Chapter 14: Slow Burn

"I know it's way too late when this dance has begun,

So put on the heat and let the fire run."

Claire was the victim of a plot. She knew that now. Oh, how could she have missed the warning signs, the devilish twinkle in the eyes of her tormentor? She should have been more vigilant. Had she forgotten where exactly she was? Forced to walk along with her eyes closed tight, Claire was in constant fear of stumbling into a hedge or some other unseen pitfall waiting to swallow her up. She would not ask where they were going. She would not beg.

"Ow!"

Okay, fine. Maybe she would beg. "Sherry, come on! Where the heck we going?" Claire demanded, trying to nurse a stubbed toe and walk at the same time. It took everything she had not to open her eyes as she felt the cobbled pathway begin to slope down, the crisp breeze blowing gently in her face. Night had fallen a few hours ago and the dark sky was packed with stars. At least, Claire assumed it would be. It wasn't as if she could see them right now.

"It's just a little further," said Sherry, excitedly pulling her along by her hand.

Claire fought to keep her eyes closed. "I swear, if I bump into one more thing—"

"Well, if you'd walk straight, you wouldn't run into stuff!"

Growling, Claire nipped the younger girl's wrist between two of her fingers, earning a playful giggle in return. After returning from Wesker's little party, Claire had been treading eggshells around the man for the past two days. For his part, Wesker didn't act out of the ordinary, but things had changed between them on some level and Claire was loosing sleep wondering if she could really allow herself have feelings for the man who'd betrayed her own brother. The answer should have been an empathetic NO, but things weren't that simple anymore. They'd stopped being simple the moment she'd decided not to jump off the balcony.

The squeak of a wrought-iron gate jolted Claire back to the present. She had no idea what Sherry was planning, but she honestly welcomed the distraction. Well… maybe she'd welcome it a bit more if it didn't include being dragged halfway across the island with her eyes closed. Sherry had taken both of her hands now, trying to guide her up a narrow flight of stairs, and Claire thought she heard people whispering. She frowned, trying to pinpoint the noise. Pale blue light rippled across her eyelids. Claire thought she smelled chlorine.

"Kay, Claire," said Sherry mischievously. "You can open you eyes."

Claire did so immediately, taken aback by the scene that met her eyes. A large oblong swimming pool was laid out before her, glowing in the light cast up from beneath the water's surface. Small holiday lights had been strung between the rows of poplar trees planted sparsely around the edge of the patio, swaying in the errant breeze, but Claire had only a moment to take this all in before her attention was drawn to the group of people standing by the pool.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Claire's mouth fell open as the crowd began to grin and clap. Dr. Connors was there, and so were Ada and Birkin, who was holding a large chocolate cake with several candles that were giving off fountains of bright little sparks. The geneticist held the cake out towards her, grinning cheekily. "You'd best blow it out before the wind does," he said.

"Yeah, or before you drop it," Ada remarked.

Grinning with a mixture of shock and delight, Claire moved forward to blow out the candles. With everything going on with Wesker, she'd completely forgotten that she turned twenty-three today. Sucking in a deep breath, she blew hard on the candles, extinguishing them with a crackle. The crowd clapped loudly as Birkin set the cake on a nearby table, which Claire noticed was stacked with several brightly wrapped presents. Nearly overwhelmed, she tried to express her thanks, but it was waved it away. Sherry eagerly pressed a gift bag into her hands.

"Here. You've gotta open this one first," she said.

Claire dug through the tissue paper and pulled out something black. Holding it up for better inspection, she realized it was a swimsuit with cutouts on the sides meant to show off the curves of her waist. Sherry grinned at her. "We hope it fits, otherwise you'll miss out on the pool," she said. "We already came dressed."

The younger girl pointed out the changing room and Claire excitedly hurried inside. After adjusting the straps, she got the swimsuit to fit her quite comfortably, much to her relief. The pool looked absolutely amazing. She came back out to see that Sherry had wasted no time getting in ahead of her, while Ada was still shimmying out of her dress. Claire wasn't surprised to find that the Asian woman had dressed in a provocative two-piece.

"Come on, Claire!" Sherry called, treading water.

Grinning, Claire hurried across the patio and dove into the pool, startling Sherry with her enthusiasm. The water was heated, but still pleasantly cool. Claire surfaced with a deep sigh, her wet hair clinging to her back. It'd been a long time since she'd gone swimming and she'd quite frankly missed it. She did a few laps back and forth across the pool, testing out the different depths. The shallow end tapered off at the standard three feet, while the other side sunk to a generous depth of over six. As Claire finished her fourth lap, she noticed Ada sit down by the edge on the pool. Her blond hair swirling, Sherry made her way over, strongly reminding Claire of the alligator from Disney's Peter Pan.

"Aren't you coming in, Ms. Wong?"

"I will in a minute," said Ada. "And don't act so formal! Honestly, how long have we known each other?"

"I don't know. A while," said Sherry innocently.

"Exactly. Now you're going to start calling me Ada or I swear I'll— Hey!"

There was a splash as Sherry dragged Ada in by her foot. Claire choked on a laugh. Sherry had grown noticeably bolder and less shy since she'd been hanging around the younger girl, and she supposed this was a good thing. Ada surfaced with a distressed sputter, but Claire could tell she was just milking it. A minute later, the Asian woman was gracefully doing laps.

"You didn't tell me you had your own pool," said Claire.

"We don't. It's a public pool," Birkin answered, sitting at the wrought iron table. "We're on an island at least four miles from civilization, so it's a great way to keep the staff – and their kids – happy with the workplace, if you know what I mean. It usually closes at nine, but I figured tonight was a special occasion," he added, winking at Claire.

So while Birkin and Dr. Connors chatted over glasses of soda, Claire and the girls held a race from one end of the pool to the other, then spent the rest of their time batting a beach ball around the pool in a makeshift game of water polo. Claire couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun. She'd never expected to find this kind of acceptance a world away from her life in Utah and the feeling did not go away, not even when she sat at the table to eat her birthday cake. It was double chocolate with raspberry filling. Her favorite.

"You're a real sneak, you know that?" she said to Sherry. "I should've known something was up when you asked me what kind of cake I liked."

Sherry grinned in an unnervingly Wesker-like fashion. After cake, Claire was presented with the small mound of gifts. Dr. Connors gave her a white candle-in-a-jar and a CD of Celtic music, while Birkin provided the chic silver CD player on which to listen to it. From Sherry, Claire received a new blank journal. Giddy with delight, she ran her hands over it. It was bound with fake leather and gilded with false gold leaf, and the front had been embossed with the phrase Thank You in several different languages.

"Oh, Sherry, this is wonderful! I was just running out of room in my old one!"

"You really like it? I was worried you wouldn't like that old-fashioned look…"

Claire assured her a dozen times over that she didn't just like how the journal looked. She loved it. Putting it in her lap for safekeeping, Claire unwrapped Ada's gift next. A sweet fragrance rose out of the paper as she pulled out a slender glass bottle with a gold cap. "Every woman's got to have her signature scent," said Ada as Claire examined the perfume. "That way her man can find her in the dark."

"Oh, so it's like being sniffed out by a dog?" said Claire dryly, laughing at Ada's look. Uncapping the perfume, she sprayed some on her neck and wrists, inhaling deeply with her nose close to her skin. For some reason, the scent reminded her of autumn, of crisp leaves and warm red berries. "Mmm. That smells really good," she sighed. "Thanks, Ada!"

Ada smiled and looked smug. Claire stuffed all the wrapping paper into a plastic bag, then opened her candle in order to take a sniff, asking Ada for something to light it with later on. In a moment she was presented with a cheap plastic lighter pulled from the black-hole that was the woman's purse. Claire suppressed the urge to snigger, wondering if there were any gadgets on loan from MI6 in there as well, to say nothing of the mascara, three shades of lipstick and at least one bottle of nail polish. She didn't say anything, however, as she wasn't sure if Ada would get offended.

They sat at the wrought iron table and talked about everything under the sun. Between them, they polished off an entire liter of cherry soda and a whole bag of chips. Birkin mentioned that a storm – the first of the season – was likely to hit late tomorrow, but for now the chilly air remained calm. Claire barely felt the temperature at all. She was having far too much fun playing games like Truth or Dare. Even Birkin was enjoying himself despite the fact that he was the only male at the table, acting for all the world like somebody's boyish, fun-loving uncle. In fact, he actually encouraged the sly double entendres about Wesker that Ada kept shooting in Claire's direction.

"I want to thank everybody for doing this for me," said Claire, the gratitude she felt plain to hear.

Dr. Connors smiled warmly. "Oh, you're very welcome, lass! When Sherry told me she wanted to do something nice for your birthday, I couldn't have been happier to help!"

Claire blushed a little. Eventually, however, the party had to end. Yawning, Dr. Connors was the first to depart, followed shortly after by Ada, while Claire stayed behind to help the Birkins clean up. The paper plates and Dixie cups were thrown away, and what was left of the cake was given to Claire to take back to her room. Sherry carefully put all of her presents into the iridescent gift bag her swimsuit had came in and handed it to her.

"Are you sure you can handle all that?" she asked worriedly. "I'll help you carry it if you want."

"That's okay. I can manage. You guys have already done more than enough for me tonight," said Claire.

She walked with them back to the main facility, where they parted on the floor directly below the one she was staying on. The corridors were empty and quiet. Nothing moved except for the security cameras mounted in the occasional corner, a little crimson light blinking under each one. As Claire started down the corridor, she neared a small alcove, one that was probably designed to hold archers or men with pots of boiling oil in ye olden times. She'd walked by it at least fifty times before, but tonight the shadows inside the alcove seemed to melt as a tall figure stepped into her path.

"Just a moment, dear heart."

"Wesker!" Claire's heart skipped a beat in surprise. Many of the windows contained old glass that was thick and glazed, full of tiny bubbles and other little imperfections like grains of sand. It defused the moonlight cutting across Wesker's face, so the light was no so much a beam as a soft, milky glow. With his dark attire and catlike stealth, Claire knew she would have walked right past him if Wesker hadn't revealed his presence.

"You remember what I said about the ninjas?" Claire asked silkily, glaring at him.

Wesker folded his arms. "Vaguely," he said. Clearly he enjoyed having startled her.

"Well, I meant it. Why do you have to sneak up on me like that? God, I swear the next time you do it I'm going to rip your arm off and beat you over the head with it!" Claire hissed.

Wesker chuckled quietly. "I'd like to see you try," he said, favoring her with one of his brain-melting smirks. "In any case, however, I wasn't 'sneaking' anywhere. I was merely waiting for you to return from your little party so I could speak with you in private."

Claire's mind raced, little alarm bells chiming in the back of her head. "Oh, really? What about?" she asked. She'd been trying to avoid Wesker these past few days, but now her reservations were coming back with vengeance. His presence enticed her into feeling and thinking too many dangerous things, and that was the primary reason she didn't want to be alone with him. She swallowed as Wesker reached into his pocket.

"I bought you a little gift, dear heart. Happy Birthday."

Claire's stomach soared, looking at the little velvet box resting in his palm. For one crazy minute she wondered if it contained an engagement ring. It certainly looked fancy enough. Her heart pounding, Claire set her things on the floor and reached out to take the gift, her hands damp and trembling. Something told her she needed to escape, but instead she took a deep breath and lifted the lid.

Oh, my God. Oh… oh, my dear sweet God…

Claire's jaw hit the floor and bounced back up. A diamond heart – and there was no doubt in her mind that it was a diamond – rested inside the box, the moonlight causing it to flash with brilliant rainbow fire. It was small enough to have sat comfortably on her thumbnail, but it was still huge as far as diamonds went. Delicate silver fastenings attached the heart to a black velvet ribbon about half as wide as her little finger. Claire's hands shook.

"I… I don't understand," she moaned breathlessly. "Why? Why would you… it's so expensive… why?"

"I think you know why," said Wesker, taking the pendant from the box and coming around behind her. Claire shivered as he brushed her hair aside in order to refasten the clasp. "Mmm," he rumbled. "You smell wonderful."

The way he accentuated every syllable turned Claire's insides to hot caramel. They oozed down the inside of her ribs, then quickened to liquid fire as Wesker dropped a soft, dangerously sensual kiss on the curve of her shoulder. He lingered for only a second, but it was long enough for Claire to feel the smirk on his lips. She grit her teeth. Ada, I'm going to kill you. You hear me, you sneaky bitch? You're dead!

With the pendant resting securely around her throat, Wesker came to stand in front of her again. "What's wrong, dear heart?" he asked slyly. "Cat got your tongue?"

Claire fingered the diamond heart, feeling every cold, angular facet. "It… It's beautiful," she gasped, forcing her lips to form the words, mostly because it felt like the safest thing to do. This strange 'relationship' she'd formed with the man was about as safe as handling a bomb. "Thank you."

Wesker smirked, bringing his hand up to gently run his knuckles down her cheek, brushing her damp hair away from her face. He was so close, Claire wondered frantically if he would try to kiss her again. He didn't, however, and Claire was insanely grateful for it. She didn't think she'd be able to resist him, so it was better that she didn't have to try.

"I was wondering," Wesker purred. "Would you like to accompany me around the labs tomorrow?"

Claire knew at once that he wasn't talking about the ones making cough syrup. She hesitated, chewing on what he was asking of her. Maybe it was time to deal with the last face of Umbrella, the one that frightened her the most. A moment later, and against her better judgment, Claire thrust her head straight into the hangman's noose. "Sure," she whispered.

Wesker smiled in satisfaction. "I'll come for you around six o'clock tomorrow evening, " he said and then he stepped aside, out of her way. "I believe you were heading to your room. Don't let me stop you."

Nervously, Claire picked up her things and hurried on. Reaching her room, she went inside and locked the door for good measure. On numb legs, Claire made her way to the bathroom, kicking her clothes off as she went. She hung her damp swimsuit on a hook behind the door and wriggled into her nightclothes.

Catching sight of herself in the bathroom mirror, Claire gazed fixedly at the diamond necklace around her throat. Was it really a token of Wesker's not-very-well-hidden desire for her, or was it something else entirely, a gilded carrot dangling invitingly at the end of a stick? Claire scowled at her reflection. Loathe as she was to admit it, Wesker was enough of a carrot himself – and she got the nasty feeling he knew it, too – so diamonds were nothing more than the icing on the cake.

Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, thought Claire sourly, turning slightly to watch the necklace flash in the light. It was more than just pretty. It was beautiful, and that alone made her uncertain whether to treasure or hate it. Does he think he's going to buy me with nice things?

No, it was a bit more than that, she reflected. It was a gambit, a power play that bore all the trademark characteristics of Albert Wesker: subtle, powerful, and dangerously compelling. Just like the man himself. In retrospect, Claire realized that it was not a good idea to think about Wesker or his carrot, size notwithstanding. He was manipulating her, she knew that. No, wait. Scratch that. He was continuing to manipulate her. Did he really think that she'd eventually fall at his feet just because he was just so superhumanly magnificent?

I don't know. Maybe, thought Claire, grimacing. The memory of Wesker's kiss had started to invade her dreams, a sure sign that she was in well over her head with this man. She reached up for the necklace, hesitated, and then dropped her hands back to her sides. What if, like so many of Wesker's other maneuvers in this twisted game of chess, its purpose was not to force the outcome, but rather to nudge it along. Like letting her meet with Sherry, or showing her the greenhouse. The list went on and on. Wesker's kiss had been an act of seduction and domination, she was aware of that. What she hadn't counted on was how it'd set fire to the perilous mixture of emotions that had been building inside her since her arrival on the island.

Claire heaved a sigh and decided to leave the necklace on. For now. After days of mentally beating herself up, she finally knew why she hadn't been able to jump from the balcony. It was because she didn't really know what kind of man Wesker was, or understand what motivated him to do the things he did. He was a dangerous man and he terrified her, but there was something about him that fascinated her as well. Her life had landed on a delicate balancing point between – God help her, the world was in danger of spinning out of orbit – enjoying Wesker's intrigues and running as fast as she could in the opposite direction, because if he wasn't a cold, cruel and sadistic monster, then what was he really? She didn't want to know if she loved him, she wanted to know if she could, and she wasn't going to leave until she found out.

Claire could already picture her brother's reaction to such a statement.

Haven't you heard, Claire-bear? Curiosity killed the cat.

The next day dawned cold and overcast, a perfect reflection of Claire's turbulent mood. She went through the day like she always did, wishing that she'd had the good sense to wear a turtleneck to cover up her necklace. People all over the island were staring, and Sherry's eyes popped shamelessly when she saw it. To Claire's dismay, the girl was not only amazed by the necklace, but far too smart for her own good.

"Does this mean you've stopped hating him?" Sherry asked, smiling at her.

Claire's mouth fell open. "I… how did you know it came from him?"

"Well, if my uncle didn't give it to you, then who did? Mr. Krauser? Ew!" Sherry made a disgusted face, as only teenage girls could. "You two have been spending a lot of time together and I just thought… you know…"

Claire sighed, defeated. "He gave it to me for my birthday," she admitted. There was a tense moment of silence. "And he's taking me to see the labs later," she added, dodging the question on whether or not she hated him. Wesker would have applauded she did it so smoothly. The man was definitely a bad influence.

Sherry positively beamed. "I'm glad, Claire," she said, in a voice that was far too womanly to be strictly normal. "I got to go down there once and it was really interesting! You gotta be careful, though. It's not a good idea to go around touching stuff, if you know what I mean."

"I kinda figured," said Claire dryly.

"Okay, well… do you want to watch a movie or something? I was planning on ordering something from the DVR later tonight, but since you'll be busy we can watch it now," said Sherry. "I'll make microwave popcorn."

Having nothing better to do, Claire agreed. Sitting on a pile of pillows in front of the couch, she almost forgot about Wesker as she munched on syrupy kettle corn and fought with Sherry over the volume. As the day went on, the clouds outside grew darker and more menacing, and by 4:30 that evening heavy rain had begun to pelt the island, causing the ocean to swell and come to shore in explosions of white foam. After thanking Sherry for the movie, Claire went back to her room and fixed herself a quick dinner, more out of habit than anything else. Then at quarter to five, she quickly brushed her teeth and went to the couch to wait.

At last, she heard the knock on the door and within moments, she was following Wesker down the hallway. "Why so nervous, dear heart?" he laughed, stepping into the elevator.

"I'm not nervous!" Claire snapped, briskly straightening her lab coat.

Smirking in a way that made Claire want to take his face and bash it off the wall, Wesker unclipped his ID card from his coat and pushed it into the reader. A discreet little LED immediately turned green, releasing the hidden lock-down on the control panel, and he tapped the button for Sub-floor 3. Claire took a deep breath and slowly blew it back out. A brief moment later, the elevator doors quietly swished open.

Claire's first impression of the lower levels was of a huge mega-room packed with numerous labs inside glass enclosures. Long fluorescent bulbs were spaced every five feet down the ceiling, and bright yellow signs bearing the universal symbol for biohazard were affixed at the entrance to every lab, along with the occasional safety warning. There was even a lounge with uncomfortable looking plastic chairs, but nothing to eat or even drink. Claire wasn't surprised. In fact, she actually understood. Regardless of what the island thought, she was no doctor, but she got the basic idea on how viruses worked. They didn't fly, they didn't swim, and they didn't crawl. They hitched rides. People, animals, water, food; it didn't matter.

Claire unconsciously moved a little closer to Wesker, though not close enough to make him aware that she WAS moving closer. The people in the labs closest to her were dressed in papery white jumpsuits that were sealed at the cuffs with duct tape, black gasmasks tightly strapped to their faces. Whatever they were working on, it wasn't serious enough to warrant the kind of suits with helmets and onboard oxygen tanks.

"So, what are we working on today?" asked Claire. "Ebola?"

Wesker chuckled at her. "Sorry to disappoint, dear heart. Those kinds of diseases, including the remainder of Spencer's so-called legacy, are studied in the HOT labs one level down. This part of the facility is considered COLD. The things here will cause severe illness, but in most cases they aren't deadly," he said. "Would you like to continue, or would you prefer to remain on this level for a while?"

He phrased it like a question, but Claire knew what it really was. A challenge. She squared her shoulders defiantly. "No, let's go," she said boldly.

They continued through the labs. A few people glanced at them, but were too professional to allow themselves to be distracted for long. Stopping at the elevator, Wesker pointed out a dispenser of hand sanitizer and a box of blue latex gloves. "If you would, dear heart. Safety first."

Nodding, Claire washed her hands and snapped the gloves on just as Wesker's phone began to ring. Digging around in his jacket, he took a moment to glance at the Caller ID, but put back it in his pocket without answering it. As they got into the elevator, Claire asked Wesker where the stairs were since she didn't see any. "There aren't any," he said, tapping the control panel. "In great numbers, the infected can eventually break down doors and shamble their way up stairs. Elevators pose less risk."

"What happens if they break down or stop working?"

"Then I'm afraid you stay wherever you are until the situation is rectified. Every single door and bulkhead on the lower levels is designed to close at the first sign of a biohazard. For better or worse, dear heart, there is no way out of these labs if an incident should occur. I've made sure of it."

Claire wasn't sure if this comforted her or not. It made her feel better about the people above ground, but much less certain of her own safety while she was down here. Even so, however, she understood it and accepted it as necessary. It gave her a new feeling of respect for Wesker and the people working down here.

One level down, the elevators doors swished apart to reveal a room much like the last: huge, sprawling, and constructed entirely of concrete and glass and linoleum, but Claire could tell it was more tightly secured. The glass was thicker, the doors heavier. However, all this extra protection wasn't immediately obvious, not like bars on the windows or razor wire across every vent. If she was down here everyday, Claire didn't think she'd even notice. She looked around with a kind of morbid curiosity, expecting to see a room filled with Tyrants and other nasty things in stasis tanks.

As it turned out, this wasn't far from the truth.

Turning a corner, Claire found herself looking into yet another laboratory. Peering through the heavy glass window, she saw a grotesque creature floating inside tub of chemicals. Disgust held Claire's eyes fixed upon it, trying to figure out what it was. It must have been a shortcoming of humanity to be so blatantly fascinated with something so utterly gross.

"Okay. I'll bite. Just what the heck is that thing?" Claire exclaimed.

"That, dear heart, is a snake," said Wesker. He tapped the control pad beside the door, causing it to hiss open with a rush of air. The lab was apparently vacuum-sealed. "Let's get a closer look, shall we?"

Claire hesitated for a minute, then followed Wesker into the small antechamber attached to the main lab. Lab coats were hung on hooks on one side of the room, while the other side was covered in plastic folders, clipboards, charts, and cups of disposable pens. Wesker closed the door behind them and Claire felt her eardrums pop as the room pressurized again. She could taste the faint, sour tang of oxygen and got the feeling that each lab was attached to its own air supply. A moment later, and with a growing sense of anticipation, Claire stepped into the next room.

Gently gripping Claire's arm just above the elbow, he guided her over to the table. Her face twisting in revulsion, Claire studied the warped organism. It just over two feet long and its scaly skin was a very unpleasant shade of grey. Swollen, putrid-looking pustules covered parts of the snake's body and near its ugly, triangular head.

"Nice friend you've got yourself there," she gagged, glancing at a nearby clipboard. According to it, the creature was the result of T-Virus mutation in a pit viper, a fact that Wesker soon corroborated. Claire resisted the sick urge to reach in there and prod it with a finger, wondering if it would feel muscular or squishy. "Bit of underachievement for you, isn't it? I thought bigger was better," she said, her disgust plain.

"Has it never occurred to you that I have other uses for these creatures?" Wesker sneered. "I could count the number of B.O.W.s on this island with one hand, so if you believe I have entire rooms full of Tyrants ready to deploy as my personal army, I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

"What do you keep them around for, then? After everything that happened with Raccoon City, I can't believe you're still trying to convince me that this is good and right because of what you plan to do with it!" said Claire, a little hotly. "What was it you said to me? Play with fire and you'll get burned. That sound about right?"

"Hmm. I seem to remember that your answer was something about wearing fireproof clothing," Wesker retorted. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander. These creatures represent years of research. That alone is reason enough not to dispose of them, let alone their potential for medical applications. Take this creature for example." He gestured at the floating snake. "Protein compounds in its venom make it a potent anticoagulant, partially because of its ability to target the key neural pathways the body uses to keep blood flowing. If such a chemical could be harnessed and reversed, it could be invaluable to trauma centers or surgery when halting blood-loss means the different between life and death."

Claire forgot her trepidation. She studied the snake a moment longer, then glanced around the room. She noticed other stasis tanks filled with more snakes, but something told her that these ones were alive, hibernating in artificial wombs of chemicals and bubbles. At last, unable to stall any longer, Claire finally met Wesker's gaze. The overhead fluorescents made his face seem inhumanly pale, his glasses even darker. Despite his stony expression, however, or maybe because of it, Claire got the feeling he was gauging her reaction the same way he would with any experiment.

"Isn't that a bit trivial for you? For a god, I mean," she asked, but her voice was more curious than mocking. Genuine interest had begun to replace uncertainty. "I thought you wanted to establish a new world order, not advance the world of medicine."

Wesker frowned. "I think you misunderstand me, dear heart," he said. "People depend on gods to protect and make decisions for them. The presence of a god automatically separates the chaff from the wheat. The worthy rise up and join him, and the rest simply fall in line. But if you think I was going to obtain this by unleashing some kind of virus, you're even more deluded than I thought."

Claire furiously ground her teeth, but was too stunned to move when Wesker slipped a hand behind her neck, fingers digging into the base of her skull, and pulled her head forward. Then his mouth was at her ear. The domineering arrogance of what he was doing tore Claire between the instinctive urge to be disgusted and an even deeper, more primal longing to submit.

"I am not a good person, dear heart, and don't ever make the mistake of thinking that I am, but you need to realize that evil is merely a point of view." said Wesker softly. "Piece by piece, I am making this world mine, and don't pretend that it wouldn't be a better place with a god watching over it."

Claire worked her mouth, but no sound was forthcoming. Wesker's words should have filled her with repugnance, but instead they made sense to her. Why shouldn't those who were stronger and better lead? Breathing quickly, Claire lifted one hand and pressed it against Wesker's chest, her body rigid with defiance. Well, not all of her body. Some parts of it had taken on a rather liquid quality. "Stop it," she gritted, her face reddening.

"Stop what?"

"You know what. I know what you're doing and I'm getting tired of it!" said Claire. Arrogant, high-handed bastard!

"Are you sure?" Wesker asked, amused by the way she was half-heartedly straining against him. He kept her in place with inhuman ease, although she wasn't really struggling. "We could be great together, dear heart, and I think you know it. Why do you continue to fight?"

"Because you want me to give in and I'm not going to."

"And you say you're nothing like me."

"Piss off," growled Claire.

Wesker laughed and pulled back from her, leaving a cool vacuum where the heat of his body had been. Claire scowled at him as he snapped on a pair of exam and reached inside the tank to pick up the snake. She stared in blatant horror as he lifted it, limp and dripping wet, from the vat.

"What are you doing?" she demanded thinly, the previous argument forgotten.

Wesker chuckled softly. "Relax, dear heart. It's quite dead, I assure you." He set the snake down on a sterile green towel and Claire watched the material darken with water. Then to her utter horror, Wesker picked a scalpel off the table and offered it to her. "Have you ever done an autopsy before?"

He wants me to cut it open? What the hell… is he trying to make me squeamish? Claire's stomach lurched, bringing a watery surge of vomit halfway up her throat, but she forced it down. If Wesker wanted to yank her strings, she planned to yank right back. He wants me to say no, she realized, looking at his smug grin. Well, two could play at that game.

Reaching out, Claire accepted the scalpel, weighing the cold, deadly instrument in her hand. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, flashing him a nasty, saccharine smile.

There was a microsecond when Wesker seemed taken aback. Claire resisted the urge to lick a finger and make the universal gesture for scoring a point. The moment was exceedingly brief, however, as Wesker's smirk deepened with unmistakable satisfaction, making Claire wonder who had really won the round. Picking up a permanent marker, he drew a dotted line down the middle of the snake's belly. Claire tried to ignore the slight prickle of sweat that had broke out on her forehead.

Gathering her nerves, she began to slice along the marks that he'd made. Flesh and muscle parted frightening easily under the razor-sharp blade. As it turned out, the snake felt cold and rubbery to the touch, and was coated with a thin film of mucus that stuck to Claire's gloves like snot. Vomit burned the back of her throat again.

After about a minute, the snake had been neatly opened up down the middle. Wesker pushed his little finger between the flaps of skin and forced them apart, displaying the creature's long ribcage and all the revolting stuff it contained. "We'll start at the lungs and work inward, towards the heart. I'd like to take a sample of it for testing," said Wesker. "Also, the venom glands at the back of its jaw are valuable to my research."

"Of course they are," said Claire dryly.

She tightened her grip on the scalpel, but at that moment the lab door suddenly whooshed open. "Damn it, Al! Don't you answer your phone?" said a flustered male voice. "I was looking for information on the Ivan parasite and I think… Oh."

Claire turned to see Birkin standing in the middle of the lab, a stack of folders under his good arm. He looked bewildered to see her standing there. "Um… hi, Claire," he fumbled, grinning. "Getting the full tour of the place?"

Claire smiled at him. "I guess," she said.

"And? What do you think so far?"

"It… it's interesting," said Claire carefully.

"Good. Well, uh… ahem," Birkin uncomfortably began backing out of the lab. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Claire noticed Wesker frowning. "I can see you two are busy so I'll come back another time." Birkin reached for the keypad to unlock the door.

"No, that's okay," said Claire, putting down the scalpel and taking her gloves off the right way just to grind it in Wesker's face a little. She wasn't sure whether to be thankful for the interruption or disappointed. "It's obviously important, so I'll just be on my way. I can find the elevator myself."

"Claire, I, uh… I don't want to cut you short," said Birkin quickly.

"I'm good, Mr. Birkin. Really. You two catch up on whatever it is you need to," Claire answered, walking over to him. Birkin stood frozen for a minute, and then hastily unlocked the door for her. As Claire left the lab, she distinctly heard Wesker growl, "Will, so help me, you had better hope you've discovered the cure for cancer."

Claire stifled a laugh. If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought Wesker was pissed off by the interruption. Well, good. Let him stew for a little while. Maybe if it irritated him enough, he'd invite her down later. The thought gave Claire an unexpected thrill. As she walked, she thought about the snake and what Wesker had said about it. Okay, yes it was disgusting and yes, it was nasty – shuddering, she quickly wiped her hands on her coat – but what if it really could save people's lives? Would it be so bad then? As long as things were done right, did the end justify the means in this case? Lost in thought, Claire slowed down, peering curiously into the adjoining labs.

In one of the rooms, she saw a woman in plain green scrubs, her curly auburn hair caught back in a plastic clip. She had her arms in two heavy-duty rubber gloves set in the wall, working with a collection of tubes and pipettes on the other side of the glass. With her face hidden behind a paper mask, she could have been anybody, but for some reason she looked strong and beautiful, powerful in a plain, uncomplicated sort of way.

That could be me, Claire thought, trying to picture herself in scrubs. She'd never been entirely sure about a career, but saving people lives didn't seem like such terrible way to spend her life. Gazing ahead, Claire caught sight of herself faintly reflected in the glass and she focused her eyes closer, willing the image to sharpen. The woman that stared back could easily have been a doctor or surgeon, somebody intelligent and important.

Entranced by the image, Claire could only stare and wonder. With a little practice, I could earn that lab coat, she realized. Would it be such a bad thing to really belong here… to belong to him? Fine shivers raced along her skin. Strangely enough, the notion didn't bother her like it should have.

Birkin cursed his ill timing. It wasn't as if he'd known Albert was bringing his girlfriend down to the labs. It wasn't his fault he'd walked in on them! Clearing his throat, he nervously approached his colleague. "Al… you remember the parasite we found in the Ivan? You told me to find out more about it."

Wesker frowned coldly, his annoyance plain.

Birkin gulped. "Well, we've run all the tests on it and it's not the result of a T-Virus mutation, but I guess you already figured that out. Anyway, I did some more digging and," Birkin pulled a document out of the folder he was carrying, "this is what I came up with."

Wesker took the file and studied it, expecting to see some kind of evidence, or at least a new piece of information, but the document presented neither. It was a record on blood work done on Sergei Vladimir, dated about a month previous. This was nothing new to Wesker. The Ivan prototypes were created from Sergei's DNA, but despite having advanced in intelligence and stamina as compared to the older models, they couldn't manufacture certain proteins – an unfortunate flaw to be sure – so every six months they were given a shot of Sergei's blood. That was one reason he kept the Russian on a regular salary.

Wesker returned his gaze to Birkin's face. "You're wasting my time," he growled. "This is irrelevant."

"Yeah, I thought so, too, but check the date."

Wesker glared at him.

"Come on, Al. Humor me."

Wesker did, but the day didn't immediately strike him as important. "The procedure took place exactly four days before the Ivan turned up dead," Birkin explained hastily, noticing the frown on his colleague's face. He looked at him anxiously, hoping that the man would find this important. If not…

"Don't you think it's a little suspicious?" Birkin pressed.

Wesker was silent for a minute, apparently deep in thought. "You think he tampered with his blood sample before it was administered?" he asked, scanning the paper again.

"That's kinda where I was going with it, yeah," said Birkin, relieved that his proposal was at least being considered. He pointed to a chart at the bottom of the document. "It may not mean anything, but I noticed his white blood cell count was abnormally high, not to mention a spike in several obscure proteins. I mean, that isn't exceptionally unusual, but it's the best lead I've come up with so far. Red Queen confirms that there hasn't been any unauthorized activities in the Ivan chambers."

Silence fell between them. "Then I think we should find Mr. Vladimir and ask him a few questions." Wesker had the air of a hawk swooping down upon an unlucky mouse. He handed the document back to Birkin. "Thank you, Will. I believe this—"

Wesker broke off as the lab suddenly plunged into darkness.

A/N: I see there was a few tough customers this last chapter. LOL. ;)

However, constructive criticism is always welcome. No, really! It is! A few of you brought up some good points (I hope I cleared them up in this chapter) and anonymous coward pointed out an important plot-hole. It shall be implemented into the story at once, so kudos are in order! I hope you've enjoyed another extra-long chapter, because I'm going to be gone for a few weeks. You guys know the drill. I only barely got this chapter done in time! Bah. I might even be gone for three weeks, depending on how much time I have and how creative my muse is. Sorry! We've finally ripped into the kitchen and the bathroom is tumbling down the hill after it.

THANK YOU for all your support! I made it over a hundred reviews this last chapter – WOW! – and I've treasured and will continue to appreciate every single one. Did I mention how awesome you guys are? I'll be back soon! ^_^

P.S. Thanks goes out to Akahoshi for providing the inspiration for this chapter title!