight, gripped the accelerator, and gunned forward without looking back.
A notorious workaholic – especially of late – Wesker was typically one of the first people to enter the labs in the morning and one of the last to leave. Birkin had expected the man to be in ahead of him at five or six o'clock, so when ten o'clock finally rolled around and the man had yet to make his appearance, the geneticist was starting to get a little worried. By no means blind to the obvious psychical signs, he'd tried on numerous occasions to convince Wesker he needed to get some sleep, but the man had obstinately refused the advice. Birkin was afraid he'd finally crashed, or become ill with exhaustion. He was getting ready to go to Wesker's room and check up on him when the door opened with a bright chime and a rush of displaced air.
Right then, Birkin knew something was up.
Wesker didn't just look well rested. He was positively glowing. Eying his colleague, Birkin tried to remember the last time he'd seen that kind of spring in the man's step. The breakthrough with the Nightwish rose had come close, but this was different in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. Picking up a clipboard with the day's readouts on it, Wesker perused the entries. "Morning, Will," he acknowledged without looking up.
Birkin did a double take. Morning, Will? Yeah. Something was definitely up.
"I trust you've got the data I asked for?" Wesker asked, coming over to stand by him.
"What? Oh, yeah. Sure," Birkin handed him a folder. Within a few moments they were lost in their work, donning protective gloves and checking microscopes. Throughout the day, Wesker proceeded to terrorize interns like he usually did, but with a subtle, almost manic glee added on top of it. The man was enjoying himself, no doubt about that. When they broke for lunch, Birkin was giving his colleague a run-down on the finer data points streaming in from their Nightwish studies in France when he heard a startled oath, followed closely by a loud, dismaying splash. Birkin looked up from where he'd trying to open a bag of chips.
Wesker had gone out the door just as somebody had tried to hurry in. Birkin glanced at the crumpled Styrofoam cup in the man's hand and wondered where all the coffee had gone. One second later, he realized that a more fitting question would have been, where it wasn't. A large, vaguely Russia-shaped patch of coffee stained the front of Wesker's lab coat, turning it the color of fresh mud. It was also on the floor, and on the shirt of the man who'd plowed into him. There were even a few drops on the door, Birkin noted absently.
"Sir!" the man squawked, freezing up like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. He cast a dismayed glance at Wesker's front, then down to the floor where his newspaper was soaking up whatever amount of coffee that had failed to make it onto the chairman's expensive shoes. Blanching white, he grabbed a handful of napkins from a nearby kiosk and tried to scrub the coffee from Wesker's coat. "Chairman Wesker, I'm so, so sorry!"
Wesker's hand snaked out and caught the other man's wrist, who froze with an abject look of horror on his face. Birkin grimaced. He could almost hear the band tuning their instruments for a funeral dirge. "Enough," said Wesker, his voice clipped. "I'll take care of this. Watch where you're going next time."
The man's eyes bulged behind his coffee-splattered glasses. "Y… yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
"Good. Now if you would…?" Wesker gestured at the door the other man was currently blocking. To his credit, the young scientist got the message. He hastily moved past Wesker into the cafeteria, shooting nervous glancing over his shoulder as though he half-expected to be chased down and eviscerated. Birkin rounded on Wesker. The man's expression was a trifle sour as tossed his now-ruined coffee cup into the garbage, but there was no telltale glow behind his glasses to signify a potential nuclear meltdown. It was unprecedented. In Birkin's experience, Wesker typically would have throttled and then promptly demoted the skinny coffee-man for his error.
"Alright," Birkin exclaimed, as Wesker took off his lab coat. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with Albert?"
Wesker folded the coat over one arm, brushing at his shirt. It was only slightly damp. His coat had absorbed most of the beverage. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Will," he grumbled. "If you're going ask me something, then at least dignify it by making sense."
Birkin curbed the urge to pinch himself. "Okay, let me rephrase that: is there a third personality you haven't introduced me to yet? Am I talking to Alphonse now, the cheery, easygoing part of your little triad?"
Wesker favored him with a glare that could have curdled milk. "Is that supposed to be funny?" he demanded.
"No," said Birkin seriously. "I mean it, Al. What's gotten into you today?"
Wesker snorted and looked across the cafeteria, either searching for the errant coffee-man – maybe he'd decided to make an example of him after all – or wondering if another cup of coffee was worth the extra effort. "Nothing's "gotten into me". I'm simply in a rather good mood and since the event is rare enough in itself, I'm refusing to let mindless idiots spoil it for me," he said crisply.
"A good mood? You're practically skipping down the hall!" Birkin exclaimed, deciding to refill Wesker's coffee for him. Yes, he was being a little melodramatic, and no, it was not uncalled for. Wesker took the Styrofoam cup when it was offered to him, swirling the little plastic stick. "I take it WilPharma's still deciding on our latest offer?" he asked.
"Nice try, Al," said Birkin, easily picking up on Wesker's attempt to change the subject. Before he could press the matter, however, laughter filtered through the cafeteria, momentarily distracting him. He looked towards the buffet and saw his daughter doubled over against the counter, her face pink over some joke Claire had just told her. For some reason, the redhead seemed even more bubbly and animated than usual, at least since the incident down in the labs. Birkin smiled fondly. Due to her parent's demanding, cloistered lifestyle, Sherry had never really made friends, and it always made Birkin feel little guilty. He was glad that things were working out between the girls.
Out of the corner of his eye, Birkin noticed Wesker peering over his coffee. There was a smolder behind his glasses, a flare that was more gold than red, and Birkin had long since come to associate it with satisfaction or amusement, rather than anger. His eyes darted to Claire, then back to Wesker. Sure enough, the chairman was gazing in that direction and all the pieces suddenly fell into place. An unholy expression of glee spread across Birkin's face.
"Sooooo," he began conversationally, drawing the syllables out, "you've finally figured out you've got a beautiful women in your room, haven't you? Congrats, Al. You're a human male after all."
Wesker gaze knifed back to him so fast it was almost comical. "Come again?" he growled, his voice dangerously soft.
"Oh, come on. Give me a little credit. I've known you for over half my life!"
"Unfortunately," Wesker sniped.
Birkin chuckled manically. This was beyond priceless. Behold Wesker, Evil Overlord of Umbrella. See how frightening his mien, how murderous his gaze while he's admiring at the first woman Birkin had ever seen him take an interest in. Ever. Claire was obviously something very special indeed. As Wesker moved away, Birkin dogged his elbow, hounding him with risqué questions like the college boy he'd never really gotten to be. He realized the danger of stretching Wesker's patience, but he was having too good a time to give it up.
"Will, I'm going to say this only once," Wesker hissed, glowering at him. "Back off, or I swear I will drown you in the nearest percolator."
Birkin crowed with laughter. Evil Overlord, indeed.
Across the cafeteria, Claire looked up, searching the crowd. She'd thought for sure she'd heard Birkin laughing, but since she didn't see him, she had to assume she'd imagined it. She was still full from breakfast, but for the excuse of having something to do while Sherry ate, she got a yogurt and some juice. Sherry eagerly led her over to a table by the window so they could look out over the island. The day was cold, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sunlight felt warm against the glass. Peering around a fake begonia, Claire drank in the sight as if seeing it for the first time. Mont St. Michel was the seat of Umbrella's power, and she was one of the privileged few to be granted access to it.
It's beautiful, she thought simply, warmed by the thought.
Flopping into her seat, Sherry cracked the tab on a can of soda. "So, Claire, what do you want to do today? I've got a couple of movies for us to watch, or we can go swimming before they shut the pool down for the year," she said.
"Actually, I was thinking we could do some school," said Claire, turning her attention from the window.
"School?" Sherry echoed the word with the kind of dismay only students are capable of appreciating.
Yeah, school, thought Claire, smiling to herself. This morning, she'd made herself a promise. She wouldn't don a lab coat ever again until she'd earned the right to wear it. Magna cum laude. "Don't look so freaked out," she told Sherry, opening a straw. "It'll be fun. You're the Ivy League girl, remember? All you have to do is show me how to get signed up for classes. I want to learn how to belong around here like Wesker and your dad."
Sherry's eyes widened. "Wow, you… you really mean that? I thought you didn't approve."
"I changed my mind," said Claire, and she'd never been happier for it.
Sherry looked as though she couldn't have been happier if Claire had bestowed an entire fortune of gold and jewels on her. She practically bounced in her seat. "That's great, Claire! I'll be happy you help you get signed up! We can take the same classes and study together and… aren't you coming?"
Halfway across the cafeteria, Sherry realized that Claire hadn't moved to follow her. Claire stifled a laugh. "Geez, Sherry, I didn't mean right now! Chill out and eat," she jabbed at Sherry's tray with her fork. "Your pizza's getting cold."
Flushing a little, the younger girl slunk back to her seat. "Besides, you're going to have to tell me what kinds of jobs don't involve picking things apart with a scalpel," said Claire, grimacing a little. "And viruses… viruses are okay I guess, but I'm not majoring in them, that's for sure."
"Well, there's biochemistry, bioengineering, biogenetics…" Sherry listed a long catalog of possible career opportunities and Claire listened carefully to every one. Aside from a few specializations, skills were shared between jobs, so if you could do one, you could pretty much do them all. Claire thought about Wesker – and the lunch conference planned for tomorrow – and shivered with anticipation. Never one to do things half-assed, Claire decided that if she was going to dance with the Devil, then she was going to tango.
After lunch, Sherry propelled Claire out of the cafeteria so fast she left skid marks. Sitting at the younger girl's computer, they brought up the school's website and eagerly got to work. Claire couldn't quite tell who was more excited about this, her or Sherry. She shook her head and pulled up a chair, trying to remember her social security number. After everything was done, it was still too early for the spring semester and too late for the fall, so Claire resigned herself to wait. Already in the mood for this sort of thing, however, they spent the rest of the day hitting the books, quizzing each other on the chapter reviews. Thumbing through Sherry's heavy textbooks, Claire was afraid that this spur-of-the-moment enthusiasm had literally put her head in the guillotine, but the lessons – while undeniably difficult – remained inside the realm of what she could handle with a little hard work. Back home in Utah, she'd kept going to college because Chris had insisted upon it, but after Raccoon City her heart wasn't really into it. Today, however… today was different.
The fervor was hot and eager, hungry for knowledge and spoiling for a challenge. Claire suddenly had an inkling of how Wesker must feel all the time and she understood his dedication to Umbrella just a little bit more. Was she ready to commit her life to the same cause, the same all-consuming drive? Claire couldn't be sure of that yet, but she was more than ready to take the theory for a test drive. Umbrella wasn't just a company. It was a creed. Three years ago, Claire would have vomited at the very thought of joining the corporate empire, but things had changed. Under Spencer's direction, Umbrella was everything she hated and feared, the worst kind of ambition possible. It corrupted ideals and brought out the worst in men, but under Wesker, things were different. While he shared many of Spencer's goals, his motives were very different. At the end of the day, he still aspired to a kind of dark, fierce nobility: the benefit of all humanity. Claire was willing to see the difference and accept the similarities.
"Okay, Claire. What to you call either of the two main chambers in the human heart?" Sherry asked, peering over the book.
Blinking a little, Claire shook herself. "Ventricle," she replied without hesitation.
The day passed, slipping quickly into the next. Claire couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this jittery, like getting ready to walk the victory march at her high school graduation. Around noon, she showered and went to dig through her meager wardrobe. She picked a black pair of jeans with a red sequined butterfly on one hip and a deep, ruby-red satin blouse. She'd never worn it before now – it'd seemed too fancy, too sensual – but in her current mindset, it seemed appropriate. She dressed quickly and sprayed some perfume on her neck and wrists. After a long mental debate, she pulled out the high-heels she'd worn to Wesker's party and put those on, too.
Claire walked a couple laps around the room, trying to convince herself that she felt comfortable enough to go out into public without snapping an ankle. What am I doing? Seriously, this is crazy. I am really going to start introducing myself as Dr. Redfield to these people?
There was a knock at the door. As expected, Wesker was waiting for her on the other side, looking unspeakably fashionable and twice as smug in his black suit and navy-blue dress shirt. Claire fought hard to squash the sudden feeling of picked up for a date. He looks good in blue, she thought, ignoring the heat threatening to creep up her face. Wesker smirked at her, his gaze moving over her face, her throat, her breasts. Claire's flush deepened. The blouse (having been picked out by Ada, that sneaky bitch) didn't button all the way up and was only just high enough to remain professional.
"Shall we, dear heart?" Wesker asked, placing his hand in the small of her back.
Claire nodded and allowed herself to be steered her down the hall, blinking when Wesker handed her a grey manila folder marked with the Umbrella logo. "All of the data concerning the T-Nightwish serum is in there," he explained, guiding her up the stairs to the helipad. The sky was overcast and cold, the asphalt wet from a partial snowfall. "You may wish to have a look."
"What?" Claire inquired dryly. "No surprises? No last-minute unveilings?"
"You've stated your desire to go with me," said Wesker simply. "It would be irresponsible of me to keep you ignorant of the situation."
Everything felt like a strange reply of history as they climbed into the warm helicopter. Now that she wasn't sick with nerves like the last time, Claire took an opportunity to get a good look around. The helicopter looked vaguely military in design – maybe a converted Black Hawk, or a Chinook – its hard plastic benches and overhead racks replaced with deep, upholstered seats. A lot of it was trimmed in varnished wood. The pilot, a stern-faced man in his late forties, was probably ex-military as well. The protection Wesker afforded himself was subtle, but not altogether hidden.
Claire shook the thought away and made herself comfortable, opening the folder on her lap. The rotors picked up speed, going from a lazy throb to a deep, powerful whine. Claire didn't bother to watch the take-off out the window. She figured she had about ten minutes until they reached the mainland and she wanted as much time as possible to study the portfolio Wesker had given her. Flipping through the papers, she was engrossed by the sheer potential they claimed was possible. Beth had only been the beginning. There was talk of combining T-Nightwish essence with stem cells to make every dose tailor-made to the patient receiving it.
Claire asked Wesker a few questions and was surprised when he answered them in detail, obviously pleased she was taking an interest. By the time they reached Wesker's private hanger at Le Bourget Airfield, Claire felt (mostly) confident to hold her own in the upcoming meeting, so long as she wasn't pressed for too many details. She felt pretty sure that Wesker would steer most of the questions away from her, anyway. They disembarked from the helicopter as the valet brought Wesker's car around. The black Lamborghini Reventon was sleek, powerful, and put Ada's humble red Jaguar to shame. Claire stared open-mouthed at it for a minute or two, trying to comprehend the kind of money it took to own something like that.
"Not one for subtlety, are you?" she remarked when she found her voice (and whatever stupid remark presented itself first).
"Only when it suits me, dear heart," said Wesker, sliding into the driver's seat. Filled with a mixture of excitement and the nervous edge of being in way over her head, Claire got in beside him, breathing the scent of the car's interior. Shifting into reverse, Wesker executed a perfect three-point turn and departed the airfield, heading south for Paris. Along the side of the road and in the deep folds of the surrounding hills, there was snow. It was only a few inches, but it was enough to remind Claire that winter was definitely on its way. She'd been on Mont St. Michel for over three months. A queasy feeling arose in her stomach, but she pushed it back, unwilling to face the implications right now. After a while, she switched from watching the scenery to watching Wesker's hands on the steering wheel, both in perfect driving position. At a moment's notice, they could go from breaking bones to a seductive caress. Claire shivered lightly, trying not to think about how arousing it was to watch him drive.
I've lost my mind, haven't I? She glanced back at Wesker, remembered where they were going and why. Yeah. I have.
Some time later, they pulled into the parking lot of a luxury restaurant. Cutting the engine, Wesker pocketed his keys and came around to open Claire's door, much to her everlasting surprise. And embarrassment. Heat rose in her cheeks as she put her hand in Wesker's, allowing him to help her out of the car. Going inside the establishment, Claire looked around with undisguised interest as Wesker confirmed their reservation. The restaurant was decidedly Greek or Roman in design, with fluted Ionic columns, statues of beautiful bare-breasted women, and false ivy growing up the walls. Fire was burning in decorative terracotta basins scattered artfully around the room, casting wavering orange light over the dark brown carpet and pale, marble-topped tables. One whole wall was devoted to a grand fish tank. Myriads of colorful saltwater fish flickered in and out of a massive sunken city, conjuring visions of Atlantis. Bubbles streamed up from hidden vents, sticking to the plants like silver beads.
Claire was utterly delighted when they were seated right next to the aquarium. A tall woman was already seated there, waiting for them. She was lean and angular, almost stiff in bearing, but with a subtle elegance. Her hair was ash-blond, cropped fashionably short with bangs that swept across her forehead. Her eyes were bright green flecked with blue. Smiling, she stood up to shake Wesker's hand. "Chairman Wesker. It's always a pleasure," she said.
They exchanged pleasantries. The woman introduced herself to Claire as Dr. Fayth Beckett and the two women shook hands, smiling in that open, yet nervous manner of two people who don't know each other, but are willing to make the effort. As they sat down, Claire got the sudden, alarming flash that as much as this woman intimidated her, Fayth was probably feeling the exact same way about her. Feeling duplicitous, Claire shifted and nervously focused her attention on the aquarium, resolving to put her discomfort aside. After all, she wasn't entirely blind to how happy Wesker was now that she'd finally decided to join him in his empire building.
"Are you pleased with how things are going, Dr. Redfield?" Fayth asked, undisguised interest in her voice.
"…What? Oh, yes. Yes, I am. I can't tell you how amazed I am," said Claire, grimacing inwardly. This was going to take a lot of practice. She sat up straighter, ever fiber of her being trained on the conversation. The waiter dropped by with their menus and took their order for drinks. They were just perusing the first page of the menu when another man showed up at their table. He was short and well padded, with richly tanned skin and hair so dark the highlights almost looked blue. Wesker stood up to shake his hand.
"I am honored, Chairman Wesker," he said, his voice lilting with a recognizable Hindi accent. "I heard what happened in the labs and I was afraid that you'd be too busy to make it. "
"So was I," Wesker acknowledged, with the subtle tone of a man speaking with a co-conspirator. "Dr. Chandra, may I introduce Claire Redfield?" he added, sweeping his hand towards her.
Dr. Chandra shook her hand with a smile. "The Dr. Redfield." He whistled softly. "I've heard a lot about you."
Claire laughed nervously. "Well, don't believe everything you hear," she said.
Nobody seemed to notice how anxious she was and her poor stab at a joke was actually well received. Laughing, Dr. Chandra seated himself just as the waiter returned with their drinks. After the mandatory "How are you?" niceties were observed, the conversation swiftly turned to business. As Claire had suspected, she often wasn't directly included in the conversation and that was fine by her. Other people – like the well-respected doctor she was supposed to be – would have probably taken this as a snub, but Claire couldn't care less. Staying concealed in Wesker's shadow gave her more time to listen and observe, sensing the hidden meanings behind what was discussed out in the open.
"I'm amazed by Subject 19's recovery," said Dr. Beckett. "We've propelled ahead by leaps and bounds just from what we've learned from her and she was only our first clinical trial." She turned her attention to Claire. "She spoke very highly of your visit, Dr. Redfield," she told her.
Claire smiled, already having deduced who Dr. Beckett was referring to. They talked about Beth for a little while, with Claire mentally filing everything away for future use. By the time their lunch arrived, however, the conversation had slipped back into the more technical aspects of the T-Nightwish strain, giving Claire some time to enjoy her pasta. She took careful note of what Wesker ordered, finding it deeply ironic that she was more interested in what the man liked to eat as opposed to the discussion taking place around her. However, her ears perked up immediately when Dr. Chandra mentioned an alleged outbreak in Spain.
"I'm sure you've heard already, but there's reports," he paused, then lowered his voice slightly. "There are reports of an outbreak in the more rural areas. It resembles T-Virus infection: itching, fever, rotting sores, all of it culminating in violent behavior – that's what got my attention in the first place – but beyond that, I'm afraid it doesn't fit the pattern."
Explain," said Wesker, lowering his drink.
"The infected… well, they only attack outsiders. Knives, shovels, anything they can lay hands to. At least that's the rumor, anyway. It's hard to get a good picture of what's really going on. The villages are very remote and someone's actively working to cover up what does manage to leak, plus the local castellan is basically threatening to hang anybody caught trespassing on his land. I do know the villages burned down shortly afterwards, though."
Dr. Chandra eyed Wesker nervously. "Forgive me, but have you…?"
"No," Wesker growled, startling them with the ironclad vehemence in his tone. "If there are viruses changing hands on the black market, then they were purchased during Spencer's time, or else recovered from the destruction of Raccoon City. I have nothing, and will have nothing to do with it."
Dr. Chandra swallowed visibly. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't… I didn't mean to imply…"
"I know you didn't, doctor," Wesker replied, the warning in his voice poorly disguised. "But you needn't worry," he added. "I have someone working to uncover more information, I assure you."
"So you did hear," said Dr. Chandra, looking slightly put out.
"You'll find that very little escapes my attention," said Wesker placidly, returning to his steak. Releasing the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Claire picked up a glass of merlot and took her first sip of the evening. The conversation awkwardly crawled back more pertinent matters, with Dr. Chandra only too eager to change the subject.
"I was wondering, were you planning to breed large groups of Nightwish?" asked Dr. Beckett.
"Actually, Dr. Redfield and I would prefer their numbers be kept small and under specialized care at the island," said Wesker. Claire glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, noticing the faint smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. Of course. He doesn't want the secret about my blood getting out, Claire thought, realizing that while Wesker had answered everyone the table, the subtext was meant for her alone. It suddenly made her feel important, it made her feel trusted – like Wesker sincerely wanted her riding shotgun – and she smiled faintly, letting him know she'd gotten the message. She took another sip of wine, finally relaxing into her own skin.
"I heard you were working on combining the serum with stem cells, Dr. Beckett," she said politely. "Can you tell me anything about it?"
Beside her, Wesker's smile reached an entirely new level of smug.
The afternoon wore on and it was past dark by the time the meeting was called to an end. The parking lot was cold and nearly empty, suffused with light pouring out of the nearby restaurant. Fountains on either side of the entrance were now edged with bright orange flames, throbbing and crackling in the wind. Dozens of coins glittered at the bottom of the basin. Pulling her coat more tightly around her body, Claire took a minute to gaze out over the city and its multitude of bright lights. Across the street, a woman was trying to herd her young son out of a store, shouting in the nameless tongue of mothers.
"Chris! Christopher James Dominique! Get in the car right now!"
Claire stomach panged sharply. She tried again to brush it back, but this time the feeling wouldn't go.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" Wesker asked, coming up behind her.
She smiled wanly at him. "It was wonderful. Thank you." She hesitated a minute, than added, "So, how'd I do?"
"Better than you realize," he said, observing her carefully. There was a grim, calculating look in his eyes that Claire was certain she didn't like. "You know, dear heart…" he began quietly, as if he was reluctant to bring up whatever had suddenly come to mind. Behind his glasses, his gaze flicked to the mother and her son, now driving away in their warm car.
"You haven't spoken with your brother in quite some time," Wesker said, and it wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Claire swallowed hard. If nothing else, Wesker was an eerily perceptive bastard. She shifted her footing, the cold wind breezing across the exposed skin of her ankles. Damn skimpy high-heels. She hated feeling as though she'd abandoned Chris, because she hadn't. With everything that had been happening with Wesker, with all the truth she'd uncovered, her brother had just been… less important at the time. But she hadn't forgotten. Not entirely. She looked at Wesker, opened her mouth to speak, and realized that no words would come. The wind picked up in intensity, rustling the nearby trees.
"Would you like to go back?" Wesker asked bluntly. "I believe your condition has stabilized enough for that to be possible."
Claire instinctively froze. Was Wesker trying to get rid of her? No, that wasn't it. He was giving her a choice. She might have been a prisoner in the beginning, but those days were long gone. And while it was possible that Wesker had deliberately kept her from speaking with her brother, Claire suspected that he, too, had just pushed Chris aside as a secondary concern. That's just the ways things had happened and in retrospect Claire couldn't really say that she was surprised, or even angry. She swallowed a hard lump in her throat, struggling to find the right words. Chris was her family. Her only family. And he was probably so worried. The thought of going back made her sick for a dozen different reasons. But she couldn't imagine staying away, either.
"… I would," Claire whispered. "Like to go back, I mean."
A hard shadow fell across Wesker's face. "Of course," he said. "I'll have the necessary preparations made."
His tone was suddenly cold and unfeeling, but Claire knew better than to feel hurt. She'd seen the defense mechanism before, after all. Wesker's heart was bitter and carefully guarded. Any threat, any attempt to see past the armor he'd erected between himself at the rest of the world, and that cold demeanor would slide into place like a mask, guarding his true emotions. Wesker had used the tactic before, when he'd tossed her out of his room those many months ago. Better to pretend that you didn't care rather than admit that you were afraid. Claire stepped forward and caught Wesker's hand as he took out his keys.
"You didn't let me finish," she breathed, her breath fogging in the cold air. "Chris is my brother and I love him, but I love you, too. In a month or so, after Chris and I have squared things up, I want to come back to the island. I want to be a part of Umbrella."
Wesker could have been a statue for all he moved, his car keys dangling forgotten. Claire tensed as his other hand suddenly gripped her chin, making her jaw throb every time her heart pumped blood. She couldn't have turned away even if she'd wanted to. "No lies, Claire," Wesker growled. "Look me in the eyes right now and convince me that this is truly the way you want it."
Claire took a deep breath, her heart pumping a jittery cocktail of anxiety through her veins. "No lies," she admitted weakly. "I had Sherry sign me up for med-school and everything. I don't want to pretend to be Dr. Redfield. I want to do it for real, because I really think it's something worthwhile."
The pause that followed was heavier than Claire had ever experienced before. Suddenly, Wesker's lips were crushed against hers, hard and possessive, bruising her mouth with his sudden passion. Claire gasped, more out of surprise than pain, and forced her body to soften, one hand gripping the lapel of Wesker's heavy leather coat. Wesker pulled her forward, his impenetrable chest tight with manic fervor, so rare and so very dangerous, and somehow his leg found its way between hers. When Claire discovered that she was literally riding Wesker's thigh, she had a feeling that this kind of public display invited the attention of voyeurs, but she didn't care. It felt so good, so utterly right, and she opened her mouth willingly when Wesker demanded the intimacy.
The sweet sensation stole the cartilage out of her knees, forcing her to let her weight out on Wesker's shoulders, realizing he wanted this bond – and the trust it implied – as much as she did herself. He might be a powerful tyrant now, but Wesker was still a man, a man with feelings, emotions, and desires. Claire put one hand behind his neck, her mind wiped of all rational thought as Wesker tasted her bottom lip, inviting her to do the same. Snow was beginning to fall softly, gathering on Wesker's shoulders.
"Look," Wesker growled, his voice close and deep in her ear.
"Huh? At what?"
Wesker led her gaze to the window of his Lamborghini. The glass was dark, beaded with water, and Claire took a moment to study their reflection, marveling at how she seemed to fit so perfectly against Wesker's chest, her toes barely touching the ground as he supported most of her weight on his thigh. Behind his glasses, Wesker's eyes flared. "This is how it's meant to be, dear heart," he rumbled, gesturing to their combined reflection. "Together, we can write the history for this world."
Claire's heart jumped. Suddenly, she could see the ragged gap in Wesker's very soul and while she wasn't stupid or arrogant enough to believe that she could fix him, she resolved to at least soothe some of the pain. And Claire realized that there was a mirroring – if not so very terrible – hole in her own heart. Things hadn't been the same since Raccoon City. But now, some of that weight was beginning to lift and Claire knew why. For the first time since then, she really had hope. Hope for a better tomorrow, a chance to fix what had been broken, a chance to right the wrongs of the past. Maybe that's what this was all about. Redemption.
Wesker's hand moved to the back of her neck, fingers clamping down on her suddenly fragile spine. "But I need you to tell me," he rumbled, his voice pitched low and intense, heavy with questions both subtle and implied, "that you're certain this is what you want. I want your promise, Claire."
Claire lowered her head, hiding her face in the warm crook of Wesker's shoulder. Beneath his jacket, the man burned liked the surface of the sun: hot, molten, and filled with fire, able to either sustain life or burn it away at a whim. Claire's stomach flipped dangerously and she pressed even closer. "This is what I want," she whispered, answering him beyond a shred of doubt. "And I'm willing to take all the risks. I told you, this is worth it. And I'm coming back. I promise."
Wesker's face was impassive, eyes glowing behind his dark lenses, but he wrapped granite arms around her body, removing her need for a skeleton, for a spine. There were no cheap romantic promises, no profound words of love, and yet the silence was the most sincere thing Claire had ever heard in her life. All around them, the snow fell a little heavier, blowing on the wind in a cloud of white. She had no idea what she was going to say to Chris when she got back home, or how she planned to face her future with Wesker, but she was resolved to make it work one step at a time.
Like she'd said, it was worth it.
Howdy, y'all! Sorry for the long wait, but here's a special extra-long chapter for the New Year 2012, which also happens to be the Chinese Year of the Dragon! I'm sorry I haven't responded to a lot of your kind reviews. I didn't mean to be rude or inconsiderate, and I want you to know that I appreciate everything. THANK YOU! ^_^
Anyway, I apologize for taking so long, but this is all I've got for right now. I hope it's not too romantic or out-of-character. The holidays have been crazy (and wonderful!) and this is all I've managed to eek out of my muse, but the sluggish juices in my head are slowly beginning to churn again. I got both Resident Evil "Archive" art books for the Solstice and they've spurred my lazy ass to get creative again. They're an amazing source of RE inspiration! And while there's nothing earth shattering in them, they're chock full of details that either clarify some things for me, or put them in a new light.
For example, Wesker's character bio states, and I quote: "The turning point for Wesker came when he was dispatched to the Arklay Mountains. He planned to defy his secret orders to obliterate STARS and obtain combat data."
You hear that? It's called vindication for my AU!Wesker, bitches! LOL.
I'll start working on new chapters soon. As you can see, Claire's getting ready to go back to her brother. How is she going to explain that she's not only in love with Wesker of all people, but that he's really the good guy at heart, that the entire Arklay debacle was a tragedy rather than a betrayal? Heh, heh. Grab some popcorn, pull up a chair, and get ready for the show. Oh, and bring protective clothing 'cause it's all gonna hit the fan. There's something lurking in the shadows... something evil. Can you guys smell the foreshadowing? ;)
Love, Luck, Life and Light for 2012. I hope to be back soon! ^_^