Chapter 21: A Cottage in the Woods

Leon***************

"You not only left your team and Mr. Lewske without your commanding authority to see them home safely, but you also disobeyed direct orders, Mr. Kennedy!" His superior sat across from him, his pale green, watery eyes growing with fury by the second. His voice was a loud baritone that he projected as if he were addressing a new unit of fresh recruits who had just pissed him off for not tucking their sheets under their mattresses tight enough. "WHAT IN GOD'S NAME WERE YOU THINKING?!"

Leon, unbending as always, sat stalk straight, and with his full attention said, "Agent."

"Excuse me?" The man in the olive drab uniform squinted at Leon, his silver stars glistening just as much as the spit shined military issued shoes on his feet.

"Agent Kennedy, Sir." Leon knew he shouldn't; he was already in enough shit as it were. A beet red peeked out from the collar and tie of the man's uniform and rushed all the way up to his crew cut hair line.

"Who the hell—"

An older gentleman with dark brown hair flecked with silver at the sides lay his hand on the general's shoulder, easing him down from his simmering anger. "I think what the general mean's to say, Agent Kennedy, is why did you disobey direct orders and leave your assignment?"

Leon gave his attention to his director. There were three superiors in the room, all there to 'discuss' Leon's actions in Tanga, and decide his 'punishment'. One was General Anderson, in the middle sat the director of the agency Leon worked under, and on the other side of him, Chairwoman Dawson, who had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She gazed attentively at Leon, with a straight back, cat eyed, thick rimmed glasses, and a sharp nose.

The agent straightened in his chair, "I had intel on missing American citizens from the Terra Save camp in Tanzania."

"How did you come by this intel?" asked the Director. Leon noticed General Anderson settle back in his seat, bristles smoothed down and all.

"Sir, given my…background, and position, I have connections with the BSAA. One of the missing staff I know personally."

"So you knew one of the employees who was working at this camp at the time of the disappearances?" General Anderson asked.

"Yes, Sir. That would be correct."

"That's good and all, but it doesn't explain where you got said Intel to go off on a wild goose chase," the general pried even more.

"He's right, Agent Kennedy. Inform us of how you received your Intel," said the Director, folding his hands together on top of the slick surface of the table.

"Claire Redfield is—"

"Claire WHO?" the general interrupted.

"Claire Redfield," repeated Chairwoman Dawson, with a raspy foreign voice, "one of the few survivors of the Raccoon City outbreak, as well as the younger sister of one of the original seven members who erected the BSAA, Chris Redfield. She's a bit of a celebrity when it comes to discussing viral outbreaks. Like Agent Kennedy here." She gave a half smile at Leon, who returned his gratitude with a subtle nod.

The Director sighed, "General Anderson, perhaps Agent Kennedy's explanation would go more smoothly if we wait to question him afterwards." Leon eyed the general, who first opened his mouth but then closed it again. Leon surmised he and the director must have been close friends. Otherwise, a man like Anderson wouldn't back down when told what to do.

"Thank you, Director." Leon began. "As I was saying…Claire Redfield is the employee I know directly. When my team and I came on the desolation of the camp, which appeared disserted, we only found one survivor. A nurse by the name of Abena Rudo, native to Tanzania. As you all now know, Nurse Rudo is under quarantine as we speak."

General Anderson made to ask yet another question, yet subsided when the Director gave him a sideways glance.

"Nurse Rudo informed me that she'd seen Claire escape, and she was armed. Miss Redfield is a natural survivor. So I had no doubt that she had made it out of the situation alive. At the time I'd hit a dead end. I did all I could and contacted the BSAA over a possible viral outbreak. As well as her brother, who has his own connections and sent a team out to search for her." Leon reached for the Styrofoam cup in front of him and took a drink of ice cold water. After placing the cup back on the table he continued, "However, when I caught wind of the oncoming horde I thought that, given my past, I could lend a hand elsewhere. Claire hadn't been found yet either," he said somewhat to himself, "and after I assembled my team and Mr. Lewske, got them aboard the plane and to safety, I headed for Tanga."

"Are you meaning to tell us that you let your emotions get in the way of your duty and you went on some gut instinct to find this girl?" General Anderson piped up after Leon had finished.

"He's right, Leon." Said the Director informally, a result of being taken aback by his agent's actions. "That was unprofessional and you could have put not only your company, but yourself in danger."

"Call it more of an intuition," Leon Kennedy said, a little irritated. "And I'm not finished. After coming into contact with a few of the infected GEO's, I ran into two civis', or at least what I thought were regular civilians. A male and a female. The female lost her footing, and was about to be attacked when I shot down the GEO. Then she said my name," he chuckled to himself. "At first I didn't recognize who it was, but after the fact when she and her companion had escaped, and I decommissioned a giant B.O.W., I realized who it was. That 'gut instinct' led me to two survivors," he finished, quite pleased with making the mouthy general regret his outbursts and accusations.

"Why didn't you recognize her at first?" asked the chairwoman.

"It was dark," said Leon.

"What happened after that?" urged the Director.

"The BSAA showed up, and I rode with them to try and recover both Claire and her companion. But…" Leon trailed off. He was still beating himself up for not getting to Claire soon enough. Now she was still missing, and this time he had no leads. "But the trail went cold once again."

There was a few moments of silence before the Director spoke up, "Your efforts were admirable, Agent Kennedy. But it wouldn't bode well with me or anyone else in the agency to see one respected agent get away with disobeying orders. Therefore, I regret to inform you that we will have to implement some type of punishment."

Someone cleared their throat from behind Leon, he'd almost forgotten Agent Hunnigan was there as well. "Director, if I may?"

"What would you say, Agent Hunnigan?" asked the Director.

"Agent Kennedy isn't fully responsible for his actions," she began, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, tugging it down as if it were too short. Leon had to stifle a snort as he saw the skirt almost completely covered her knees.

"Oh?" the Director said, with a knowing look on his face.

"I urged Agent Kennedy on, and gave him the go-ahead to act on his Intel, no matter how intuitive it was. If I had reported the misconduct, then someone of higher authority could have stopped him from performing such reckless actions," Hunnigan finished, ceasing tugging on her skirt and folding her hands in her lap.

Leon felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach the moment she cleared her throat. The last thing he wanted Hunnigan to do was throw herself under the bus. Being responsible for his own screw ups was okay, but now she had to share that blame with him. Yet, by the look on the Directors face, something told Leon that they were already well aware of the role that Hunnigan had played in allowing Leon to slip into Tanga against orders.

"Then what you're trying to tell me is that you'll both have to face the consequences of this bad call?" the Director raised an eyebrow. Hunnigan gulped and nodded her head stiffly.

"Director, General Anderson," rasped Chairwoman Dawson, "Although what Agent Kennedy and Hunnigan did was reckless, their decision to investigate further did provide evidence that at least two of the Terra Save camp residents are still alive. And more importantly, they belong on our own soil."

"Are you suggesting a slap on the wrist?" spoke up General Anderson.

"Not necessarily, but there's no reason to strip them of their positions, as I'm sure Agent Hunnigan thinks is about to happen by the way she's glued to that seat, still as a wax sculpture," Hunnigan relaxed a fraction at that. "I suggest a temporary suspension."

Out of the corner of his eye Leon saw Hunnigan tense up all over again. If she fainted, he'd make sure to take a picture to tease her with later on. Anderson's mouth turned into a thin line and the Director looked between the both of them in thought.

"Very well," said the Director. "As long as the rest of the 'counsel' agrees," he gave Anderson that sideways glance again, who returned with a stiff, forced nod. "Then Agent Kennedy, Agent Hunnigan, you are suspended for six weeks taking effect immediately. Perhaps this time off will allow you the proper time to reflect on your actions. You are dismissed," he finished.

Leon stood and gave a respective salute, turned on his heels and headed toward the door. He heard Hunnigan shuffling behind him and she caught up with him out in the hall. A grin crept up on Leon's face, for he knew what was to come.

"Suspended! I can't believe you got me suspended, Leon Kennedy! This will be on my record forever," Hunnigan said, slinging her shoulder bag over her shoulder. She looked completely distraught.

"It's not too bad. I get to finish up my vacation time that was cut short in the first place, and you," Leon glanced over at her. "Well, you get to do whatever it is that you do on your time off."

Hunnigan gave him a look that could kill, "Not everyone takes their jobs so lightly, Mr. Kennedy."

"Again with the formalities. Would it hurt for you to call me just Leon every now and then?"

Huffing heavily as she readjusted her shoulder strap she said, "Well, 'just Leon' while this is all fun and games to you, I hope you know this will be on our records for a lifetime."

"Coffee?" Leon said, pretending to ignore her banter.

"Coffee? You are so inconsiderate, Mr. Kennedy!" They came to two glass double doors, where Leon courteously held the door open for Hunnigan; without her noticing of course in the state she was in.

"Yeah, Coffee. That bitter or sweat drink, depending on your preferences, that's full of caffeine? C'mon, Hunnigan. All work and no play makes you a dull girl."

Hunnigan's mouth gaped open and she gave a curt laugh, "Correct me if I'm wrong but your play seems to have gotten us both suspended for six weeks."

"So now you're placing all the blame on me. What happened to, 'I urged Kennedy on. I gave him the go-ahead to act on his Intel'?" He was pushing her buttons, and pushing Hunnigan's buttons was one of his favorite hobbies. She bristled at that, but seemed to not be able to come up with a rebuttal. "Relax, Hunnigan. I really do appreciate the save in there, even if I regret that you took some of the blame. So let me buy you a cup of coffee and we will call it even." She gave him a stern look. "Okay, okay, we'll call it a start."

Even Hunnigan couldn't hold that stern glare for long after all the effort Leon was putting in to make light of the situation. Soon they both cracked into a bit of shared laughter and walked over to Leon's car.

"Here, we'll carpool. I know a place," he opened the passenger side door for her. She climbed in with her bag, probably full of mountains of paperwork, on her lap. Leon got into the driver's side and started up the engine. "Tell me honestly," he said before backing out of the parking space, "Was it the abs or the back muscles on the vidcom that made you decide to help me get away with it in Tanga?"

Hunnigan then picked up her shoulder bag and whacked Leon with it, neither of them able to contain their laughter. It was clear between both of them, and had been for a long time, that they were nothing more than friends, nor would they ever be. So the two suspended agents made their way to the nearest local coffee shop to enjoy a brew together, making the beginning of a long, unexpected vacation bearable. Later, Leon would be able to relax at home. Once there he would contemplate his role in helping Chris find Claire during his six week long break. Now he had the freedom to follow his own orders.

Jill***************

Feigning in and out of delirium and consciousness, she could scarcely remember all of the tests being performed on her. BiPod had been running a series of experiments on Jill. Some she was more in reality for, some she was more out of it for. Whatever tranquilizers they had her on made it impossible for her to stay awake or aware for long.

It was tormenting to her. Not only was she having reoccurring nightmares of her healing process with Wesker and Tricell, but also of her time spent under the influence of the experimental subordination drugs Wesker had given her. Yet, in a way this was even more unbearable. At least the testing and her inability to wake up or scream from her nightmares was. Nothing would compare to what she was forced to do to innocent people against her will, all while being fully aware.

Now all she could do was lay strapped to her chair like a vegetable as they experimented on her. At one point, somehow Jill became conscious enough to gaze groggily over at her reflection in the two-way glass, and to her horror at first she though they'd inserted various tubes and IVs into her head. The cords jutted out in colorful reds, blues, greens and yellows, so many that she looked like she had some rainbow version of Medusa's snakes. But soon she realized with relief that they were only wires to get brain wave readings.

There was one thing she knew for certain however. They had taken a lot of blood from her, especially on that first day. As Carla had told her, they wanted her antibodies. For how much blood they took, Jill guessed that they were running experiments with it as well; most of them probably failing.

Jill didn't know how much time had passed, for time seemed to go by so slowly while under the influence of whatever drugs they were pumping her full of. However, one day they stopped administering the drugs into her drip, and she slowly became more aware each day until eventually, she received a surprise visit from her old friend.

Carla Radames slid through the electronically activated door and let it close behind her. To Jill, Carla looked the exact same as the first day she'd met her. Her hair lay flat against her face, her eyes cold and dark. She approached Jill with a clipboard tucked under her right arm, dressed in a long lab coat. Then she pulled a swivel chair over to her bedside and took out a pen, jotting down some kind of observation notes.

"H-how long?" Jill rasped, she felt as if she hadn't used her voice in ages. Her mouth was dry, the tongue almost getting caught to the roof.

"Hmm?" Carla hummed, not looking up from her clipboard.

"How long have I been sedated?" Jill tried again, her voice coming out more clearly.

"That's something you don't have the privilege of knowing," Carla said with a thin lipped smile. "But if you cooperate, I may tell you."

Though Jill's eyes were hazy, she still managed to send her coldest glare Carla's way. "What is it you want to know?"

"Just a few things I need to ask for your charts. After that, a few more personal questions," Carla said slyly. Jill wanted nothing more than to reach over and knock Carla in her plain face. Carla swiveled closer to Jill and crossed one leg over the other, her clip board resting on her thigh, positioned so Jill couldn't see. She glanced up at Jill from beneath a shroud of dirty blond hair, "Are you ready."

"Ready," Jill said tersely.

"Are you having any heart palpitations, murmurs, chest pain?"

"No," Jill stared dead ahead.

"How about nausea, vomiting, dizziness?" Jill shook her head and Carla checked off a few more boxes. It continued like that for a while until Carla got to the portion dealing with Jill's psychological state. "Are you feeling angry, restless, irritable…" she named off a few more things. Jill sat in her bed silent, and it wasn't until Carla looked up from her clipboard that she spoke.

"Undo these restraints and I'll show you how I'm feeling," Jill challenged.

Carla clicked her tongue as if to say 'tsk, tsk' and said, "Do you still wish to know how long you've been under our care or not?"

Jill was fuming mad. Also the simple fact that Carla had the audacity to call her mistreatment, 'care,' made her blood boil even more. But being well trained in controlling her emotions, she bit her lip and said nothing.

After going through a series of similar questions, Carla sat the clipboard aside and began checking some of Jill's vitals. She pulled the light down over the BSAA operative's eyes once again and peered in. After looking for quite some time, she pushed the arm away and jotted down a few more notes.

"Now comes time for the fun part," said Carla, standing from her stool with the clipboard tucked back under her arm. Jill eyed her curiously. "Now that we're aware that you know that we know about Albert Wesker's sudden escape from death. Tell me, how did you come to find out he was still alive?"

"You tell me first and then maybe I'll tell you," Jill shot back.

Carla went to shake her finger in front of Jill's face but she was stopped when a deep, rough voice came over the intercom. "Tell her."

Carla hesitated, but she was obviously being advised by a superior. Jill felt triumphant, despite the phantom voice of the stranger on the other side of the glass. "We planted a mole at the Terra Save camp in Tanzania. Apparently one of the locals found him close to Mt. Kilimanjaro and the workers collected his body. Long story short, the head doctor explained the situation to us, and through the mole we found out exactly who this mysterious Jon Doe was." Carla finished, and looked towards the glass for approval. There was no response over the intercom. "Now, answer my question."

"I said I might tell you, not that I would."

Carla sneered, curling her lip up in disgust. "You will tell us," she went to Jill's bed side and leaned over her, "or you can continue to spend the rest of your life in and out of sedation."

"Go to hell, Carla."

"Carla," came the mystery voice once again.

Carla stood up straight and backed away from Jill, "Sir?"

"Administer the sedative. Perhaps in a week's time Miss Valentine will be willing to give us some answers."

With, what Jill could call, an evil grin on her face, Carla pulled out a syringe and jabbed it into the feed line of Jill's IV. Jill eyed the contents in horror as they faded away into the clear liquid. She told herself that she wouldn't break for the sake of Claire. If this company got their hands on Claire too, she could never forgive herself.

"Sleep tight," Carla hissed before exiting the room. Jill kept her eyes open for as long as she could, but the sedative powers took her as easily and quickly as they had before.

Claire***************

Claire opened her eyes lazily. Looking down and seeing an IV line running from her arm and up to a drip confused her at first, but then she realized that she and Wesker must have made it to the lab, just like he'd promised. The suit jacket had been removed and now her arms were bare in the sleeveless blouse underneath. Other than that, Claire was still in the same clothes she'd been in when they climbed down the Queen Bee and walked towards the chopper—unlike the last time when she woke to find herself naked in a grass hut. The latter part she didn't remember quite so clearly. All she knew was that one minute she felt heavy, and the next she became light as a feather.

Yawning, she turned over to get a look at the room she was in. It was a typical lab with beakers pipettes, flasks, a white and black microscope; and there was Wesker, in a long white lab coat with his back turned, pouring a blue chemical down the wall of a glass beaker where it met with the green chemical within. Déjà vu at its finest. Except this is a HD remake, Claire thought as Wesker continued to work with his back still turned to her. Surprisingly he didn't seem to realize she was awake. His hair was gelled back in its usual style, and Claire could see smooth skin covering his hard jaw. Wesker was immaculate compared to how rough both of them had started to look with their lack of supplies.

Embarrassed over herself for staring for too long Claire said, "How's that cure coming?"

Wesker stiffened, his breath catching in his chest. Clearly startled, which caused Claire to snicker, Wesker turned to her. On his face rested a dark pair of sunglasses Claire could see her own reflection in. They weren't the same one's he'd picked up off of the body in Africa. The sunglasses shaded any other expression.

"Awake already?" he asked, coming towards her with blue gloves on, gently swirling an orange liquid around in a test tube.

"Already? I feel like I've been asleep for days," she sat up in what looked like a regular hospital bed, and rolled her neck, stretching the stiff muscles. Wesker had pushed the bed smack dab in the middle of the lab, she presumed so that he could keep a close eye on her.

"Approximately sixteen hours," he placed the tube down in a containment tray.

"Could you take this out?" Claire asked sheepishly while gently moving the IV cord away from her so it wouldn't get tangled on anything. Sixteen hours was far better than being out for almost a full week.

"Certainly," Wesker said. Sticking a forefinger under the inside wrist part of his glove, Wesker slid it up and inside out before pulling off the other glove, where it disappeared within the first. He then disposed of them in a waste basket before coming over to Claire to remove the IV.

As soon as Wesker went to work on the needle, Claire turned her head away and clinched her eyes shut. "You've seen far worse than this, dear heart," he said trying to soothe her discomfort. By now she was becoming used to her little nick name being slipped in here and there. That didn't mean she liked it any more than before, though.

"I just can't stand to see it come out. Knowing that tiny piece of sharp metal was just chilling out in my vein…"she shivered as he closed her arm around a piece of gauze, "It just bothers me."

"It's over already. If I had a roll of stickers I'd let you have your choice," he mocked.

"Oh, Ha-Ha." Claire looked down to see a piece of tape had already been secured over top of the gauze. "Thanks anyway, Dr. Wesker," she kidded back.

"Oh how I miss the old names," he said with a smile that may as well have not been there.

"So now you're making Satan references?"

"Why not," he said in dark humor, tossing the needle end into a red biohazard containment bin. "You're welcome to move about freely. Perhaps a change of clothes would suit you. There are some things the caretaker delivered upstairs in the bedroom. But first," Claire heard his foot press down on a pedal near the floor and suddenly her bed began to rise, "I need to check your vitals. Sit."

"Uh, okay." Claire said, sliding to the edge of the bed with her legs dangling over as Wesker went to retrieve something. He came back with a stethoscope, otoscope, a disposable thermometer and a blood pressure meter. This was starting to look like any regular check up at the doctor's office, except Wesker wasn't any regular doctor. Claire was continually reminded about how weird things had been lately.

Pulling out an extension from the bed Wesker said, "Place your arm up here." Claire did as she was told as she found herself at eye level with Wesker. "Don't make a fist," he commanded. She quickly released the hand she'd balled up out of nervousness. Claire couldn't help but notice how uncomfortably close Wesker was to her as he pumped the pulse meter until the cuff clinched at her arm like a boa constrictor. The scent of him wafted into her nose, and she involuntarily took in a deep breath of the spicy, clean fragrances. She then tried to let it out as slowly as possibly so that Wesker wouldn't notice, well think, she was sniffing him. Instead Claire accidentally held her breath. After a few moments he released the nob and Claire felt relief in her arm and lungs as she let out the breath she was holding.

"Is something the matter?" Wesker asked, tossing the blood pressure meter to the side. Shit, of course he noticed you holding your breath. He probably thinks you think he stinks or something, Claire, you dummy. Nothing could be worse than being caught inhaling someone's scent like some creep. "Because your heart rate is markedly fast."

"Oh," Claire said with a bit of surprise. "N-no," was all she could say as she tried to hide the color rising in her cheeks. No, Wesker, you just tend to make people nervous. What is he doing to me? Claire wondered, shifting uncomfortably. You could always blush some more for him, said Sensible Claire mockingly. Claire was quite fed up with the frequency in which she'd been blushing around him recently.

Wesker brought a hand up and slid the shades from his eyes. He leaned over to place them on the bed beside Claire, leaving only a few inches between them, his scent filling her nostrils once again. This time she controlled her inhalation. What Claire saw when he looked up made her gasp.

"They're back to normal," she said, noticing his eyes were blue once again, the red and gold gone completely.

"It would appear so," said Wesker who picked up the otoscope.

"So…the virus?" she asked, preparing to rejoice internally.

"Is still present. I just seem to be able to, let's say, turn it off and on this time around," Wesker informed her, relishing the disappointment he saw on her face. Claire had hoped that the virus had failed. Expecting things to go easy for herself wasn't exactly something she believed in anymore.

The eye and throat microscope moved first to her right eye and then crossed to her left. Then Wesker moved closer. So close that Claire's knees pressed into him as he held her eye open with his thumb on her cheek bone. Claire bit her lip at the contact, relieved that he didn't have the blood pressure cuff on her arm anymore.

"It's a bit crowded in here, huh?" said Claire, trying to ease the tension she was feeling.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" he nearly purred with that indefinable accent of his, moving to the other eye, but not putting any distance between them.

"A little," she admitted out loud, immediately regretting it. But Wesker gave no apparent response other than a thoughtful glance into her eyes before he placed the otoscope to the side and moved on to his next instrument. What Claire didn't know was that behind that stoic visage Wesker was calculating, scheming away on the game he intended to play with her.

Freezing her bare skin where the blouse failed to cover, the stethoscope rested on her back like a cold kiss. "Deep breath," Wesker nearly whispered into her ear as his hand slid to her shoulder. She felt a weird tingling sensation as goose flesh pricked up on the back of her neck. Clearly seeing the effect his subtle attempts had on her, Wesker didn't bother to hide his smirk from behind her. "Good, girl," he continued with his game, Claire oblivious. ''Now breath normally."

Not knowing if she could, Claire tried to steady her breathing so that it didn't come out shaky. It wasn't a completely botched job. Still, Claire sighed with relief when Wesker pulled away after giving a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. The warmth from where his hand rested slowly faded away as if it had never been there, and Claire allowed herself to slump after realizing how tense she'd been.

"Use the thermometer and I'll take a blood sample. Then you're free to go," Wesker went to retrieve the items needed to draw her blood. Cringing at the thought, Claire pulled the disposable thermometer packaging apart and placed it in her mouth under her tongue.

With items in hand Wesker returned, secured the tourniquet, slid the needle into the disinfected vein of her casted arm, and began filling the first tube with dark crimson liquid. She immediately turned away and clenched her fist lightly.

"Any chance this can come off soon?" said Claire, her voice like gravel, nodding towards the tattered makeshift cast on her wrist. It was starting to look absolutely disgusting. Claire recalled one time when Chris had a broken arm. He'd made her smell his cast and she almost vomited in his face from the stench. She wondered if her cast would smell as bad if she got close enough to it and took a big whiff.

"We'll perform an x-ray later. I haven't had time with the matter of creating a stronger suppressant at hand," he said, unplugging the first tube and sliding a second into place where it began to fill as well.

"That's okay," she said not wanting to be a burden. "It's just starting to itch a little."

"As should be expected," said Wesker, finishing up, replicating the gauze and tape from her other arm. "Open," he said, slipping the thermometer from her mouth. "You're free to go," he turned and placed the two vials of blood in next to the orange liquid that was now a dark shade of yellow.

Claire slid to her feet, happy to get some distance between them. Looking around she spotted a flight of stairs and headed towards them, bare feet padding on the cold linoleum floor. Yet before she could go up Wesker stopped her once more.

"Oh, and in a few hours' time, come back down. Your last injection was nearly ten hours ago. I'll need to administer them regularly to assure you remain stabilized. I'll be here if you need anything," he dismissed her and he turned, busying himself with the beaker he'd been working on earlier.

"Okay," Claire said and went up the stairs two steps at a time. She was eager to get away, confused over how peculiar she'd just felt as Wesker performed those simple vital checks on her. Wandering around and getting to know the place she'd probably be spending quite some time in was an excellent distraction from everything else that had been going on.

When she reached the top of the stairs she twisted the handle and pushed the door open, finding herself in a small hallway going left and right. She looked right and saw a door that looked like it led into a bedroom. Her feet carried her towards the open door and she stepped inside to a richly decorated master bed and bathroom.

The carpeting was a cream color, a royal blue damask rug with other intricate designs lay at the foot of a king sized bed. On the bed rested a pile of neatly assorted decorative pillows, reaching midway up the dark mahogany headboard, and to her delight, a stack of clothes, and a back of various undergarments. The comforter, the same shade of royal as the rug, lay richly over the mattress, hanging down to the skirt where ivory peaked through, as well as at the top where the sheets were folded over.

Stepping in further she observed an enlarged photograph on one of the walls. She peered at it for a moment before realizing that it was a blue stained slide under magnification of cells dividing, the center of the cells an odd irregular black pair of nuclei. Claire read the golden plaque stamped beneath the photo, T-Virus Cell Division 1995. Claire shivered in recognition and turned away towards the window.

With the curtains drawn on either side she took her first look outside the area. The view was breathtaking. Not far down through a grove of tall pine trees was a lake that glistened under the glare of an autumn sun. She found herself wondering if Wesker would mind if she took a stroll around the grounds. First she needed a shower and a change of clothes. Then she would decide whether she would ask him or just go. He had said she was free to go. Those were his words.

So Claire turned on her heels, went to the pile of clothes neatly folded at the foot of the bed, fished out a pair of dark jeans, a grey shirt and a faux maroon leather jacket, which she immediately took a liking to, and grabbed the bag of underwear before disappeared into the master bathroom that was equally as richly decorated, locking the door behind her. She undressed hurriedly, excited to get the gunk off of her, get into a change of clothes she was partial to, and explore outside. By myself might I add? Before hoping in the shower with the pebbled floor, she couldn't fight the urge to sniff her cast. When she did Claire immediately held her arm away from her like an old pair of Chris's dirty underwear and heaved out the foul smell. It wasn't that bad, but smelling it up close would turn anyone's stomach.

You could always go inhale him again, teased that obnoxious part of her.

"Oh, shut up, you," she said before climbing into a nice warm shower and washing the dirt away. When she was finished she quickly dressed, brushed her teeth and hair, securing it in a ponytail, and went on the search for some shoes. Inside the closet that she'd passed on her way there was a pair of boots and a pair of sneakers inside that were her size. She was surprised to see how much out of his way Wesker had gone to assure that she had some clothes to change in to. She would have to thank him. If she ever met the caretaker, she would have to thank him or her too.

Claire slid on the boots, and without a second glance, nearly skipped passed the lab basement door, through the kitchen and out the back door. It was certainly much colder there than in Tanzania, and Claire relished the cool autumn breeze as it glided through her hair. Breathing in the air she headed toward the premade path down to the lake. The trees shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun and in no time she reached the edge of the lake. Glancing around there were no other houses surrounding the lake like the resort she and Chris sometimes went to during the summer when they could both get some time off.

It was quiet and tranquil, beautiful and lonely at the same time. Claire wished she could be there with anyone else. Chris or Jill, or someone else she cared about, like Leon. Unfortunately she was there with Albert Wesker, and that realization somehow took some of the elated feeling she'd had about the place out of it. Yet, maybe it wasn't so bad. Despite their differences, Wesker had proven to be a gentleman. Before he had only ever seemed crazy and evil to Claire. Now he had shown her a different side to himself. A calm, collected, intelligent man reminiscent of who he was while captaining the S.T.A.R.S. A man that was willing to tolerate her hateful instigations all for the sake of keeping her and himself calm enough to not lose control to their viruses.

Claire huffed her bangs out of her eyes and cleared away some dried leaves and pine needles with the tip of her boot, making a spot to sit in the dirt. She sat down with her legs crisscrossed, her hands in her jacket pockets, staring out over the gently billowing waters. Claire supposed she could no longer deny that her behavior had become odd when she was around him. First the run in at the bathroom door in the yacht where she averted her eyes like an embarrassed school girl. Then what had happened only a while ago. She felt the ghost of his warm hand on her shoulder, and rolled her shoulders back to rid herself of the sensation. Only, Claire was well aware that at the time, she wanted to lean in to that touch a little more.

What is wrong with me, she mused. I've had my crushes but this is ridiculous. Wesker is Wesker and I'm a Redfield, nothing about that combination could ever have a good outcome. She refused to believe that she was into him. He is the only human being you've been around for weeks. Maybe you just long for some kind of human contact and your hormones are all out of whack because Wesker is the only person around to feed that longing. That was a reasonable assumption. Claire didn't have to be around someone all the time, but having a connection with the people she cared about was important to her mental state. She'd been through enough to last anyone one hundred life times. Knowing that there were still good people in the world that she could rely on and care about made all the difference when her head hit the pillow at night. And Wesker had been mostly kind to her. He was very patient as well, for the most part. He was currently working on a cure for her. Even if he wanted something in return, Wesker was helping her, and she knew it took a lot because of who she was to Chris. So could she really blame herself for developing a fondness towards him? Anyone would think it was natural.

These mixed feeling about him were making her frustrated and confused. Part of her wanted to hate him, to get as far away as possible. Yet another part of her, to Claire's discomfort, wanted to get closer to him, to develop their connection further. That's why she needed to muse over those feelings rationally. It was good medicine. Rationalizing such a bizarre notion was the only logical thing to do when her feeling were clouding her judgement. All Claire knew was, that it felt damn good to do some soul searching and get some of it off of her chest.

After sitting in silence for a while longer with the birds chirping merrily in the trees overhead, Claire climbed back to her feet and trekked around the lake, strolling at her own pace. The woods seemed to go on for forever, and she decided that it would be a bad idea to wander off into them too far, especially if it was nearing dark. Other than the woods and the lake there was a single blacktopped drive leading to a dirt road a few miles off. At one point Claire slid in a patch of wet earth, and cursed when she looked down and saw the mud that covered her new boot. With that she decided it was time to head back to the cottage.

When she reached the cottage she beat the boot against the edge of a stepping stone to get rid of the excess mud before heading inside in her socks. Deciding she was both hungry and thirsty from the hike she rummaged around in the pantry, where her eyes lit up upon seeing all the food. She took a look in the fridge, saw sandwich meat and decided that and a bag of potato chips was her poison. After making her sandwich and getting a glass of ice water, Claire ventured into the sitting room. Curious, she spied another door on the opposite side of the sitting room and went towards it.

It opened up to a rustic den with a tan suede cloth sectional that wrapped around, with an animal pelted rug underneath a glass coffee table held together by mismatched but sturdy, stained limbs. There was a fireplace on the opposite wall and, thank sweet baby Jesus, a TV mounted on the other wall. Claire plopped down on the sofa, delightfully sinking into it, and flicked on the television while chowing down on her sandwich.

Wesker***************

Just as Wesker had finished preparing his own serum, PG67, the centrifuge beeped to a stop. Wesker pressed the syringe into his arm and with a hiss the solution entered his bloodstream. Tossing the empty cartridge into the biohazard bin, Wesker rose and went to the centrifuge to collect Claire's separated blood sample. One he kept with its components intact in the freezer, the other he separated for testing's sake. With the sample from the centrifuge in hand Wesker retrieved the one from the freezer as well and made his way to the microscope.

First he would look at the untampered with sample, seeing what he could observe. Grabbing a pipette, Wesker unscrewed the whole blood sample and squeezed the end of the pipe, sucking in a bit of the dark red liquid. Carefully he put some onto a slide and placed a cover on it before clipping it down on the black stage. With the microscope set to the weakest magnification, with the flick of a switch the slide was illuminated. Removing his sunglasses, Wesker peered in, increasing the magnification and adjusting both knobs to the correct degrees.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but soon the familiar image of blood cells came into his vision. Wesker studied them, with his eyes glued to the specimen. And with a grin on his face he pulled back, a deep laugh resounding in his throat.

"My, my, Miss Redfield. Aren't we full of surprises?"

Claire***************

When Claire was finished with her meal, which was more than satisfying considering she hadn't had much of anything filling to eat in weeks, she placed her empty glass down onto the round table beside the couch. She gasped when she accidentally knocked over a picture frame she hadn't noticed. It fell to the ground with a thud facing upside down. Claire leaned over the arm of the chair, stretching out her fingers and picked it up by the arm. Flipping it over, because she was more than curious to see what Wesker had a framed picture of in his den—hoping it wasn't something creepy like the enlarged slide in the bedroom—her eyes fell upon the face of a dark haired beauty with steel colored eyes. She stared at the woman staring at her, her head slightly turned so that she was looking over her shoulder. Claire couldn't help but wonder who the woman was and why Wesker had a picture of her in his cottage. At first she thought that maybe it was one of those photos that sometimes came with a frame when you bought it. But there were no dimensions or brands printed on the photo and it looked authentic, personal even, the hint of a smile on her face not faux at all.

She stood up, as if staring at the picture at a different angle would help answer some of the mystery behind it. However, it didn't, and when Wesker walked in she didn't hear his muffled footsteps on the thick carpet.

"Making yourself comfortable?" he said, interrupting her thoughts. Claire jumped and yelped, jerking her head around to see Wesker smirking as if he were proud of himself. The lab coat had been removed and he wore jeans and a black long sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows. Claire was probably one of the few human beings that had seen Wesker dress so casually. She looked around at the empty glass, her jacket draped over the arm of the chair and the TV playing a commercial.

"Yeah, sorry. You told me to wander around a little so I went for a walk and then I got hungry. When I saw the TV I couldn't resist," she finished with a coy smile. The smirk that had once plastered Wesker's face was now gone however, and she followed his eyes to the frame she held in her hand. "Oh, I accidentally knocked this over. Who is she, by the way?"

Wesker took a few steps forward and took the picture from Claire's hands. "No one of importance," he said, opening the drawer of the end table it had been on and placing it inside. Closing it he said, "I expected you in the lab a while ago."

"Oh, yeah," she drawled the last part. "I'm so sorry, Wesker. I kind of got side tracked and forgot. This place is really nice, it's easy to get lost."

"No matter," in his hand was a weird looking syringe. "I've brought the solution. Sit," he motioned for her to sit by him. She did and he positioned himself so that he was in between her and the end table. Claire couldn't help but think he was trying to keep her prying eyes away from the photograph. No one could be sure what Albert Wesker was really thinking, but she had a good feeling he didn't want her to ask questions about the woman.

Wesker turned over Claire's arm gingerly so that her wrist was facing upwards. Removing the cap from a circular end where typically a needle would be found, Claire saw something with multiple studs when Wesker flipped it over. When he brought it down near her wrist Claire grabbed his. Apparently she was more apprehensive about what this device was than any needle.

"What is that thing?" she asked, an edge to her tone.

"Relax, Claire. It's specifically designed to assure that the solution enters your bloodstream without killing you," he said matter-of-factly.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she eyed the thing more warily now than ever.

Wesker pulled his wrist free of her grip and ran a hand through his hair, "You need to cooperate with me if you expect to see a cure any time soon."

"That thing is diabolical," she said. Wesker's brows furrowed. "It just looks like it will hurt," she turned away, averting his frustrated eyes, ashamed of her skittishness.

Tucking a finger under her chin, with his thumb resting below her bottom lip, Wesker turned Claire to face him again and said, "It's no more painful than a pinprick, dear heart."

Claire's lips slightly parted just as he pulled his hand away, and she quickly bit her lip to close it again, nodding. Wesker took her wrist again and prepared the injection. Just like with any needle, she looked away as the cartridge touched her skin and gave a hiss as the contents were expelled into her body. When the cold cylinder left her skin she looked down to see a series of red dots, with a minuscule bit of blood that barely reached the surface and did nothing more. Wesker shoved the used cartridge into his pocket and looked at the TV in thought before turning it off.

He turned to Claire, "Now, tell me. When was it that you came into contact with the T-Veronica virus?"

Here it is! Another advancement on this story. I hope you guys liked it, because I enjoyed writing it. It came out a lot more smoothly than my last chapter, which I was super thankful for. Now we can see where Claire and Wesker's relationship can develop as a result of being stuck at the cottage together. Of course, Wesker is purposely doing the things he's doing, trying to torment Claire, and get a bit of revenge on Chris as usual, but that doesn't mean that he isn't entirely devoid of feelings. Who knows, maybe he really does have a thing for her. I think what makes some of the RE universe fans think Claire X Wesker fics are believable is because in Code Veronica, Wesker clearly thinks Claire is an attractive girl. And the fact that he would totally kid nap her, or get stuck with her in some series of events and try to turn her to his side to torment Chris is highly probable. I just like to think of Wesker as the cool, calm, collected, calculating (so many c words) intellectual he was past RE 5. Which he was still very awesome and cunning (there's another c word) in 5, but he definitely went a bit crazy.

Oh, and I don't know if you guys know what I'm trying to do here. But this cottage has some significance to the part of Wesker's life we know little about. The woman in the picture, I wonder who she is? And as some of you have guessed, with Carla and such, I am trying to tie this into RE 6. I want this story to be a believable as I can make it without straying too far away from the story line or making the characters seem waaaay off. Also, I've read sooo many fics where authors tend to describe Wesker's home as dark (ya know, black), boring, without personality. I decided to stray away from that. I mean, the man also likes the color blue, and although I hold true to him being tidy, I think Wesker's cottage being more cozy and classy makes more sense.

There's more fluffiness to come, and man do I have stupid, and I painfully admit, cute ideas for some scenes in the upcoming chapters.

As always, I really appreciate reviews and try to give feedback on the ones that I'm able to do that on. So if anyone has any ideas they want to shoot my way, or any criticism that they think I should really take to heart and change to better this fic, then go ahead.

Happy reading,

SFriend