Chapter 21: I Love You

The lab was silent but for the faint humming of machines through the darkness, and computer screens scattered bluish light across the desks and lab instruments, creating long, angular shadows. Bathed in silence and dull colors, someone like Claire would have called this place lonely, even disturbing with the Umbrella logos that faded in and out of view with the flashing red of security cameras. The red dots rhythmically flared in the darkest corners of the room like heartbeats, but the knowledge of being recorded did not bother Wesker. He had a different word to describe such a scene: tranquil.

The computer nearest him cast Wesker's features in sharp relief as he reclined. His sunglasses sat on the desk beside him, and his arms rested laxly across his lap as his eyes trailed to his laptop's clock. Three days had passed since suspending Claire, and he had kept a constant vigil over her unconscious body. He was pleased with the results that he was seeing, for the virus from his system was combating and destroying crimson. Every minute that went by meant more of Claire succumbed to the virus, and, as suspected, she was not mutating.

Wesker stood and strode toward the tank. It was the most conspicuous object in the room since floor lights encircled its base, encasing it in light and making it a beacon of brightness in the otherwise dark space. Claire's red hair gently swayed around her naked body, trailing over cream colored shoulders and occasionally wrapping around one of the tubes connected to her arms and chest. Wesker walked forward until he was only a few inches from the glass and captured by the unearthly, greenish glow of the illuminated liquid around Claire. His eyes trailed over her serene features and slender limbs. She really was a lovely a woman.

Regulation of her body was necessary to preserve her human appearance, and Wesker had been doing so by systematically infusing her with minimal doses of virus. Her infection level was steadily rising under his directing hand. Given another day or two, she'd be ready to come out of the tank, and she'd be more adept and powerful than ever. Wesker took pride in the work that he was doing with Claire and wondered if this process might work with other people—not that he had any intentions of creating more super humans. It was an accident, albeit a now welcomed one, that Claire had survived her exposure to Alexia's virus, and he would not tolerate the existence of anything or one as powerful as they had become. It was too risky, but he was curious as to why Claire had not mutated where many of the test subjects in Brazil had.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Wesker returned to his desk and sat facing his laptop. A window had appeared, alerting him to an incoming transmission. He recognized the line that the caller was using and accepted the connection after putting his sunglasses back in place. The screen blackened and then Excella's upper body appeared. She was sitting in her office and wearing a silky, green dress.

"Ah, the lovely Miss Gionne," Wesker greeted. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Dr. Wesker," she purred. "I assume that you've been very busy, and I hope that I haven't interrupted anything." Wesker's eyes flashed toward the tank, but his shades hid the movement from Excella.

"I'm looking after sensitive business interests," he stated. "But how can I help you, Miss Gionne?" She was a woman who only called if she thought that she could gain something from it.

"Straight to the point as always, Wesker," she smiled. "Unlike you, I do not mind mixing business with pleasure, but I have called for a reason. I thought you'd be interested to know that your test subject has been showing irregular, very defiant behavior despite the increase in cognitive functioning. I had to put it down. I'm sure that you understand." Wesker was surprised to hear of the death, but he expressionlessly accepted the news.

"Have you pinpointed why the control serum did not work?" he asked.

"We're working on it, but I have no doubts that I'll have an answer for you soon. Perhaps adding an agent to already infected subjects will not work. The new virus strain may be the only acceptable course of action. Either way, I did not want you to think that I take your test subjects lightly. Tossing it into the sewer was the last resort."

"I trust your judgment," Wesker stated. He checked the time and realized that he had to give Claire her next viral dosage. "If you'll excuse me, I have immediate duties that call, but I appreciate the report, Miss Gionne. You are most helpful."

"Don't stay away too long," Excella smiled before the screen blackened. Wesker shut the laptop and reviewed the conversation. He had not given her his contact information, but she had found it. She was undoubtedly trying to show him how resourceful she was, but Wesker had never doubted her abilities. If she was trying to appeal to him and get closer to his work, she was following a very precise and skillful track. He'd have his eye on her and see where their partnership led as they neared unleashing the work that TriCell was aiding. He might keep her around for some time if she proved this tenacious and tactful in furthering his plans.

His attention returned to Claire as he commanded the computer to inject virus into her system. He again approached the tank and watched the purplish-red virus seep down the tubes and into her body. He noticed that her eyelids were fluttering, the eyes beneath jerking sporadically in REM sleep. He wondered what Claire was dreaming about, for every time that he examined her, she seemed to be locked in that stage of sleep. Sometimes her hands clenched into fists or her head jerked to the side. Wesker guessed that she was having nightmares again, but there was nothing for her to fear.

*************

"Wesker?" Claire called. She felt like she'd been through this so many times that her pathway should be permanently worn into the carpet. She walked across the floor toward Wesker's back and gently touched his hand to draw his attention. He turned to her and Claire's breath caught in her throat.

"Are you ready then, dear heart?" What? This wasn't how the dream went. She might not have been to this place since Wesker had saved her from Johann, but this was definitely not what she remembered happening.

"Am I ready for what?" she asked. Wesker smiled tauntingly.

"One thing tends to lead to another," he said, and then seemed content to wait until she figured it out. Claire thought about the implications of his question with the half-veiled clarity of dreams and found herself extremely uncomfortable. Something was out of place. Wasn't this dream a bad one? She tried to remember what she was dreading when the door to the bedroom was violently thrown open. The loud crack made Claire's head spin, and then Chris was there.

"Get away from my sister!" he shouted, and his gun fired. Claire began crying even before Wesker stumbled and fell. She remembered now. This was why she absolutely detested this dream. Why did it need to feel new every single time? Each time it was unexpected when the gun fired and someone died. Each time, it had to rip a new hole in her heart. Frustration peaked as she knelt and held Wesker's bloody hands.

"Claire, what the hell?" Chris demanded. "Why?" Claire shook her head, distracted by a strange warm feeling around her body. A series of sharp stings pricked her arms, chest, and legs. Someone was calling her name, but it was too distant to respond to. "Claire! Why?" Why? Claire pressed her lips to Wesker's cold forehead, but it felt insubstantial. The floor seemed to be falling out from underneath her. Everything was losing its shape, and the voice calling her name was now vying against Chris for her attention.

"Claire," it insisted.

"Why?" Chris yelled back. Claire flinched. She wanted to respond to the first voice, but she owed her brother an answer.

"Claire, wake up." Okay. Claire felt warm hands on her face, brushing wet hair away from her nose and mouth. The touch was familiar. She could no longer see her dream. It had vanished, but Chris was still yelling.

"WHY?!"

Claire gasped and air rushed into her lungs for the first time in days. Chris's demanding voice resounded throughout her head—why, why, why—and she struggled to force her words out. He had to know, even if he didn't understand. He was still her brother, and she cared for him deeply. Her mouth gently opened.

"Because I love him." The simple phrase left her lips like a softly whispered prayer before her eyes snapped open. Wesker was holding her at the foot of the now empty tank where she had been residing, and she could see him so clearly that it took her a moment to realize that the room was fairly dark. She was soaking wet and wrapped in a towel, Wesker supporting her head with his forearm as she leaned against him. Time seemed suspended as she stared up at him and he down at her. Something about the calm, softened set to his face struck her as the perfect image of him, and she was content to stay where she was and behold it. She wondered if he knew. If he did, he wasn't going to say anything, and Claire wasn't inclined to broach the subject either.

"Albert," she said. "You look like an idiot with those sunglasses on in here." Wesker smiled and helped her to her feet.

"Welcome back, dear heart." Claire found that her body was steady as she stood and tested herself. Her hearing, sight, and smell easily separated the different elements within the room, and the coldness was gone. Hell, she felt like she could run for days without getting tired. She grinned.

"I feel normal," she stated. Wesker's head snapped toward her.

"What?" he questioned, but he relaxed when he saw Claire carefully sniffing the air, seeing what was around.

"Am I completely better now?" she asked him.

"That's one way to put it, but I believe that improvements are always possible." Claire rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips.

"And I suppose you'll want to run some more tests to see how the virus is affecting me post-crimson." Wesker leaned against a lab table in a causal manner that somehow still retained a dark, predatory overtone. Yet he meant her no harm, and he was damn handsome standing like that. The upward tilt of his lips told Claire that he was amused by her irritated words, and he waited for her to defiantly try to tell him that she wasn't going to do his tests after being treated like a specimen. Oh, she was most certainly going to tell him. The tests could wait for tomorrow after what she'd been through. Not everyone was a workaholic. Wesker stood there, arched eyebrows and all, waiting for it, and looking nothing like the callously ambitious man that he was, even if that was always directly beneath the surface. At times like these, Claire understood exactly why she felt the way that she did.