A/N: I should be working on other unfinished fics right now, but this is dedicated to Rosa (a.k.a. MarshmallowPuffPuffChan a.k.a. Maianarisa), with whom I spent the majority of winter break playing Resident Evil and who has been begging me for Wesker/Claire writings. This would be my mini (and I do mean mini) practice-fic, having never attempted fanworks despite loving the games since I was seven. Also, about the title… the word "infatuation" has seriously creepy connotations for me, given its emphasis on short-lived obsessions. It's with that context in mind that I titled it.

Infatuation

[[By Bunny/Rae; 01.12.2010]]

His interest in humanity was fickle.
A sadist at heart, he enjoyed learning what made people crack from the inside out until the pressure finally broke them, but that was the extent of it.

There seemed to be three categories of "human": there was the general public, filled with silly dreams or pushing away their lives behind retail counters and video game consoles, then there were the overzealous who thought they could take his world (failures such as the Ashford girl had led to useful developments for him, but really they tended to only interfere), and then there were those with the hero-complex who felt it was their position to save everyone and everything they could, and even those they couldn't. They were all equally weak, for various reasons, and he did not miss being truly human.

He had surpassed the mold that all of those others fit into.
Even before the virus, he had been destined to become a god among men.

She, however, did not seem to fit into the neatly labeled sections either. His interest in her was curiosity more than caring - she intrigued him.

A civilian student thrown into a nightmare at only nineteen, she had come through exceptionally well. Not that her brother had never given her useful skills, but she still was nowhere near the level at which every other player had begun. He remembered the look of determination and defiance on her pretty features when he had nearly killed her at their first meeting. The image of sheer will imprinted on her face through the pain was one that had impressed him in some slight manner.

She was still weak. Pathetic, really. But she kept up such a show of bravado that he felt some credit must be offered to the girl.

He wanted to have her, and the motives amused him.
Oh sure, there was the additional perk of adding another crack to the all-too-thick glass that Redfield was made off, but more than anything, he wanted to study her.

When it came to manipulation and shattering, he was an expert.
Others it was easy enough to kill or leave to the ruin that was spreading, but she... she was different.
He wanted her, to test and to push.
Every creature had their breaking point.

Before he could finish his work, he had to see hers.