Heaven Can Wait

Kasage Starrunner

Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.

All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhodes are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.

Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.

Author's Notes are available after the chapter.

A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::

http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html

Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.



Chapter Seven: Behind Closed Doors



Davenport Estate, Midfield Valley:



The ants climbed over each other in a writhing, undulating mass, heedless of the two pairs of eyes watching them. Their sets of mandibles grabbed and tore at the aphids that had been cast down as their unsuspecting lunch. They were furious, methodical, ceaseless, and soon the bloated green bugs were devoured by the frenzy. A pudgey peach finger tapped on the glass casing.

"Alfred, are you watching?"

The young blond started out of his gazing and turned to his female counterpart. She sat with her legs crossed on the floor, slender arm extended upward. A giant monarch perched gracefully on her index finger, wings fluttering in a contented manner. A smile spread faint across her bubblegum lips as she hummed softly to herself, amazed at the trust of the fragile insect.

"Do you see it, Alfred?"

The pale boy nodded and watched the paused creature, fascinated. "It's beautiful." He held out his own hand, but it started to tremble violently. He jerked it back to his side. The girl tossed the butterfly into the air.

"You forgot to take your vitamin."

"I did not."

"Don't lie to me. I can't stand it when you lie." Icy eyes met pallid blue ones. Alfred looked to the ground, lips quivering as much as his hands. The blonde child grabbed one of them, soothing the trembling boy with a gentle squeeze. "I'll get it. Just sit tight."

The blue-eyed girl in the black velvet dress stood and walked from the room, slanted light from the window hitting her porcelain face as she crossed the rays. She opened the door to the hallyway and stepped across the sterile steel to the medicine room. She tried the knob, but the metal door was locked. The blonde fought with it for a moment, then crossed her hands, glaring darkly at the locking mechanism.

"Open," she spat.

The door clicked and obeyed her, and her frown faded back into a smile. Doors were easy to deal with. She pursed her lips as she examined the various cabinets, finally scrambling up onto the counter to reach one on the far right. Elegant fingers grabbed the latch and it opened with a *clack*. Blue eyes searched the shelves of pills diligently to find Alfred's multivitamin that he took five times daily to keep up his iron levels. She knew that it had been far too long snice he'd taken one, as the boy was shaking from lack of oxygen.

At last, she found the right bottle, amber colored with detailed courier print on the lable. She absorbed the ingrediants and instructions immediately, then snatched it from the table, popping the child-proof lid. She pinched one of the little pills in her hand and replaced the bottle with its cap back into the shelf and cabinet that it came from. The blond popped down from the counter and skittered across the hall back to her ill companion.

When she opened the door, the young lady found Alfred quaking on the floor next to the broken glass of the ant farm. The little black insects were crawling everywhere--on the boy, the floor, the table, and more. The butterflies had been startled by the shattering sound and fluttered their wings from the ceiling, disconcerted. The child sighed and walked toward her friend, vitamin in hand.

"What did you do, Alfred?"

The blonde boy looked at her sheepishly. "I tried to move the ants to the table, but I started shaking and it slipped." He yelped as he felt some under his shirt. "Now they're everywhere."

The girl held out the vitamin in her palm. "Take it--carefully. I'll get the ants back." She looked at them marching all about the room. "You should get a plastic farm so it doesn't break."

Patent leather shoes thudded across the floor as she watched the ants, searching for their queen. The dependent insects would do whatever the girl desired if she held their queen hostage. She found the hive mistress surrounded by a few of her favorite ladies-in-waiting. The child shoved them all aside, plucking the queen from their midst and trapping her in a jar. This, she put on the table, and the insects gathered to it, horrified at the thought of losing their matriarch.

The ants thus occupied, the ten year old turned back to Alfred and helped him to his unsteady feet. "We have to clean up their colony," she said, gesturing to the box of dirt and shards of glass. "Her daughters are in there and she'll want them."

"She?" The boy brushed a few stray workers from his pants.

"The Queen."

She picked up the box, sitting it and herself at the table with the monarch and her court. Nimble fingers began picking out the broken shards, careful not to prick her fingers or cut herself. The blonde then moved the jar to the center of the box, causing the disgruntled colony to follow the Queen back to their original home. A couple of ants straggled behind. This was unwise on their part as they soon discovered themselves to be the prey of a much larger insect.

Slender, deadly forelimbs snatched the two lollygagging workers from their march. A praying mantis had sat perched on the table, waiting to strike. The girl looked at the lithe green hunter and it swivelled its small deltoid head to examine her with large, compound eyes. The mantis brought an ant to its mouth and its mandibles ground together. The girl was captivated by the more evolved insect. It, however, wanted nothing to do with her and leapt away as soon as it finished its snack.

Perched on a chair it eyed the gathered band of ants coldly. Even the mantis would never attack the colony as a whole--and never the Queen.



***



Midfield Valley, Ohio, Sullivan Cherokee:



The sport utility vehicle hummed as it sped down the road and away from the youth club. Jo sat in the driver's seat, sable hair plastered to her head and neck. Neither her nor Alex had bothered to dry their hair before leaving the busy building. It had been a lengthy session and both wanted a hot cup of tea and a couch to sprawl on. The brunette herself wanted a nice bath, but she figured her counterpart would settle for a shower. Bubbles and scented liquid soap didn't seem like something that would interest the gruff woman beside of her.

The youth checked her mirrors then glanced over at the blonde. She was more stiff in her seat than usual and had seemed a little spacey since she'd gone to the Jeep to get the pool toys for the team. There was an uneasy silence between them and the young woman wasn't really certain of how to break it.

She didn't have to. At the next stop sign, Alex cleared her throat and looked at her partner. "Why didn't you tell me you were from Raccoon City, Jo?"

The brunette gripped the steering wheel and sat at the intersection, several opportunities to cross the road passing by between automobiles. Her ears reddened and chin quivered as she stared through the winshield with empty, coffee-colored eyes. "I ... always meant to ... I just ... couldn't ..." The woman paused and a few more cars rolled past. The road cleared.

"Go," said the blonde.

The youth hit the accelorator, not speaking again until they reached the brick headquarters. Alex let her gather her thoughts, not wanting to touch something so emotional as this seemed to be. She had little understanding of emotion, and this often got her into trouble where females were concerned. Jo finally spoke again. "It's hard to talk about ... You know? There aren't many of us left and there aren't any support groups either. We're all alone out here dealing with a massacre."

"So you were--"

"In college when it happened. It was my last quarter. I graduated about a month afterward."

"And you arrived in training where I was in early December. I always wondered why you didn't go home for Christmas."

"I had no home to go to."

"If it makes you feel better, I don't either."

Jo seemed not to notice the confession and drummed her fingers across the wheel. She signalled to turn into the drive of the house, pulling in what counted as a driveway. She put the Jeep in park and turned off the engine, unbuckling herself from the vehicle. Glad to be free of the confined space she jumped to the ground. Alex followed close behind her.

"You alright?" the tall woman asked.

The young woman shrugged and shuffled to the porch, key in hand. "Come on. I'll show you something. It's in my box of preciouses."

"Preciouses? Is that a techinical term?"

"If you've read 'The Hobbit,' you uncultured swine." She opened the door and tromped inside, walking back towards the stairs. "Just grab one of Mrs. Feldman's cookies and plop yourself on the couch. I'll be back in a jiff."

The blonde thought it best not to argue, so snatched a chocolate-chip cookie and started munching. They really were delicious, if bad for her health. The neighbor had a way with chocolate chips--they practically melted when she bit into them.

Jo returned down the steps with a book in her hand. Alex watched her approach curiously. She was carrying the leather-bound volume like a treasure. She sat on the couch next to the tall woman and offered a meek smile.

"It's my yearbook. Senior year was the only year I could afford--or really wanted."

"I never cared to get any."

Her partner said nothing and began to flip through the cherished pages, re-reading old autographs from best friends--most of whom were no longer living. She flipped past the prom page, then back again, gazing at it for a long time. She had this delirious smile on her face--as though she remembered every detail. The blonde followed her eyes to a picture of Jo, her hair in an up-do with daisies and curls, dressed like a princess next to a tall man with a bowl-cut in a tuxedo. His smile was goofy, but genuine--highly contagious, and his arms encircled the small woman's waist as they slowdanced together. It was signed across the page:

'Jo,

Here's to the bestest friend a guy could have. Thanks for going with your loser best friend. I'll never forget it.

Lots of Luck and Love,

Leon S. Kennedy'

Alex had to read the signature again to be certain. "Leon? You mean that's the Umbrella-wants-to-lock-you-up-and-throw-away-the-key Leon Kennedy?"

Jo snapped the book shut. "Yes, he is. I was the first person her told about entering the RPD Academy, and I was the first person he called the first day on duty when it happened." Her voice faded from a shout to a whisper. "I haven't heard from him since ..." Dark brows knitted together, troubled. Alex finished her cookie.

"Well, he didn't die in the city or there wouldn't be a reward."

"Something could have happened afterward. He always kept in touch. I wish he'd call and tell me what went on in there ... Everything. It'd make me feel so much better."

The blonde shurgged. "Men."

"This wasn't just a man. This is my best friend. This is Leon! And by now I doubt he even knows where to find me or anyone else that left RCHS before the clock ran out."

"It's probably a good thing he can't find you. I'd be forced to turn him in."

"What?"

"Corporate policy," she said flatly.

"Alex--you wouldn't. You're not that heartless--or, I want to think--I mean ... Don't you realize what he means to me. My middle school brother, 11 year old sister, parents, granparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, pets, classmates--they all died in Raccoon City. Leon is the only thing I may have left and even that isn't certain. All of the people I ever loved died! They became zombies and tore each other to pieces and--and," she sobbed violently, caught between anger and grief. Alex could only look at her in numb silence. The tall woman had no clue what to say to console the brunette that wouldn't make things worse. She couldn't remember being close to anyone.

"That's why you asked to be recruited to S.T.A.R.S.," she said dumbly.

"You're damn right that's why." The youth fought to bring herself under control again. She looked at her partner, brown eyes tenacious. "I'm not going to let that happen again."

Chalcedony eyes met earthy ones cooly, lacking sympathy. "Do you honestly believe that's what we're here for?"

"I want to believe ... To believe that Umbrella is trying to protect the people with S.T.A.R.S. and ... and the remote locations of the research headquarters."

"They're not out to protect the people. They're out to protect themselves." Her voice was sober, steady, honest.

"That's not right."

"But its the truth. Jo, let me give you some advice from the lips executive Valeris Davenport: Umbrella is your god. The sooner you learn that, the safer you'll be."

"Ragnorrok," Jo murmured.

"What?"

"Ragnorrok--in Norse Mythology its the day the gods will be destroyed."

"And ..."

Jo said nothing.

***



Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France:



Valeris Davenport was correct when he assumed that today would be a long day. The genetics team assigned to Alexis Quenby were taking far too long in their D.N.A. analysis and Genome decoding. He had very little patience left to spare. What was worse was that it was only Tuesday and he had receieved a transmission that eight of his beloved Muses were ready to awaken from their slumber back at his Mid-west estate. According to his replacements for the Cross team, the remainder of the Nine would be ready to awaken by Monday. This necessitated a long trip to the United States.

There was more bad news. A lower officer had reported the return of a student named Petra Cross to her hom in Midfield Valley. She had discovered the Anarctic Base, but supposedly had seen nothing--unusual. This was disconcerting, as he had also heard reports that Alexia had been prematurely released from her cryogenic state and was destroyed by the Redfields--but that information came from JANUS. As if the Redfields weren't enough trouble, now Petra was alive, well, and suspicious. That green-haired, rebellious thorn was supposed to be dead--either burned or frozen or turned into a lovely, brainless mutant. Someone had rescued her and not one member of the Corporation knew who it was.

More reasons to return to the States.

He pounded the desk with his fist. If those test results didn't get to him by midnight Friday, the genetic department would have to mail them to him. There would also be hell to pay. The mystery of Alex Quenby would be uncoiled, the research staff surviving or not.

The clock on the aged man's desk chimed the half-hour. It was 11:30. He really should let his secretary go home for the duration of the night. The poor thing kept the oddest hours thanks to him. He tapped his cane on the floor, brown eyes staring intently at the phone. When he decided that it wasn't going to ring the man stood from his swivelling office chair and walked out the double doors into the lobby. His secretary sat at her desk, trying to deter someone on the phone in rapid German. Exasperated, the young woman--an intern--hung up the phone, twisting her painted lips in disgust. Her olive brown hand lifted to flick a wayward strand of luxurious curled hair from her forehead before turning back to her blinking computer. Valeris leaned on his ornamented cane and watched for a moment, almost sorry to interrupt the doe.

"Miss Salvatore."

"Yes, Mr. Davenport?" The woman leaned forward on her arms, exposing the graceful curvature of her breasts. The executive mentally reminded himself that he was married and old--neither of which made the gaze very acceptable. He focused his eyes on her pleasant face. She was smiling.

"I believe it's long past your bedtime. Better clock out and get some rest."

"Yes, Mr. Davenport," she repeated. He began to return to his office and she spoke again. "Shouldn't you clock out too? Its nearing midnight."

Valeris smiled back at her. "Don't you worry. I just have a couple little items left to finish. I'll be along shortly."

The Italian nodded. "Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Miss Salvatore."

The grey-haired man returned to his office as the woman gathered a few extra assignments to take back to her apartment. He shut and locked the twin doors behind him, walking over to the door in the bookshelf. Using the cane he opened it and withdrew the Berceuse file. The long day was about to get longer again.



***



Midfield Valley, Cross Residence:



Petra stared at the plate below her with a bewildered and suspicious look. The burgers and baked potatoes glanced so ... perfect. She poked at it with her fork a little. "This can't be real. There's no way Claire made this."

"She didn't. I did," retorted Chris, taking a huge bite out of his doublestack.

The woman reflexively shoved her plate away. It slid across the table and clinked against the older Redfield's. He paused from inhaling the food to shove it back at the punk, grinning.

"It won't bite," he said.

"You made it."

"And?"

"I trust it less than Claire's."

Claire smiled. "You're just saying that because he drives you nuts. Trust me, my food is practically a biohazard."

"Practically?" The woman bit into her burger and was pleasantly surprised. Chris watched her reaction and took a gulp of water.

"I'm sorry sis, but I have to side with Petra on this one. Those eggs were a biohazard."

"Hey, you ate them."

This got a laugh from the green-haired youth. Chris had eaten the frightening eggs without any prompting. He was in no place to make a judgement on his sister's cooking. However, the man wasn't too appreciative of the jab.

"Watch it, Claire-bear."

Petra began to cackle. "Claire-bear? He calls you Claire-bear!"

The younger Redfield threw a piece of ice at her brother. It went down the front of his shirt and he squirmed. Now two women were laughing. "I told you not to call me Claire-bear."

"I'll do it again if I have to."

More ice was launched at the tall brunette and he ducked away. Claire soon gave up on her rampage and shortly afterward Chris returned to his meal. His relaxation came far too soon, because unbeknownst to him the hostess had slipped from the table. Paying too much attention to his food was a bad idea, in Claire's opinion. The 19 year old had seen her leave, horns seeming to sprout from her green head. She decided to let the other woman do her worst and said nothing to her brother. Much to his dismay, he was soon soaking wet as an act of vengeance by Petra.

Chris didn't like the fact that Petra and Claire ganged up on him. They, on the other hand, loved it, and gave each other a high-five as he ran to the bathroom to dry off. This left them both to finish their meals in peace. By the time he came back they were done and giggling with each other about what an ass he was.

The older Redfield draped the towel around his shoulders as he rejoined the two women. Petra snickered when she saw him and was met with a fiery scowl. She just sat there smug.

"Are you refreshed, Chris?"

The older man just growled and scarfed the rest of his dinner, dumping it in the sink. He wiped his mouth with the towel and stomped out of the dining room into the living room. The allied young women followed after him, nearly bouncing.

"You're such a fucking pig," Petra jibed playfully.

The brunette muttered something under his breath that neither woman could hear and they laughed again. The tables were turned--Chris was pissed at Petra. Of course, the punk's lengthy revelation of her time in Anartica had put her in a more pleasant disposition. On the contrary, it just gave the man more to worry about. As for Claire, the mutual dislike of all things Umbrella plus the shared experience of the southern-most continent had made them in separable partners-in-crime.

In other words the former Air Force pilot was outnumbered and under fire. It was currently a losing battle. He flopped on the couch, propping his shoeless feet on the Ottoman. His younger sister sat next to him, smirking with her whole face.

"God, Claire. What do you want?"

"Since you asked: Petra and I were talking and decided that us Redfields look too much like ourselves. Since I don't want to end up in a zombie infested prison again, we thought it might be a good idea to get makeovers."

Chris started to smolder. "You mean make-up."

Petra grinned. "A little make-up never hurt anybody, and something has to be done about that hair."

"I am not hearing this."

"Oh, and we could dye yours. Claire's is too cool to fuck with."

"I am not hearing this."

There was a knock at the door.

"Thank the lord," yelled the older Redfield.

"Shh!" hissed the punk. "You're not supposed to be here. Be ... not in this room."

The knock came again and the Redfield siblings dashed out of the room. The green-haired woman had no care to find out where they hid and just went to the door as the doorbell rang.

"I'm coming. Hold you horses."

The woman peered out the peephole and growled. "It's fucking Adrian. What the hell does he want?" She opened the door violently and practically smashed the young man when she opened the storm door outside. He was standing in his S.T.A.R.S. uniform looking like she was about to bite his head off. Lucky for him she wasn't a crocodile.

"Truce," he ventured, raising his hands palms front to her.

The punk examined him closely, from the new uniform, to the look on his clean-shaven face. After a moment of silence, she stood from the door and waved him in. "Get in the house, you gorilla, though I don't honestly know what inspired you to make a house call."

The caramel-haired youth followed her in, grinning sheepishly. "I miss you in my classes."

"No you don't, you bastard-assed son of a bitch."

"Piss-y, Miss Petra."

"Up yours, Rhodes." She picked up the mugs that had been sitting in the living room since early afternoon. The woman had forgotten that she had left them out.

"Company?"

"My parents."

Adrian tried to take the mugs from her to help, but she jerked away. He sighed and twiddled his thumbs. "Actually, that's what I came to talk to you about." She ignored him and tromped toward the kitchen. He hung near the stairs, keeping a safe distance. "I know they're dead, Petra."

She stopped and slowly pivoted around to face the young man. Her jaw was clenched tightly shut, chin jutting out and up in the air. The mugs were clutched tightly to her chest, skin stretched tight over the finger bones. The clown wasn't sure if she was going to cry or kill him.

"It was in the paper."

"Shit." The woman turned back to the kitchen. Adrian followed a few steps behind.

"I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Yeah, well fuck-off." She waltzed into the kitchen with the empty mugs. To her horror she discovered where the Redfields had hidden. "Shit. Adrian--" It was too late.

"Holy shit!"

Petra smacked her head as Claire bared the blade of her combat knife. "This is not happening."

"The Redfields in--here. Holy shit!"

"We're past the holy shit, Adrian."

"Oh my God!"

"You sound like an idiot."

The siblings said nothing as the S.T.A.R.S. member continued to alternate between "Oh my god," and "Holy shit." It was difficult to judge whether he was frightened, excited, or just plain crazy. The punk ditched the cups in the sink with the other dirty dishes and grabbed the babbling man by his shoulders. She dug in with her fingernails.

"Ow."

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me. No one knows the Redfields are here. You are not going to tell anyone."

"But my Captain--"

"Fuck the captain. If anyone finds out Chris and Claire are here than I will personally castrate your ass, you got it?"

Adrian gulped. "Got it." He looked around the room. Three pairs of eyes glared at him and he shuddered. "Honest to god I won't tell Umbella Police--or anyone else."

Petra poked him in the crotch with her knee. "I don't believe you."

The man gasped. "Chris Redfield is my god--well, sort of. I--could you ... um."

The punk let him go and backed away, allowing the young man to gain back some amount of dignity. Chris gave him a semi-sympathetic look from across the room and the youth relaxed. At least Petra wasn't choosy in her brutality.

Claire stopped threatening the brown haired man with her knife and stuck it back in its sheath in near her ankle. It hid well in her boot. She stood straight again and looked between her hostess and the hostess' new prey.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?"

The punk rolled her eyes. "This is my ex. Adrian Rhodes."

Adrian waved nervously. "Pleasure. Its an honor, really." He glanced at the green-haired young woman near him. "If you're going to kill me, please get it over with."

"I like to see you squirm."

"Figures. So ... why?" he said, gesturing to the house.

"Pit stop," replied Chris. "En route to bigger fish."

"Take your meaning."

Petra raised her fists and the young man raised his hands again. Nothing was escaping his lips about any of this. He walked around the table, suddenly realizing that Claire was much prettier in person then in her wanted picture. However, this was a dangerous thought as he saw her protective older brother inch closer to his sister. Adrian shook his head.

"You two stick out like sore thumbs."

"They're aware of that," the violet eyed woman snarled.

"You can stay and help with the makeovers," offered Claire. The other woman gave her a warning look. "I mean, Chris doesn't was Petra touching him."

"I'd be happy to help. I mean--"

"Don't you work for Umbrella," spat the youth.

Adrian sighed. "Just because I work for Umbrella doesn't mean I like them. Now let's get this party started."



***



Midfield Valley, Ohio, Roberts Road:



The pounding feet jolted Alex rhythmically as they hit the sidewalk running. After learning so much about Jo she'd had to escape to think for awhile. Now, she was enjoying her run, keeping just ahead of the chaos of her mind. The ghosts of her thoughts followed at her heels and she stepped up the pace to be rid of them.

She hit County Line Road and doubled back across the other side, heading back toward the head-quarters. However, the tall blonde wasn't ready to return there. The brunette wasn't very happy with her and the woman still hadn't decided what all she had done to offend her. She knew some of the reason was Jo's attachment to Leon Kennedy, but she couldn't understand the hostility when all Alex was doing was her job. It frustrated her.

She hurled herself over the fence to the cowpasture that ended at the backyard and kept running, using the uneven ground as leverage to propel herself into the air and over the natural debris. She hit a line of trees near the middle of the pasture and stopped. The woman turned her head, having heard a faint rustle from behind her. Chalcedony eyes narrowed. She put her hands near her holster, planting her feet in the ground.

"Who's there."

Booted feet crunched on the ground from where she had heard the rustling. Alex turned around and saw a blond haired man in black, clapping his gloved hands together. Sunglasses shielded his eyes, but she knew who he was. The blonde set her jaw and scowled.

"Congratulations, Captain Alex Quenby. Not everyone on this planet notices me before I choose to be seen. Your observational prowess is commendable."

"Albert Wesker ... I'm so surprised," she said sarcastically.

The man examined her, smiling to himself as she stood doing the same, stiff and cold. "Assignment to S.T.A.R.S. I wonder what Umbrella wants to cover up in this city?"

"Don't know, don't care."

"Lier. You'll find out days before the bomb is dropped. You're a clever wench."

"Bastard," she retorted. "I'm as much like a wench as you are a human being."

"Ouch, that stung." He was amused now. "Don't like being female?"

Alex ignored the comment. "I don't like you. You tarnished my reputation with your actions in Raccoon City. My whole team is waiting for me to kill them in their sleep."

"I don't think you want them to trust you."

"Trust me? Never, but respect is something else entirely. They don't like that their lives hang off me right now. But you knew that."

"Of course. You're the only link between the team and the dark secrets of my former corporation."

"Traitorous ass."

"Harsh words, and yours, not mine. I consider myself ambitious. Umbrella couldn't give me what I wanted. Bio-ject gave me more than I ever dreamed of."

The blonde woman cackled. "So you sold your soul to a new corporation for the price of power. Now you're someone elses lap dog, you just have a prettier collar."

Wesker took a step towards her, serpentine smile on his face. "Lap dog? I think not. Besides, I know that Umberlla thwarted your goals as much as mine. Too much ... competition."

"Don't even compare me to you. I prefer to keep my soul."

"You'd be surprised what you can do without one."

"Lap dog. Got any more tricks that your owners taught you?"

The man's hand shot out and grabbed her throat, holding her in the air as he had done to so many others. "I would quit the petty insults now. You are in no position to be sarcastic. The way I see it, your situation is fairly pathetic. I just came to drop a warning--which wasn't entirely necessary on my part. I also came with something else."

Alex grinned at him and more to Wesker's surprise forced a reply. "You're a real charmer, aren't you?" The blonde tightened his grip and the woman tightened her muscles, grin fading to a glare. "Tell me what you're here for."

"An offer, of sorts. If you'll consider it."

"When you've made it." Alex lashed out, releasing herself from the man's choke-hold with a deft movement. She saw the man tense--his gesture of surprise. "Don't ever try that again," she whispered in his ear. "Now speak, then leave."

"Let's just say I have information for everyone these days--and more. We could use another ruthless card at Bio-ject, and there would be plenty in it for you."

The blonde played coy. "Information? In reference to what?"

"Only about a certain little girl, stolen from a certain family, and what a certain someone has done with her."

The woman clenched her fists and socked him. He let himself fly to the ground, unharmed. "Consider this ruthless card still under Umbrella employment."

Albert Wesker brushed himself off and began to walk away. "Admirable loyalty, Alex. If you ever change your mind the offer still stands. I'll find you."



***



Midfield Valley, Ohio, Cross Residence:



"I look so ... girly."

Claire examined herself in the mirror, appalled. Her hair had been let loose and now hung curled around her head. The bangs were teased and curled--barretted at the ears with glittering dragonflies. Petra had done the works with her make up as well, spending particular care on the eyes. They were lined and shadowed with golds and browns that made the blue pop, giving them a fake look. The red-head had also never realized she had such thick natural lashes. Mascara did scary things.

"Lipstick?" the punk questioned. "Don't know if I have anything that will work with that copper hair."

The younger Redfield raised her eyebrows. "How much make-up do they make?"

"Poor, naive, tomboy. They have cosmetics for everything. How about a warm rose?" Claire grimaced and fingered the tube. It just looked so ... "It's not near so pink on. Sit still and I'll try it. Not like it's permanent." She began applying the lipstick and continued talking. "It's stupid, but I prefer a little Coral. It makes my lips a tiny bit brighter without being gawdy. Gawdy make-up is for hookers."

"I'm starting to feel like a hooker."

"Don't move ... There. Could use a little lip liner, but you're just trying to look different, not like a super model."

The woman felt a little bit plastic. "Where did you learn all this?"

"Mom ... I never thought I'd actually use it. This stuff was hers."

Chris walked in the room followed by a beaming Adrian. The young man thought he had been quite successful with the older Redfield. However, the older Redfield wasn't quite so sure. He'd removed the gel from his hair and brushed it straight with a part on the side to feather his bangs. It made him look younger ... by a lot. He looked less like a soldier and more like a 20 year old college student. The Redfield was still there, but less pronounced. The brunette hated the hair in his face.

"Voila!" said the S.T.A.R.S. member, gesturing to his masterpiece.

Petra raised an eyebrow. "It took you an hour to do that?" She rolled her eyes. "Turn around, Claire."

"I don't want to."

"Turn around."

Reluctantly, the red-head turned around. Chris' mouth dropped open in shock. "That's my little sister? She looks like a girl!"

Adrian resisted the urge to whistle, fearing death by the hands of both Petra and Chris. Why were the cool girls always off limits? He stared at a light on the ceiling. "How about your brother."

Claire blinked then scrunched her nose. "He looks like he's trying to be Steve."

"No shit," muttered the punk. "It'll work. At least you don't stick out anymore."

Chris nodded. "I just hope that noone else recognised us."

TBC in Chapter 8.