A/N: So, after nine rewrites, countless sessions with other fans, I finally get a chapter that I feel I can put out. It has been hashed and rehashed a million times. The grammar mistakes are likely still there. After 13k worth of words, I still feel like if I didn't post it hot, no one would ever see it. And, because I forgot to put this at the 50 review marker, I'll do it for when we hit 100- my 100 reviewer gets a one-shot of this pairing. So, enjoy it.

Ch 9 Push

Chris stood as the others sat around Barry's dining room table. The man had been kind enough to volunteer his house when it became apparent that Chris' apartment would not accommodate everyone for any length of time. Ever since Leon had gotten that video he had been unable to stay still. All he could think about was the last time Wesker and Claire had gotten together. The memory of the terror he felt when he saw Wesker dragging his sister around by her hair was fresh in his mind. The one question he could not get out his head was why he gone after Claire and why she was in the military base in the first place. He knew the viral monstrosity that had once been his captain didn't so much as blink without it being a step in some kind of plan.

He bit his lip, a habit both siblings had picked up from their parents, as he began to pace. The only use he could up with for Wesker to have interest in Claire was the fact that she would be close to the perfect bait for him. He had practically raised Claire himself after their parents had died, and they were as close as siblings could be. The idea that something could happen to her was agonizing. It didn't help that he was completely unsure of Wesker's intentions towards her. Surely, if it had been about baiting him, Wesker would've made a move by now. It wasn't like him not to use a resource presented to him.

"Chris, you need to stop," Jill said from her seat at the table. She looked almost as miserable as he felt. She had started staying over at his apartment in order to make sure that he ate and slept. "You're making me nervous." Chris let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

"None of this makes sense," he said as he pulled out one of the oak chairs and fell into it. Barry grunted from where he was fiddling with a speaker phone they had stolen from one of the BSAA conference rooms in agreement.

Carlos had called in a few days ago with a phone number of someone who supposedly knew where Wesker was. It was going to cost them more money, though. Money none of them had-which was why Leon sat in the corner glaring at them all, though he clearly wasn't really directing it at them. Leon had ties to the Kennedy family that he never liked talking about or exploiting, but this was an emergency. So he had been forced to visit family he liked to pretend he didn't have, in order to secure the family checkbook. Chris could only guess what that had been like. Apparently, Leon was the black sheep of the family.

"I mean," he began as Rebecca walked in along with Billy both carrying snacks. Barry's wife's response to crises was to make sure everyone was well fed. Even now he could smell the homemade food she was cooking. "If he took her to get to me, shouldn't we have heard something by now? Why send the video to Kennedy? What was Claire doing at that military base? Those uniforms looked an awful lot like our guys." Chris put his head on the table when all Jill did was offer him a half-hearted smile in response.

"Don't worry, Chris," she reached across the table and ran her fingers through his hair. "We'll get her back. She's like a little sister to all of us." He lifted his head enough so that he could see the determined nods from the others. Despite everything a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. There was a reason that they all had survived this long.

"Thanks guys." There was a sound of triumph as Barry finished hooking the speaker phone up. They had stolen it so that everyone would be able to hear the conversation with whoever this contact was. Rebecca and Billy put the food on the table and took their seats.

"If you would do the honors," Billy said as he pushed the phone towards Chris. He pulled the scrawled number from his pocket and pushed the button to turn the phone on. He waited until he heard the dial tone before he punched in the number.

She sat in the warm sun of the tropics, skin that was naturally pale turning golden brown in self-defense. She had no fear of sun damage or any other harm coming to her body. Long bright yellow hair was pulled up in a French braid that would reach her ankles if she stood. A black pinstripe pantsuit looked like it would unbearable in the heat, but not a bead of sweat showed on her skin. A pair of thin shades sat on the bridge of her nose over a naturally smirking mouth. The sound of a cell phone going off was startling against the backdrop of tropical forest life. She reached one manicured hand into her pocket to retrieve it, a full smile blooming on her lips as she saw the caller ID.

"Mr. Redfield" her voice was thick and honeyed, the light Southern accent announcing that she was American even in the foreign setting, "I've been expecting your call." She crossed her legs and waved away the servant who approached her with a cocktail.

Chris looked at the speaker phone in surprise before looking around the room. Just who the hell was this woman and how the hell did she know it was him? Even if she had caller ID it would display Barry's number. He cleared his throat, wondering just how he was supposed to go about this.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked and a tinkling laugh was heard.

"Honey, information is my business. How would I make any money if I didn't know who was in need of my services?" the voice sounded amused and for a second Chris had a flash of another coldly amused voice. "The only question I have for you, is what piece of information do you want? You can only afford one, after all."

"What do you mean?" it was Leon who asked.

"I know this call is about the whereabouts of Albert Wesker," the way she spat out the last name left no doubt in their minds that she was likely not on good terms with the man. "But aren't you curious as to why he would even be interested in Claire Redfield? Why he would break into a secure U.S. government facility to get her?" Everyone in the room's eyebrows rose at what she said. The tinkling laughter was back. "You didn't know that? Dear me, let's just consider that one a freebie. The next one will cost you."

"How much?" Jill asked raising her hand to stop any other questions. It had been a long time since she had done something like this. The last time she had truly dealt with someone who deals in information was when she was still leading a life of crime with her father. She knew this woman was trying to distract them, getting them to pay for the wrong piece of information so that they would have to pay more for the one they wanted. It was a standard practice.

"One-point-eight million wired to an account I'll give you," she purred through the phone line. "And that's for every piece of information I give you minus the aforementioned." Chris felt his eyes reach the size of dinner plates. That was four times what they had paid in order to get the phone number. Jill frowned. The figure was above what she had expected, but she had been out of the game for so long she had no idea what was reasonable and what was not anymore.

"One," Jill counter offered. The woman clicked her tongue over the phone.

"I fear you don't realize just how dangerous even talking to you is, Miss Valentine," she said her voice thick with false fear. "However, I understand your limited resources: one-point-six." Everyone in the room looked at her, Leon's hand hovering over the check as he waited for them to decide on a figure. Jill brushed a piece of hair out her eyes as her mind worked.

"One-point-four," she gritted out praying that the woman wouldn't hang up. She held her breath as she waited for her response.

"Done," came the firm response from the other end of the phone. "Now what do you want to know? I'm a very busy woman." All the eyes in the room went to Chris. The man took a deep breath.

"Just where he is," he figured that they could find out the why after they found Claire. There was no telling what that madman was doing to her while they sat around bargaining with some woman over the telephone.

One corner of a perfectly sculpted mouth lifted in a smile as she gave him the address of the laboratory and house in Arizona. While the information Ada had given her on Chris Redfield and the others was correct, she knew he was far smarter than Albert gave him credit for. The account number rolled off her tongue, knowing that these people's sense of honor would assure she was paid. They might even use her number again someday. Not that they would if they knew who she was. She hung up the cell phone, and the servant who had been hovering just out of earshot approached.

"Is there anything else you'll be needing, Mrs. Jackson-Wesker?" the man asked his voice heavily accented as English was not the first language he had learned.

"Have them ready the jet," she said as she sipped the cocktail. "I will be needing to return the states. It seems my brother's little side project has had some interesting results, and I have a feeling I'll soon be in a position to reap the benefits."

Claire rubbed her hair with a towel in one hand as she walked into her bedroom. Oddly, since the kiss in the kitchen things had gone back to some semblance of normal. Wesker still didn't return to sparring with her, but she knew that this was due to some project he was working on on-top of the work he was doing on the serum, not him actively avoiding her. She had stopped by the lab room a couple of times over the past few days to give blood samples and the sheer amount of paperwork piled neatly around the place was startling. He had almost seemed distracted as he took her blood. It was unlike him to be so untidy. She had actually thought about trying to filch some of them, before common sense told her that he would likely notice if anything was a hair out of place.

She let out a sigh before frowning as she saw a box on her bed. She threw the towel over a chair as she approached it. Cautiously, she pried the lid off, almost like she was afraid that whatever was in it would hurt her. She pushed tissue paper aside to find a pair of black ballet flats. Little black jewels went around the top and she had little doubt that they were real gems. Ribbons trailed from them in order to secure them to her feet. She studied the shoes for a moment like some kind of great puzzle trying to figure out what was going on.

The brunette finally gave up and put the shoes back in the box before picking the box up. Why was she going to spend all her time trying to figure out why Wesker was giving her ballet shoes when she could go downstairs and ask him?

Wesker decided that Russians were not people he was going to actively seek out to work with again. They were all almost as paranoid as he was from the combination of the Cold War and the stranglehold the KGB once had on the country. It made negotiations crawl. The only good news was that he had managed to perfect the serum for Claire and decided that he was going to use the Gala in order to test it. Testing had shown that the virus would overcome the serum, which meant she would likely be on doses for the rest of her life if she wanted to 'live normally'. It slowed down her healing to a virtual crawl and her strength and speed were greatly reduced. But it would cheat any test done for the presence of T and its variants.

There was a knock at the door to the control room and his attention went from the data streams Red Queen was sending him from Russia that were being printed out, to another monitor that showed Claire standing outside the door a black box under her arms. A frown danced across his features. Things had been getting better since the incident in the kitchen. He had come to the conclusion that whatever had happened in there had been nothing more than the result of too much time spent together and mutual frustration at the situation.

The shoes had been his way of getting her attention without actually having to talk to her. Whatever conclusion about the mess he had come to, it had not changed the fact that that odd feeling that was anger but not appeared whenever she was present. He had not had time between his projects to examine it enough to come to any kind of definite conclusion, so he had decided the prudent course of action would be to avoid it. This was why he did not answer the door himself but allowed the computer to do so. He turned in the chair, so that he faced her as she walked in.

"Can I ask what gave you the impression I was a ballerina?" Claire asked sarcasm heavy in her voice as she stepped inside. It always felt to her like she was entering some villain's lair with the way he kept the lights dim in order to see the computer screens better. His scent was thick in here, the smell of rock candy and ozone easing tension out of her without her consent. A hand unconsciously went to her belly, only for her to realize it as Wesker's eyes followed the movement. "Well?" she asked drawing his attention away from a topic that seemed to mostly result in the two of them brawling or doing other things she wished no part of. She was no less determined to escape, watching for an opening.

"They match the dress," the blond said simply leaving her more puzzled than when she started. Sometimes it astounded him how dense she could be.

"What dress?" she went back over her mental picture of her room, making sure that she hadn't overlooked it. "And why would I need a dress?" Claire was not a dressy kind of woman. She had always felt more at home in a t-shirt and jeans or the occasional bit of biker gear. Dresses always made her feel like she was a three year old playing dress-up with her mom's clothes. She knew she was not the most beautiful woman, but hoped that someday someone would like her for her personality. But that was before this had all happened. She was going to have a child and due to the nature of her infection, the very idea she could find someone to settle down with was ridiculous.

"The dress being delivered to the hotel room," Wesker said clearly annoyed. He couldn't afford to play twenty questions with her right now, so it was better just to explain things in simple terms. He had forgotten how like her brother she could be when she wanted to. He had been known to forever ask mundane questions. "You should pack an overnight bag as we will be leaving in a few hours. We will be attending a party that a friend is throwing."

Claire looked at him in disbelief. They were going back out after what had happened last time? Was he insane? Yes, a voice in her mind responded, he very likely is. But she wasn't going to say anything. This was likely the opportunity she had been waiting for. The party meant civilization, and civilization meant a chance to disappear and find her brother. Her thumb traced over her lower stomach as she thought. She was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Fine," she said with a shrug. She watched curiosity light in his exotic eyes and she moved to leave. It would be better if he didn't ask her any questions. She had a feeling that she would be hard pressed to come up with a lie he would believe. That and the more amount of time she spent in his presence the more she remembered the feel of his lips on hers and the passion in that single kiss.

Wesker watched her walk out, puzzled. He had expected more of a fight after what happened last time. He knew that she was adamantly opposed to the idea of harming others in her attempt to stay out of the government's clutches, and that, while she hadn't said anything, the night they had spent in Phoenix had bothered her. So then, why had she given in so easily?

He blinked slowly as a thought came to him. Perhaps she saw this as a chance to get away from him. He knew that their argument was likely far from finished in her mind, and that she had likely only appeared to have given in in order to plan something. She was not her brother and understood the concept of planning doing what brute force could not. But, surely, she was not going to try to take off. She could not be that foolish.

Chris looked at the weaponry spread out across his bed. Most of it was legal, he had the permits to prove it, but there were a few that he had modified himself. His S.T.A.R.S. issued handgun was one of them. He picked it up, pushing the button to slide the magazine out. He checked it to make sure it was empty before putting it on the bed. He slid the slide back to check the chamber before checking the sights by looking at a tree outside the window. All of this was habit- a practice developed from years spent moving from one viral crisis to the other. The fact that this was to go after his sister didn't change it. Chances were good that he was going to encounter Albert Wesker and he didn't want a gun to stall because he missed something an inspection could've caught. He heard the snick as the door behind him opened and he lowered the gun as he turned.

Jill leaned against the doorway, her brown hair was pulled back in a low pony-tail pulled through the back of a black baseball cap. She wore a black long sleeved shirt and jeans. A thigh holster wrapped around her waist and right thigh, the gun missing at the moment in response to her own preparations and her jeans tucked into a pair of steel-toed work boots. She waited until she was sure she had his attention before she walked inside.

"I figured I would come and give you a hand," she said with a little shrug as she made her way to the bed.

"Checking up on me, now?" Chris asked as he watched her walk her fingers down the barrel of the shotgun. He wondered if she did things like this around him intentionally or if it was all subconscious. Because, despite his sister being kidnapped by a madman, he still found Jill attractive enough to make him forget for a split second just why he had all the weapons spread across his bed.

"We worry about you," she said looking back up at him before moving so she could rest a hand on his upper arm. "I worry about you. Besides Barry, you're the only member of this team who has someone to lose. What will you do if we're too late?" Jill hated to even suggest such a thing, but knew with Wesker it was a very real outcome. Even if Claire was by some miracle alive, there was no guarantee she was Claire anymore. He could've turned her into some kind of mutated monster and the only peace they could give her would be by killing her. She knew her former captain was more than capable of being just that cruel, especially when it came to his former team members.

"Don't say that!" he ground out from between clenched teeth as he shrugged her arm off. "We won't be. Claire will be fine and we'll finally kill that bastard." The look he gave her made her heart contract. He was well aware of just what they might find at the desert address they had been given, but he couldn't let himself believe they would find anything less. She nodded firmly, letting him know without words that she was behind him.

"Well then, let's get this stuff packed up," Jill said as she grabbed the shotgun off the bed. "Carlos should be back tonight and Leon just called to confirm that he got us a ride. Unofficially, of course," which meant Leon had called in more favors with the people in the military he knew. He wondered what he would do without his friends.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. "Maybe we'll get lucky and actually surprise him this time."

Claire watched him work. They were on the flight to wherever the party was going to be held. Wesker wouldn't tell her, and she had spent most of the drive to the small private airstrip in sullen silence. The second they had climbed into the plane he had opened up a little black laptop, making a point of the fact he had things to do and would not be dealing with her childish attitude. Whatever. She was bolting the second they hit the city streets. But with his ignoring of her in favor of his work, and the fact that she was too wired with adrenalin from thinking about her upcoming escape, meant she couldn't sleep. This meant she was reduced to staring at him, as it was cloudy so there was nothing to see out the window, and letting her mind wander.

Her eyes mapped his face, the sunglasses gone in favor of the natural light filtering through the cabin. He didn't look a day over thirty though she knew he was in his mid-forties. She also couldn't deny that he was handsome in that cold almost statuesque way. There was no doubt in her mind that the greats would have killed to get their hands on him. She looked at the small downward turn to his lips and couldn't help the flush of heat in her veins as it summoned the memory of the kiss in the kitchen. For those few seconds there had been no virus, no child, no years of hate stretching between the two of them. There had only been passion, pure and simple. She had never felt that kind of passion before, and had a feeling she would never find it with anyone else. Why did she have to find it with her worst enemy? Why couldn't it have been with some normal man? Did God really hate her that much?

A sigh escaped her lips and the sound of typing ceased as those liquid fire eyes rose to look at her. She felt heat rise to her cheeks under his scrutiny, knowing that she had been caught, but she refused to look away. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not if she was going to protect this baby.

"It's impolite to stare, dear heart," he said closing the lid to the laptop and setting it aside. It was hard to concentrate on his work with her staring at him. There was a considering weight to her gaze and he couldn't help the curiosity as he wondered just what it was she saw. Did she see a monster? A God? Or something else entirely?

"It's also impolite to drag people across the country without telling them where they are going," Claire snapped as she crossed her arms, letting the anger cover her mild embarrassment at being caught staring at him. "I do believe they have even gone so far as to make it crime. Kidnapping I think is the term."

"What difference would knowing where make? You would end up going either way," Wesker said leaning back in the white and cream chair as he folded his hands together in front of himself. Claire felt her temper flare. This was part of what they had been fighting about at the kitchen. He just expected her to follow him around doing whatever he wanted like some kind of deranged pet, offered a treat if it was compliant.

"I'm not one of your lackeys, Wesker," she hissed moving so she was sitting on the edge of her chair. "You don't get to tell me to jump and expect me to say how high. I'm not something you can control like an experiment! I'm a person." She made sure her eyes were locked with his as she said it. She wanted no misunderstanding.

The blonde raised an eyebrow at her response. Clearly, the extra hormones in her blood stream where affecting her judgment. He had best calm her down before she ended up trying to take him on physically-the plane was not built to handle that kind of damage and he did not enjoy the idea of having to walk all the way to their destination along with the fall and its results.

"I'm perfectly aware that you're a person, Ms. Redfield," he began but she cut him off with a scoff.

"Really? Sometimes I don't even think you know what anything you can't put into one of your predetermined boxes is," the sneer in Claire's voice was unlike her, but she was so tired of this, of everything since she had found out about her infection. Wesker was just the closest target, but that didn't stop her. "I bet you don't even know why're keeping me. Oh, I'm sure you've figured out some way to justify it in that twisted mind of yours, but it's not the real reason and you know it. Does it eat you up knowing that in some twisted way you need me?"

The words had not been meant to leave her mouth. They were far too close to voicing what she had seen in his eyes that day. Claire knew that once he figured it out, she would either end up dead or never see the light of day again. Such a weakness would either be destroyed or locked away where no one would ever have a chance of finding it. She had to get away before he got to that point. Had to.

His temper flared to meet hers at her words. He had no name for the feeling she inspired, had no rational reason for the fact that he could not bring himself to fatally harm her. It was slowly driving him crazy. The only thing he could think to do was to prove her wrong. He was in front of her in a flash, tossing her onto the floor of the cabin, and pinning her down. She struggled, a fist connecting with his lower jaw before he managed to capture her wrists and pin them to the floor above her head with one hand. His other one was around her neck.

"I don't need anyone, Claire," Wesker told her, nose inches from her own. "You're something rare and intriguing that is rapidly becoming more trouble than it's worth. I would advise you not to become so troublesome you lose all worth." He tightened the hand around her throat as he spoke, those defying eyes staring up at him.

Claire was not ready to give in just yet. One leg hooked around his thigh, and with a twist she reversed their positions. The shock of the move left him momentarily stunned and she was fisting her hands in his dress shirt, bringing her face close to his in an instinctual need to try to intimidate him.

"That's why you're alone, Wesker," they were close enough he could feel the breath from her lips as she spoke. "Never needing anyone or anything. Tell me, do you ever wonder what you're life would've been like if you let that ice thaw a little bit? If you asked instead of ordered? If you had someone waiting for you on the other side of that lab door? Or are you so cold, that no one could mean anything to you beyond what they could do for you?"

He wanted her to stop talking. She was giving voice to questions he had been shoving away for a long time-things he had labeled as irrelevant in his quest to perfect the virus. Then there was the fact that she had the unique ability to drag these things he had put to rest in his mind to the surface and force him to think about them. That damn feeling that was not rage was back and he was moving with a single purpose-he needed her to stop talking. A shift of his body weight, a flex of his muscle, and she was once more underneath him.

Claire had a split second to read the intent in his eyes before his lips were on hers again. It was violent, as much an extension of their fight as if they were trading blows. This was so wrong. She wasn't supposed to be yanking the short strands of his hair in an effort to get him to do as she wished. She wasn't supposed to be sucking his tongue into her mouth, delighting in the feel of it. She wasn't supposed to be locking her legs around his waist so she could get as close to him as possible with clothes on. She was supposed to be pushing him away as his body molded to hers. She was supposed to be protesting as one of his hands slid under her shirt. She was supposed to be fighting as his lips moved towards her neck.

A sound escaped her lips when he found the pulse point on her throat and he cradled it with his lips, teeth, tongue. He didn't know what this was. He had never experienced a lust this all-encompassing before. It was like their anger was fuel, feeding the need to touch, to claim. He wanted her. He wanted Claire Redfield writhing underneath him, he wanted all the sounds she made, and he wanted her to want it. It was like an ache settling into his bones, into his very being, and it frightened him.

He paused, her pulse dancing under his lips, one hand on the small of her back pressing her into him. Then he was moving. He left her like she had burnt him, feet carrying him to the bathroom. He didn't care that he had left her sprawled wantonly on the floor, that his body was protesting adamantly, that it might look like he was running away from her. What he cared about was that damn feeling coursing through his veins-the sheer intensity of it. Wesker had felt very little even when he had been human: ambition, anger, desire, curiosity, triumph, the occasional bit of contentment when things went his way. But none of them held the sheer power of this feeling.

He ran one hand through the mess she had made of his hair, forcing it back into place, as a thought hit him with all the force of a runaway train. Was this affection? Was this that petty emotion humans wrote such drivel about? Was this the thing that brought men low and nations went to war over? A sneer twisted his face at the thought. If that was so, they could keep it. Albert Wesker had much more important things to do than deal with an affection.

Sherry Birkin frowned at the email she had just gotten from her "Uncle Albert". The length was not the problem-often when she would send three or four page emails she would get back one or two lines of his concise prose. It wasn't uncommon to get two sentences: That's nice dear. All is well here. –A. Indeed, this email was just as short, only what made her stare at it in her dorm room was the message itself. Much to discuss. Come home over break. He hadn't demanded she come to wherever he was for the holiday break in years. He also wasn't one to discuss much, more the type to inform her of how things were going to be.

A sigh escaped her lips as she answered his email with an affirmative. More than likely, all she'd have to do was be packed and a car would show to take her to the private jet and fly her to wherever her uncle was. Vaguely, she wondered what was so urgent he was having her come to him. She began to dial a number she had long ago memorized on her cell phone. Her parents had not left her a pauper, and the second she turned eighteen all the money was hers. She could afford the services of the Asian woman with no name.

The rest of the plane ride was spent in self-induced silence, neither one wanting to discuss what had happened. Claire thought briefly about kissing the tarmac as the pilot lowered the small staircase or just making a run for it blindly. Anything would be better than this. Her eyebrows climbed into her hairline as she saw the four men in suits waiting at the bottom of the steps. She hesitated at the door, looking back at Wesker. For all the fighting and confusion, she still found herself looking to him when she was in danger. It grated on her nerves that she still trusted him like that.

Wesker said nothing as he took note of the welcoming committee. It seemed some of the people from the Organization didn't trust him to be able to conduct himself in the city without drawing attention to himself. It would be annoying, but it would be better to ignore them than to give the Organization more reason to suspect him. He moved past Claire, frowning at the small spark just brushing against her provoked, and headed for the limo like the men had never existed.

Claire let a sigh out at his actions before walking down the stairs herself. She glared at the one man who dared to offer her his hand. She was hardly an invalid and had never understood the whole helping a woman up and down stairs, in and out of cars, and such. Well, not when they weren't wearing heels. The biker boots she had on didn't count, and she nearly growled as one of the men reached for her overnight bag. Whatever they saw on her face was enough to have them backing up enough for her to follow behind Wesker. She slid in next to him, clearly displeased when the men followed as well. Two sat across from them and two next to them, blocking her exits. There was no way she could bolt before Wesker grabbed her now.

"Welcome to Washington, Mr. Wesker, Ms. Redfield," one of the men said and Claire just about felt her jaw drop.

"Washington? As in Washington D.C.?" she asked feeling her heart give a leap of joy. This was her town. She spent nearly as much time here as she did at TerraSave headquarters in New York. Plus, Leon lived here.

"Yes, D.C.," it was Wesker who answered and the look he shot the man across from them was cold enough the other man was giving thought to checking his vest to make sure it had not frosted over. Claire noted the exchange and quickly came to the conclusion that the blond had not planned on these men being here. If he had, they would've known what they could and could not say in her presence.

"Ms. Gionne sent us to ensure that you had a pleasant stay," the man continued and Claire had to wonder whether he was brave or stupid.

"Ah," Wesker said next to her, that one sound conveying both recognition and annoyance. Claire decided that she would not want to be this Ms. Gionne even as she stored the name away for later use. She would get out of this mess one way or another. There was another life depending on it.

Alex waited as the valet opened her door and offered her a hand out. Gone was her pantsuit-instead she wore a pair of creased black dress slacks, a white trench coat buttoned over a grey turtleneck. She looked like an heiress or rich trophy wife, just like all the other women who made use of the hotel. She handed the valet her keys, and made her way towards the door that was already being opened. She had never liked D.C., the smell of power and corruption in the air like a disease. But she wanted to get a look at the woman who would seal her future before the government managed to get their hands on her.

She smiled at the male counter clerk as she gave her name, her mind already on the evening's events. She needed to gauge just how valuable the woman was to her brother. She needed to know just how to push them both so that she got the results she wanted. She had two goals for this night: to see to it that she was in a position to gain the secret to infected reproduction and make sure her brother had a weakness she could exploit whenever she so chose. A wicked little smile crossed her features as she entered the elevator. She had a long night ahead of her.

Claire looked at herself in the mirror. She had been amazed by the sheer opulence of the hotel suite. Foreign dignitaries stayed at places far less grand. She didn't want to think about just how much this place was costing. There was a full kitchen, living room, dining area, and a balcony with a hot tub. The bedroom was amazing, a bed so big it could fit twelve. Laid out on it had been a black and silver gown, matching the ballet shoes she had been given earlier. A quick check showed the bathroom was just as obscene, with both a walk-in shower and tub that could seat six. She had no sooner finished her self-guided tour than Wesker was shoving the room service menu in her hands and telling her she had two hours to eat and be ready.

She frowned as she began to blown her hair out to get it dry enough to work with, she was still a little startled by what had happened in the airplane. It seemed like the more they fought, the more likely they were to end up in compromising positions. It was almost like for them that the lust and the passion was an unnatural extension of the rage between them-almost as if they used it to communicate when words failed one of them. A smirk lifted one corner of her mouth. That was utterly ridiculous.

She tossed her reddish-brown locks back and turned off the dyer. But there had been that moment when she had contemplated surrendering to him and to the passion on the floor of the plane. She knew that if he hadn't stopped and taken a moment to cool off, she would've let him take anything he wanted. Her hands gripped the sides of the stand-alone sink hard enough her knuckles turned white. Why? What was it about him that shut off her common sense and left her nothing but a pile of lustful intentions? Why was she fighting it?

The last thought had her lifting her eyes from the marble of the sink to the oval mirror over the sink. Where had that last thought come from? She was fighting it because it was wrong. He was her enemy. Except, another part of her mind crooned, he's not anymore is he? The statement was true enough. He was no longer actively trying to harm her. Hell, he had aided her when placed in situations where she was in harm's way. But, just because he wasn't trying to kill her, didn't mean that he wasn't harming other people. She knew he thought nothing of killing another man or sacrificing people for the sake of his experiments. But he hasn't exactly started looking for more live subjects to test your virus on…

Claire sighed and began to gather her hair in order to pull it back. While that statement was true, she hadn't had any more episodes where she was inside the mind of some viral victim; it wasn't exactly a point in his favor, was it? She had practically pleaded with him not to, never saying the words, but conveying her meaning by describing what it was like for her. Another thought came then, one she knew was foolish even as she latched onto it. If she could get him not to experiment on others with her virus, could she get him to stop altogether? Could whatever they have be the key to stopping his madness? Could that be the reason fate had infected her in the first place?

Wesker opened the brief case he carried practically everywhere, fingers punching in the numerical code faster than the human eye code follow. He had dismissed the guards outside of the suite as soon as he realized she intended to shower. He had caught the glances they had given her when they thought the two of them weren't paying attention. She was so far out of their league it was laughable, but he still did not want them anywhere near her. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to Excella why one of her men was in a ditch somewhere because of the temper Claire had.

Gently, he pulled out the vial of serum he had created for Claire. This whole thing, on top of annoying Mallory, was designed to provide a basic test run for the serum. He grabbed a sterile needle from the case and made his way to the shut door of the bedroom. He rapped a knuckle against it and smirked at the sound of cursing from the other side. The amount of time it took a female to get ready to go anywhere was a mystery he had a feeling he would never unravel.

Claire swore as she heard him knock on the door. According to the clock she still had over an hour before they were due to leave, why was he bothering her? Not that it really mattered. She had spent the last five minutes trying to do the impossible and lace up the back of her dress by herself. The dress was a gorgeous strapless affair that the tag claimed was a Versace. She crossed one hand over the bodice of the dress to hold it up as she opened the door-if he was going to bug her he could at least be useful.

Wesker blinked at the sight of her, even as she was forced to hold up the dress, she was beautiful. The personal shopper had done an amazing job. She had pulled her hair back bohemian style, two French braids starting at her temples and held together at the back of her head with an apple blossom clip. The black of the gown made her look paler than she really was and her eyes stand out more. Her scent of sugared cinnamon was more than enough to warm his blood.

"I do believe someone once told me it was rude to stare," Claire said as she raised an eyebrow and backed away from the door to let him in. She turned her back on him once she was far enough into the room and reached one hand up to hold her hair out of the way. "I'm having the damnest time with this back. Would you do me a favor…?"

Wesker put the serum and the syringe on the dresser as he realized the source of her swearing. Women's fashion was ever so unpractical. Carefully, he laced the black ribbon through the small silver clasps, eyes on his task and not the tempting expanse of neck she was showing him, the thickness of her scent in his nose. Claire gritted her teeth as every time his fingers brushed her skin she was reminded of other times they had touched, the smell of him trying to coax her into relaxing into his touch. She needed a distraction.

"So what did you want?" the brunette asked staring at the cream colored wall next to the bed.

"I thought I would let you know the reason why we are going to this little party," the blond said as he finished lacing the dress. "Breath out, dear heart." The second she complied he gave the ribbon a careful jerk to tighten it before swiftly tying a bow at her waist. His hands lingered for a second before he stepped away from her to the dresser. Claire let go of her hair and turned towards him. She eyed the needle in curiosity.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked thankful for the open cut of the dress in the front as she moved towards him. It meant she didn't have to gather it every time she wanted to move and showed off the ballet shoes with every step she took.

"I believe that I have perfected the serum," he stated as he pushed the needle into the rubber top of the vial and pulled back the plunger. "Tonight is going to be a test to see how long the effects last and if there are any adverse side effects." He held out his hand for her arm as he spoke. She gave it to him as he pushed the plunger down slightly to get any air out.

"So then, this isn't a party with your fellow conspirators?" Claire asked as he sunk the needle into the juncture of her elbow.

"No," he acknowledged removing the needle before putting it back into the plastic so that it could be disposed of properly. "Though you are likely to see some people from there. It would be best if you acted like you didn't know them." She got the message: he didn't want her to blow their cover, the bastards.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," Claire hissed as she pulled her arm out of his grasp. There was an odd sensation running through her veins, almost as though peanut butter had been injected into her.

"There is a chance that as long as the serum is in your veins, if you die you won't come back," Wesker said coldly as he made his way to the closet and pulled out a suit that had been hanging in there. She sneered at him around the headache forming behind her eyes, but her retort choked in her throat when the doorbell to the suite rang. Her dinner was here.

The man known as HUNK began whistling a tune as he worked. This had to be one of the oddest missions he had undertaken. He had been beaten, poisoned, drugged and almost forced into having sex with his target. The last was really what set things apart in his mind. Never had that happen before. He ignored the hologram of the little girl on his right telling him that he should cease and desist. He needed to get out. Now that the location was confirmed, he needed to get in contact with his employer.

He practically did a happy dance as the control device for the door short circuited. He pocketed the lock pick, thankful that he had made the pit stop to get his clothes before getting locked up once again. The Red Queen yammered on about a breach in security even though no one could hear besides him. He looked at the thick steel of the inner door and sighed. He brought out finger sized explosive and stuck it to the door along with a remote trigger. Still whistling the same tune he walked around a corner and pushed the button. The explosion was music to his ears and he grinned as he made his way through the rubble. The first stage of his mission was over and soon phase two would begin. He couldn't wait to see what kind of surprises would be in store for him.

Claire decided as she was forced into yet another pointless conversation with the wife of some researcher, that she was going to have to show Wesker the meaning of the word party. They were supposed to be fun, not bore one to sleep. Thankfully, Wesker had left her alone to conduct some kind of business, so she didn't have to deal with him hovering over her shoulder. She remembered the car ride over. He had asked her to describe every one of her senses every fifteen to twenty minutes from the time of injection. Touch, sight, and taste remained the same, but they had hardly changed to begin with. Hearing was less, but it was the sense of smell that had changed the most. While still acute, the stench of non-infected had just about disappeared.

"Jenny, darling," a male voice on her right said startling her out of the stupor the other woman's voice had put her into. "I do believe Marcus is looking for you." She watched as the dull woman's face lit up and she took her leave. Claire turned to look at her rescuer, and found herself looking at a handsome man her own age. He had short sandy blonde hair with chocolate eyes. He was wearing a pinstriped suit, the harshness of the pure black cut with the deep purple of his vest.

"You mustn't allow yourself to get cornered by her like that," he said. His voice was rough- a direct contrast to the smooth tones she had been hearing for so long. He offered her his hand. "I'm Greg Marshal. I don't believe I've seen you at these things before."

"I must admit to this being the first one I've attended," Claire said as she took the man's hand. For the first time in a long time, the smile on her face was genuine.

"Well then, we'll just have to see about getting you acquainted with everyone," he offered her his arm and she took it. He steered her towards a friendlier looking group, pointing out people he knew as he went.

Wesker hung in the background as he was want to do at these types of affairs, waiting for Mallory to be alone. She appeared to be quite popular with these people. She looked good in her silver evening gown, though she didn't hold a candle to Claire. None of these peacocks could even come close. He saw his chance when she headed towards the punch bowl.

"Really, Captain Mallory, no wonder you haven't found us if this is what you have been doing with your time," he made sure his voice was that cultured, cold purr that drove the mockery in deeper. He had been cutting people apart with words for a long time and had long since perfected the art.

"You!" she sputtered, seeming to shake with rage. Wesker didn't bother to hold back the smirk at her reaction. It appeared she was easy to get a rise out of.

"Yes, me," he reached past her and took one of the champagne flutes from the table. "I am comforted by the fact our military employs such geniuses in stating the obvious." He sipped the champagne and was pleasantly surprised that they had managed to invest in a decent vintage this year.

"Very funny," Mallory said as she stuffed her hand into the clutch she had been carrying intent on finding her cell phone. "You can laugh all the way to the undisclosed government prison you're going to spend the rest of your unnatural life in." In a movement too fast to follow, he snatched the cell phone from her hand.

"Really, such an amateurish move, Captain," he crushed the phone dropping the pieces into a fake plant. "All I want to do is talk." Mallory looked at the pieces of the phone and couldn't help the fear taking place of the anger she had felt at first seeing him. This man was a classic sociopath with enhanced strength that was nearly impossible to kill. The only thing likely standing between her becoming another victim was the presence of so many people at the gala. Not that that would stop him if she gave him enough reason.

"There, now that the pleasantries are out of the way," Wesker said smoothly as he took another sip of his champagne, "Let's discuss you giving up pursuit of myself and the sample." Mallory crossed her arms and did her best to glare at him.

"Not going to happen," she hissed. "I've staked my entire career on this."

"Are you willing to stake your life, Captain Mallory?" he asked looking over the rim of his sunglasses to give her a glimpse of his inhuman eyes. She shivered, but stood her ground. She wasn't the only player in this game and with the dogs she had sent after him it was only a matter of time. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she met his gaze.

"I already have, Albert Wesker," Mallory reached for a flute of champagne for herself and downed it all in one swallow. The devil had already been and gone this night, and she had already bargained. "Things have been set in motion. It's only a matter of time before I have the sample. The only question is whether I'll have you along with it."

"Promises, Mallory, promises," he said as he seemed to disappear back into the shadows he had come from. She had given him a lot to think about. Just what did she mean that things had been set in motion? There was a twisting sensation in his gut and he had a feeling that he needed to find Claire. Now.

The bubbling laugh that left Claire's lips was real as she listened along with others that Greg had collected as he went around the room to a story involving him, a goldfish, and a drinking game early on in his career. He was a micro botanist, studying all varieties of very tiny plant life. He was also a killer with the ladies, though he seemed most intent on lavishing Claire with attention. She felt kind of bad that she couldn't return any of his advances, or so much as give him her last name. She wondered if this was what the rest of her life was going to be like-able to look but not partake.

The thought banished all the happiness from her. Regardless of what was going on with Wesker, or what power she seemed to have over him, she knew that she had to get out before she got much deeper. She already had feelings for him that were not hate or rage or anger. If she stayed too long she risked those feelings becoming something more. What was worse was the fact that she hadn't used his inattention at the party to try to leave yet. She placed the small flute of champagne she had been nursing on a passing waiter's tray, her mind made up.

"Is everything alright, Claire?" Greg asked her quietly as one of the other women began telling a story about her college roommate's cat and her final project. She offered him a small smile the lie falling off her tongue with frightening ease.

"I'm fine. I just need to make use of the washroom," the brunette said using the first excuse that came to her mind. He nodded.

"Just be sure to find your way back quick," he winked and all Claire felt was a deep sadness. There was no attraction on her part. Not even satisfaction that she had managed to get the attention of such a handsome man. It scared her as much as the idea that she might not want to run from Wesker as much as she thought she did.

She made her way to the hallway that contained both the bathrooms and one of the emergency exits for the building. She couldn't be sure if Wesker had concluded his business and was looking for her or not yet. It was better to throw him off for as long as possible. She moved towards the exit, knowing that there was a metro station nearby that would have payphones. She'd be able to call her brother or Leon collect from there. Her hand was inches from the gold bar of the door when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned on her heel, prepared to run, knowing that there was no way she could fight anyone in the dress she had on.

A woman stood there, long blonde hair coiled on top her head in complex knots that said she could afford to have someone else do her hair. The dress she wore was a purple so deep it looked black except when the light hit it. The neck line stopped just short of obscene and the diamonds that glittered at her throat were worth enough to buy a third world country. The scent of cigarette smoke hit her nose as she saw the lit white stick in the woman's delicate hand. Surprisingly, there was no other scent-not the muted scent of death that everyone else at the party had, nor the sweet sugary smell of infected. The only way she could think to describe it was unholy. The woman smelled like she was blank, a perfect slate waiting for something to be written on it. She felt goosebumps rise on her arms looking into the cobalt blue of the woman's eyes. They were the eyes of a predator put into such a perfect face.

"Running, Claire?" she asked in that slow southern drawl, cutting off the g sound in the word. Her hand raised and the tip of the cigarette glowed red from her inhale.

"How do you know who I am?" Claire asked as her body began screaming danger, something it hadn't done since she had undergone the change with the virus. Instinctively, she knew that this woman could harm her and her child; likely wouldn't hesitate to do so.

"It's pure foolishness to think that there isn't someone just waiting for you to rush into your brother's arms," the mystery woman exhaled the white smoke in a rush. "Not that staying with Albert's the best option either. He can't keep you safe and pursue what he needs to. What do you think he'll choose when the time comes, hmm? But that's irrelevant." She stalked forward, pausing only to inhale and exhale the thick cigarette smoke, almost like she was cloaking their own scents in it.

"What do you want?" the brunette asked as her back hit the metal bar of the door. She planted one foot behind her, another in front, balanced to spring if she should need to. Claire couldn't help her mind's wish for Wesker. She was a Redfield and that meant that in situations like this they relied on luck, while he was always the one with a plan. She had faced all manner of virally mutated monstrosities, but never had she felt the kind of fear this woman created. It was primitive, the same one that sent chills down your spine in the dark, the one that had you jumping at every noise in a deserted house. It was multiplied a thousand times by the mere presence of this woman. She needed his ability to plan, the way his scent gave her comfort, in order to fight that fear. But she wasn't going to let it stop her if it came down to it. Claire was going to protect her child.

"Merely to offer my aid," she had stopped moving, an amused smile curling on her lips. "You have something I want, Ms. Redfield. A secret hides in your blood-one that Albert has already dismissed as inconsequential." A shiver crawled up Claire's spine as the woman looked at her stomach in open hunger. Without thinking, she rested a hand on it, protecting what rested within.

"No," Claire's voice was firm, anger dancing behind it. She was so tired of these people who saw nothing but the secrets that rested in her blood. They could all go fuck themselves for all she cared. The hand not on her stomach fisted. She would die before she let anyone touch her or her child like this woman was suggesting.

"I can make all this go away," the woman said putting the cigarette out on the cream colored wall, ignoring the black smudge it made as the soot touched the wall, "The government chasing you, Wesker's need to have you, the threat to your life and that of your friends. All of it. You can live a normal life again with your brother and the others. It can go back to the way it was before this ever happened."

Did this woman think she was stupid? There was no way things could go back to the way they were before. One could not just erase over two months of their life, never mind her claim to be able to make both the government and Wesker go away. She was startled to realize that she didn't want to forget it, or for Wesker to go away. For all the confusion and internal conflict Wesker was inducing, she wouldn't trade what was developing between them for a chance to go back to the way things were. As twisted and wrong as it was, she had never felt more alive than when he touched her. Whatever was going on between the two of them, she was going to see it through. The acknowledgement of this fact helped her embrace her anger enough to drown the fear of this woman.

"Pretty words," Claire hissed anger heating the air around her. She felt slightly dizzy for a second before the world came into sharper focus. She could see clearer, the smell of cigarette smoke was thick enough it almost burned her nostrils, and she wouldn't be surprised if her eyes were that eerie shade of silver despite the serum.

"What's wrong, Claire? Not even tempted by the offer?" the woman's voice was like liquid honey. "Has Wesker managed to suck you in so completely? Offered you a few kisses, put a child in your belly, and suddenly he's worth more to you than your friends? Your family?"

"How dare you," her fists balled and she had to fight the urge to punch this woman. "You have no idea of what's going on between me and him."

"You're a fool if you think he can love you," the superior look on the woman's face just succeeded in making her look like a lifeless statute in a museum-perfect beauty with no depth. "He can't love." The sound of footsteps was heard and the other woman pushed her out of the way to take the exit.

It took Claire a few moments to gather herself enough to decide not to return to the party. She was unsure why she was still here, but the woman's words had told her something very true: she couldn't run to her brother about this. Not without risking him and the others. Wesker, while a murderous bastard, at least kept her safe and kept his word. He was really the lesser of all the evils in this situation, but that didn't mean she was giving in to him. She would fight him every step of the way, make sure he understood that she would be treated as he equal and nothing less. She had made her decision for better or worse and now she was going to have to stick with it. Firm in it, she walked out the front exit of the building, knowing there was a small park nearby. The very idea of going back into the ballroom was enough to make her stomach roll. She needed some time to herself.

It took Wesker fifteen minutes to realize she was no longer in the building. With this knowledge, came a distinct anger and an odd burning feeling in his chest. He had left her alone at the party confident that she was not going to run, and yet she was nowhere to be found. Anger had him slamming the door as he realized what this burning feeling was. He felt betrayed. He had trusted her. Granted, it had been only to do as he said and do nothing foolish, but he had still done it. Trust was something he had not realized he was capable of anymore.

A growl escaped his throat as he turned on the sidewalk, ignoring the valet asking if he should have the limo brought around. The cold D.C. night air was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his anger. He was disgusted with himself as he followed her lingering scent. The trust had to be a symptom of the affection same as the way her scent excited him despite his current anger at her. The fact that this affection was affecting his decision making process was beyond unacceptable. What if she had gotten on the metro? There was a station nearby and while it would be odd to see someone so well dressed on it, they would hardly not let her on. She could be at that pain in the ass Kennedy's apartment right this moment.

A fresh wave of anger flooded his veins as he imagined the greeting she would receive. The idea of any other man touching her, even in a friendly way, was enough to spark his anger anew. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the suit jacket, fisted to the point his knuckles showed white even against the natural pallor of his skin. This was completely unacceptable. Even when he had been human, he had never allowed his emotions to rule him. The fact that they were affecting his decision making process, that she was affecting his decision making process… He needed to get rid of this affection and he needed to do it now.

He stopped in front of a sign that displayed the name and hours of a small neighborhood park. Her scent trail clearly told him that this was where she had gone, but he could not understand why. If she was planning on making her great escape why would she come here? He stepped inside the park fence, vision perfect even in the low light of the city night. A quick scan found the only figure actually moving in the park. Claire sat on the swings, looking down at her feet which were off the ground, as the swing moved slowly back and forth. The sight was both sad and endearing at once, making him grit his teeth and viciously shove the emotion away. He closed the distance between them in seconds.

Claire had known it was only a matter of time before Wesker found her. She never doubted his ability to do so. The eerie way he was able to do it reminded her distinctly of an old Chinese saying-something about how certain people were connect by an unbreakable red string of fate, and regardless of how tangled it got, how hard the two parties fought, they would be forever connected. So, when his unique scent hit her nose, she was unsurprised. She put her feet down to stop the swing's motion, uncaring of the dirt that was now coating her shoes, and looked up at him.

"I knew you would find me," she said as she stood, her eyes glowing a soft silver as the combination of time and the encounter with that woman had burned through the serum. Wesker choked back his anger at the combination of her odd statement and the fact that she appeared to have flushed the serum from her body. According to the lab testing, she should've been okay at least until the next morning.

"What happened?" the blonde's voice was curt, his anger showing through despite his attempt to hide it. Claire looked away at the trees in the park, knowing that once she told him, her fate was sealed. Once he realized there was someone as genetically altered as that woman had been was after her, she was never going to see the light of day again. A hand flattened itself across her womb. Would her child ever know the simple joy of a place like this? Would he or she ever be able to run free, making quick friends with other kids his age, doing things that would result in the typical scrapes and bruises of childhood? But she had made her decision, she reminded herself.

"There was a woman," she began a hand reaching out to touch the cold metal of one of the poles holding up the swings. Once she began, the story tumbled from her mouth, gooseflesh rising on her skin from the memory. She looked him only when she spoke of what the woman had offered her. She wanted him to understand what she was giving up, even if she knew that he would never understand the why behind it. She wondered about her future. Was she doomed to eventually come to love a man who could never share one-tenth of the affection she felt? Was the child she carried going to be adversely affected by having a father who could never love it?

"I find it hard to believe, dear heart," Wesker said as she finished her story with her coming outside to get some fresh air and think, "that you would give up such a ripe opportunity to get out of my clutches." He stored the information on this woman away, wondering if this was part of what Mallory had been talking about. Was this woman connected to her? His anger had lessened at the idea, no matter how his mind told him that he was being played by her, that she had not left the gala with the sole intention of running. As a matter of fact the idea that she had given up what was likely her last chance to return to a normal life to stay with him, had caused a resurgence of that feeling of affection. It sickened and disgusted him with its warmth and the sudden urge to touch her, pull her close, and hide her away somewhere. He was Albert Wesker not some love sick fool.

Claire had prepared herself for his disbelief, or so she had thought, but the anger at his words, the way he threw back at her the decision she had made, was hot and quick. She moved so that she was inches from him, a growl buried deep in her throat as she looked up at him. Her fingers itched with the need to remove his sunglasses and see his eyes, to make sure that he was paying attention to her words.

"There are things more evil than you out there, Albert Wesker," she snarled reaching up to pluck his shades away from his eyes. He caught her wrist before she could bring it all the way down to her side. His eyes burned in the lack of light, twin fires staring at her with such intensity. She felt her body shiver with anticipation. If he touched her this time she would give in. She knew it with a startling clarity she had never before possessed during their conflicts.

"Evil is subjective, dear heart, but whatever you need to tell yourself to justify staying," the blonde said as he reached forward to grab her chin. Claire clenched her fists in anger and against the heat of his touch. She knew he would not understand. The woman's voice from earlier echoed through her head: he can't love. So then, what was it that had flashed in his eyes seconds ago? What was this burn that started where he touched her and spread through her body? Was it a by-product of the virus that ran through her blood? Was everything she was feeling a by-product of this lab created plague? Had she given up her freedom in a decision fueled by virus created delusions? Rage at the idea burned through her blood just as intense as the heat created by the simplest of his touches, even as a voice whispered in her head it couldn't create what there hadn't been a seed for in the beginning.

"Now, when did you notice the effects of the serum starting to wear off?" Wesker was determined to get back to the business at hand. Speculating on why she had not taken off was not a question he could answer at the moment. It likely had to do with emotions, of which hers seemed to be in a constant state of illogical flux that was impossible for him to unravel or predict.

"Oh, I dunno, how about when I was cornered by the she-bitch in the hallway?" Claire's tone was biting as she jerked her chin out of his grip and took a few steps away from him. "Do we have to do this right now? I'm tired." She refused to look at him with the rage and knowledge floating in her veins. If this kept up she would do something stupid.

Wesker let her move away from him, studying her. She was a walking contradiction of emotions and decisions, impossible to predict. She reminded him so much of the viruses he had spent his whole life studying in that aspect. Beautiful and just as obsession inducing. The thought brought his entire train of thought to a halt. That damn affection was creeping back into this thought process and he needed to nip it in the bud now.

"Yes, we do," he pushed crossing his arms, "The longer the amount of time between the trigger and me asking you the questions the more you are likely to forget." The words were so similar to the ones she herself used when trying to coax details out of a bioterror victim, she felt something snap.

"What does it matter, Wesker?" her eyes reflected a certain amount of bitterness as she looked at him. "There will be other opportunities for testing. Hell, you said yourself, you plan on locking me up in some island facility somewhere. What's the fucking point? I'll never get the freedom it was supposed to give me." Claire moved passed him as she finished speaking, the wetness on her cheeks freezing at the temperature around them.

The blonde's eyes furrowed. What was she going on about? Sure, he had mentioned stopping by the facility in the Phoenix Islands because it was secure and would likely have everything on hand for the potential disasters that came with such a risky birth. But he fully expected her to fight him every step of the way. It was part of what made her so intriguing. And here she was acting like she had done the unthinkable and given up.

"Well then, that saves me the trouble of trying to think up some way to get you into a cryo-tube," he was bluffing, he had no such plans. As a matter of fact, he had no clue why the words had come out of his mouth, something that never happened. All he knew, was that the added scent of saline that signaled tears had that damn feeling returning in spades complete with pain. If he didn't know better, he would think he was having a heart attack. But the words had the desired effect.

Claire whirled on her heel, the full skirt of the dress floating around her like the aura of her rage. Her eyes were full silver as she narrowed them in a glare. She moved towards him with purpose and he couldn't help the amused glare on his face. He understood this Claire. Unfortunately, he had forgotten just how fast she was. The palm of her hand connected with the side of his face, sending his sunglasses flying.

"How dare you!" she hissed, all the bitterness swallowed by her rage at the idea of her becoming just another number in a computer system somewhere. She was fighting so hard to prove she was still a person, sure she had lost it for a minute, but that didn't give him the right to even suggest such a thing.

"Dear heart," Wesker said with growl in his tone. They hardly needed to be fighting in a public park where anyone could come by and see them. When she moved to hit him again, clearly taking her anger out on him, he caught her arm and jerked her around so that her arm was twisted at an awkward angle. She could get out of the hold in a second if she really wanted to, but he wanted her to calm down, not fight with her. But Claire wanted to fight. She wanted to hold onto that white hot anger his words had invoked as long as she could. There was a chance, she knew, that if she let it go that bitterness would come back. And she couldn't stand to feel that way. It was so unlike her.

"Don't 'dear heart' me," the brunette hissed modifying the hold so that she was chest to chest with him. "I'll never let you do such a thing. I'll die before I let someone put me in one of those damn test tubes." She was standing on tip-toe as she tried to make it so that her eyes were level with his while she spoke.

"Good," he said glad that she had her fire back, before pushing her away from him. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled his cell phone out to call for the limo.

Claire watched him, her rage put out with the single word her had responded with. She wasn't stupid. She realized now exactly what he had done. It was the same thing she did to her brother when he was thinking about giving up after everything he had seen. He had noticed she was close to breaking and had brought her back in the most effective way for someone of her personality. He had manipulated her.

That wasn't the part that puzzled her, she noted as she ran one hand up her arm as they waited in silence for the limo to come around. It was the motive behind it. Manipulation was par for the course with Wesker, as much a part of him as the virus. But, manipulation required motive, a need to put a person in a certain place in order to execute an objective. When Claire had done such things for her brother it had been about making him feel better and come up with the motivation to carry on. Both were things that she could not see Wesker having too much interest in concerning her. If she was defeated and only going through the motions, wouldn't she be better to handle?

She followed him out of the park entrance as the limo pulled up. Did it really matter? He had done it, pulled her out of her pity-party. She waited until he opened the door for her before she looked at him.

"Thank you."

Alex leaned against the building across the street, the shadows thick enough to hide her form, as she watched the two of them get inside the black limo. Everything had gone according to plan. Mallory had been easy enough to convince, more than willing to write her a blank check in effect, in order to make get the information on an ambush site for when Chris managed to extract Claire from Wesker. She would get her hands on the reproductive answer in her blood and the child she carried once Mallory had her hands on her.

One heeled foot propped itself on the bricks behind her as the limo sped into the night traffic of D.C. But she knew better than to just take the data and run. When her plans came to fruition she was going to need something to hang over Albert's head in order to keep him from interfering. She was more than content to let him do the leg work at this stage, perfecting the virus as the ideals that Spencer had planted in his mind drove him closer to her own goals. This was why she needed to be sure he had a weakness, something she could exploit when the time came. She wasn't like him, a super human created from T. She had truly found the secret to immortality buried deep in the RNA structure of Progenitor, but the price was high.

A frown on her face did nothing to diminish her beauty. The answer to her price was in Claire Redfield's blood, and that of her child. Once she had that solved she could show the world its next stage in evolution. Death would be as a fairytale whispered in dark corners. What a beautiful place it would be. She would ensure that only the worthy received her gift. She just had to wait-to wait for Chris to find Claire, the military to give her Claire's blood, Wesker to perfect the virus to the point where she could use it to start over. It was a good thing patience was the only virtue she actually possessed.

Reviews:

PurgatoryNymphe: Yes, lots of Wesker trying to squish that nasty affection. Apples have taken on a whole new meaning in my mind. As for who Carlos is seeing, I thought I was obvious… Ada. Apparently I should work on that description… Glad you aren't disappointed with last chapter and I hope this chapter came out decent.

Grissrox: Glad you like all the twists and turns. I'm trying to keep it engaging…

Lime Rickey: I hope that they are still in character (it gets harder the more Wesker understands to keep him from going "Fuck it. It's too confusing I'll just kill her and save myself the trouble"). I don't think Wesker has ever really had anyone to love/love him. Love can be frightening just as easily as it can be something warm.

Project X: Glad you think it's realistic. A famous fantasy writer once said: "What makes a good fantasy piece believable? It's the realism. They have to do the same things normal people do or they'll never relate to them". Or something like that.

Ehehehehe: Now, I must know who this reviewer is. –is ashamed she doesn't know- And I understand what you mean about infected Claire. You have to be very careful of two things: that she doesn't become Marysue-ish and that she stays in character. It's quite the balancing act. Wesker, while quite smart, has the emotional expression capacity of a toaster. The physical violence is the only way he has to express even a tenth of what she makes him feel. He's just glad she doesn't break. I'm honored to have broadened someone's taste.

Naoko Suki: I hope you noticed what the title of this chapter is- I couldn't have Claire end up pregnant without having her face the real choices and consequences of such an event. Too many people gloss over that fact with the two of them and I think it is something that needs some very real attention. Claire is reaching her breaking point as is Wesker. The only question I have at this point is the level of messy.

GreenOnBlack: Glad everything appears to be making sense (sometimes I worry). I tried to keep him in character for that bit seeing as I have plans for the child. So, his character did get a little sacrificed in the name of plot. I don't think Claire is really willing to exploit her advantage yet. I think she's still coming to terms with what she feels and its implications. Hope this is continuing to be a great read!

Reviewer who left no name: I hope you didn't miss this chapter's posting and glad things are making sense to you.

Nikki-marie-Wesker: They may stop being so stubborn, but can you really picture them saying the words?

Netherlady: I am honored that you think my approach to the pairing is realistic and that would compare me to Ornamental Nonsense's work. I can promise no sappy ending and no villain 'reformation'. Wesker, as all true madman do, does not see himself as 'evil' or 'villainous' therefore he sees no reason to change. He just sees himself as 'right' and everyone else as 'too weak to admit it'.

Alberquerque Turkey: I love putting my spin on classic plot ideas within a fandom. I read so many of them and am just like "they should've expounded here or here" or "logically that's impossible". Glad you like the twists. As for Wesker, he has to be OoC in order for any kind romance to make sense.

Olabelle: I keep fearing the more 'in love' he gets, the OoC he will end up. Be sure to drop me a line if you think he is too out of line. As for the hunger, can I suggest eating while reading?

JennyT: Indeed. I have no idea why girls get weird when they get pregnant. With Claire it's more a combination of "it's a life and therefore sacred" and the virus mass producing good mommy hormones to aid in reproduction. It being Wesker's kid is more of a drawback than anything else. Hope your brain is still in working condition.

Elisabeth Hill: I'm really happy with the way that everyone seems to be responding to Claire being pregnant. Glad you like my Wesker.

Fany-Li-the Butterfly Ghost: With Wesker. I am thinking perhaps I should crack open my Spanish dictionary and just start working on a translation for you. It would likely help. I love getting reviews from you!

Britt601: Glad you enjoyed my story and hoping that it can turn you on to the other greats in this pairing.

xXx Tinkies xXx: I'd love answer all your questions, but then we would not have the rest of the story…

SaYue-San: I'm glad that my story seems to be so engaging! As for whether or not there will be a lemon-that is totally up to their muses. As this chapter can attest, they pretty much do what they want rather than what I want or the plot requires. How will it end? Good is just as relative as evil.