Author's Note: So, yeah, I had to change the rating to M because Claire and Vincent refused to have a nice normal relationship. The next chapter is written and . . . probably needs to be edited back for their lovemaking, but that's a fight for another day.

Warning: contains strong references to sex that only appears to be nonconsensual - seriously, Vincent would never rape anyone in this story. He's got a plan, which is explained in the next chapter.

Chapter Six

The Planet specialized in lovely, low key villages. The first indication of civilization was a smattering of cottages along the sea shore. Each home had decent yard and a white picket fence, and the streets were paved with hand-placed yellow bricks. A sign proclaimed it the village of Oz. Vincent parked outside the inn, and lifted Claire off the bike.

She coughed into her fist. "I can walk."

He looked at her, and for a second Claire thought he was going to refuse to let her. Then he grunted, dropping her legs abruptly. As soon as her feet touched the ground, he walked away, red cape fluttering in a gentle sea breeze.

Claire glanced at Cloud's bike, silently debating just taking off on him.

"I have the key," Vincent said without turning, without pausing. He cocked his head to the side. "Claire."

She flew to his side, swatting him in the butt. "I told you not to call me that, Vincent."

He opened the door and motioned her in without a word. Inside a couple of villagers were excitedly talking about some Lifestream Festival. "We need a room," Vincent said.

"With two beds," Claire added. There was no way she was going to even think about being alone with Vincent and a single bed.

One of the girls nodded. "Two thousand gil a night."

Claire's eyes grew really round. "Are you kidding me?"

Vincent set the money down without a word. Apparently he didn't think it was an outrageous price gouge. He didn't let Claire protest more either. Just took the room key, and ascended the stairs.

Shaking her head, Claire followed him up, thankful that his cape prevented her from ogling his bottom. Their room was on the top floor. Vincent opened the door and stepped to the side, letting Claire enter first.

The room was beautiful, and, Claire decided, probably worth at least 500 a night. It had wall to floor windows that opened onto a white stone balcony facing the water. In the center of the room was a large shell shaped bed with sea blue pillows and down-feather blankets. She rushed forward, opening the window and popping onto the balcony.

"Nice," she whispered. From where she was standing she could practically taste the salty air. The breeze felt clean and soothing – much better than the gritty wind that had assaulted her on Cloud's bike. And the sunshine was perfect too. In fact, it'd been too long since she'd been in such a peaceful scene. She felt the longing for normalcy start to build. What if Umbrella had never created zombies? Would she be married and living in a cozy little village like this? A bitter smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The answer was probably not. If it hadn't been for Umbrella she'd be cussing her absent love-life, working too hard to make ends meet, and thinking that life was too hard.

She sighed, pulling away from the view. Back in the room, she spotted Vincent. He was standing in the doorway, eyes locked onto her, expression unfathomable. She walked across the room, opening first the closet and then the bathroom door. Ignoring him, she stepped in and tried to lock the door only to discover there was no lock.

She popped her head back out, noting that Vincent hadn't moved. "I'm gonna take a shower. Stay out."

Vincent tilted his head in something resembling a nod.

Claire's eyes narrowed, but she left it at that. Twenty minutes later she was almost squeaky clean. The inn's soaps were all top of the line; they were like silk on her skin. She found a shell-themed comb, and brushed her hair until it was semi-dry. She pulled on her panties and hooked her bra, then reached for her bar maid's outfit only to notice the blood and dirt staining it.

Which made her check the bra and panties. Unfortunately there was blood on the bra. She took it off, dropping it into the tub in disgust. After scrubbing it for several minutes with soap and water, she hung it up to dry and then turned to her dress. Once it was as clean as possible, she hung it up to dry, and then started to walk into the bedroom.

She opened the door, saw Vincent start to turn to look, remembered she was topless, and slammed the door shut.

"Dammit," she hissed. "What kind of an idiot am I?" She checked the bra and dress, but they were really too wet for comfort. She swore again and then wrapped a towel around herself. "You better keep your eyes to yourself," she muttered. "Because if you don't, I'll . . ." She let her voice trail off and stepped into the room.

Vincent glanced at her. Then he looked away, almost as if completely dismissive. Claire felt a stab of irritation, and wanted to make some demand as to exactly what she was missing. But she couldn't force the words out.

Then Vincent looked back. Slowly. Then he stood, walking toward her. Claire found herself looking up to see his face.

"Cl-"

Her body tightened in anticipation. "Please . . ." she whispered. "I can't stand you saying it."

"It?" He touched one leather gloved hand to her bare shoulder.

Claire stepped back, wiggling away from his hand. "Just don't say my name, okay?"

His eyes narrowed. "And if I want to?"

Claire forced herself to breathe normally. "You seem like the strong silent type," she said. "Just tough it out in silence." She headed toward the bed, and then realized that it was the bed. No her bed. Not his bed. THE bed. As in only one. As in the clerk had charged them 2,000 for the equivalent of a honeymoon suite.

At first she could just stare in mute shock. Then anger started to bubble up, moving from somewhere deep inside and building until her limbs started to tremble. How much was it to ask to just get a break now and again? Ever since Raccoon City, she'd had one disaster after another. And a lot of them were worse than getting overcharged for a motel room. But here she was, struggling to resist whatever pull she felt for Vincent Valentine. Here she was, nearly naked because of Umbrella. Here she was, on a different planet, totally separated from her former life. Separated from her family. And now, since she'd shot a stupid zombie before Cloud's cronies noticed it was a zombie . . . Now she was separated from her friends. And from the rookie police officer/secret agent that loved a dumb-ass, two-timing, mold-brained Ada Wong.

She gritted her teeth, hearing them grinding. Without meaning to, she dropped her hands to her sides, fists clenched so hard that the knuckles were white. The spot on her neck where the Jenova zombie bit her started to throb. She could feel tendrils of something snaking through her body. That was another f***ing problem. She was probably going to turn into a zombie. And then –

Vincent touched her shoulders. He didn't say anything.

Claire tensed at his touch, ready to spin and scream at him. Or better yet. Ready to spin, draw a gun and shoot him dead. Then she wouldn't have to worry about one bed in a stupid town. In fact, it'd probably be a good idea to just get the f**k out of town. Leave all the crazy, stupid people alone. Go to Hojo and tear –

Vincent pulled her back until she was leaning against his body. Then snaked his arms around her, drawing her closer. He leaned down until his lips were beside her ear. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice rough as sandpaper. "I'll sleep outside."

Part of Claire, the angry part, felt a surge of triumph. She'd hurt him somehow. Put a sorrow into his voice. The rest of her deflated, melted into his embrace. And as her anger faded, something replaced it. Fear.

She didn't think like that. Ever. Those hadn't been normal Claire thoughts.

She could feel the tendrils of the virus retreating, pulling into a tight knit ball on her throat, pulsing under the surface. She reached one hand to the spot, touching it gingerly. The skin was lava-hot, and she could feel something other than blood writhing beneath the surface.

"V-vincent," she croaked. He started to pull away from her, and Claire grabbed him with both hand, keeping him from letting go. "I think . . . I'm infected, and that I'm turning. Right now. I need you to do me a favor."

"Ask."

"I need you to promise first," she said. "And then if you can't do it, tell me."

"What would be the point? If I could back out when I wanted, you might as well tell me first."

"I need you to tie me up. Very tightly. And gag me with duct tape or something like that. Then I need you to watch me, and when I turn, I need you to kill . . . " Her voice trailed off. She couldn't quite bring herself to finish the sentence.

"How does this infection work?"

"I'm not sure, but I felt it just now. She tilted her head to the side. "I got bit on the neck, and it leaked green goop for a while. Then it healed over. I thought something weird was up, but after a couple of days with no side effects, I figured I was safe."

Vincent touched the spot on her neck. "It seems fine to me."

"It is fine now," she said. "But when I got angry, it started to take over me. I couldn't even think straight anymore."

"Okay," Vincent said. "I'll tie you up on the bed." He lifted her up. "And gag you with . . ." He dropped her onto the bed. "And if you turn, I'll kill you."

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

Vincent grunted in response, and turned away, looking around the room.

"Hey . . . what are you going to tie me up with?"

"Leather straps."

Claire cocked her head to the side. "Where will you get those from?"

"Cloud's bike. He sometimes has to secure packages." Vincent opened the door, and almost looked back at her. "Wait here." Then he was gone. Less than a minute later he returned with black leather straps.

Claire, having remembered her toplessness, had retrieved her wet clothes and put them on. If she was going to be a zombie, she wasn't going to be a naked one. Vincent didn't comment on her change or about her moving after he told her to wait.

Instead he crawled onto the bed, catching one of her wrists in a firm grip and leading it to the headboard. He tightened the leather straps until her arm was securely tied. Then he grabbed the other one and tied it to the headboard as well.

"What about my feet?" Claire asked. "Will you tie them together?"

Vincent shook his head slightly. "No. I prefer you to have some ability to struggle."

"Huh?"

In response, Vincent tied a gag into her mouth. "That way you can't bite."

Claire's eyes widened a bit. She wanted to say something like "Wait a minute. What are we doing exactly?" But Vincent had effectively silenced her.

She closed her eyes, deciding that the plan was just the plan. If she turned into a Jenova-zombie, he'd kill her and that would be the end of it. Besides, she was really tired. She took a couple of slow breaths, letting the first wave of sleep wash over her.

She was almost out when Vincent's clawed hand slipped under her skirt, and hooked her panties. The metal was cold, and her eyes snapped open. Then he pulled back, cutting the fabric. A couple slices later, he reached his gloved hand under her skirt and pulled the tattered panties away from her body.