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Optio	By : Ripsi Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 8319 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Resident Evil fandom/franchise or any of their characters. I make no money from this fanfiction. It is merely a piece of fiction written by me.

Chapter List
- 1-Annus Novus
- 2-Domus
- 3-Calor
- 4-Posco
- 5-Ludus
- 6-Felix Dies Valentini
- 7-Desiderium
- 8-Dormientes
- 9-Curre
- 10-Gravatus
- 11-Vita
- 12-Vigilo
- 13-Arcanum
- 14-Phasma Phasmatis
- 15-Possessio
- 16-Mutatio
- 17-Anniversarium
- 18-Monstrum
- 19-Lues
- 20-Vita Post Mortem
- 21-Iterum
- 22-Eam
- 23-Fidelitas
- 24-Veritas
- 25-Pacisco
- 26-Mundus Novus
- 27-Febris
- 28-Chemia
- 29-In Aeternum
- 30-Frater
- 31-Historia
- 32-Familia
- 27
- 28
- 29
Optio
Chapter 28: Chemia
March 31, 2002 Sunday 1:46 AM
Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Sylt, Germany
Status: Fine
I’d waited for him to return, not to give me the news of his progress, but for more selfish reasons. I couldn’t stop thinking about him ever since he ran off to play Frankenstein with Seaborne and my stolen eggs. I couldn’t stop thinking about how quickly he shut down our conversation about his family, but not because his family interested me so much that my nights were sleepless. It was weighing heavily on me because I couldn’t get the image of a fat, little baby out of my head. A baby with his eyes, blue, paler than mine. A baby with hair dark and red-tinged. Ever since that day he denied me the opportunity to give him a proper send-off I couldn’t stop painting a picture of that pale-eyed, dark-haired, fat, baby boy.
A little boy would look like me, he would have a subtle dash of his father, almost like it was a secret to the world who sired him. And it would be. It would be the biggest secret in the world, even more of a secret than his father’s location. But we weren’t supposed to have a baby; we weren’t supposed to birth a child into this world. We were supposed to test a theory all for the sake of me being able to say, “Yes, I can.” This theory being tested was a method to appease me. Theories would never do me any good when and if proven; they’d be discarded. Better yet, would he plaque the findings? Would I be handed a manila folder with a few pages of data that he would explain for me in two words. There were two phrases, each involved two words: we can, or we can’t.
As I waited in the darkness, playing with a golden rose, I smiled to myself. There was something that Al didn’t know, something that I knew from the tingling in my abdomen: we could. It wasn’t scientifically tested and proven; it was something that was just a known, something that I felt. Al was wrong about something else too: I wasn’t some sex-crazed bimbo. There was nothing wrong with a woman realizing what she wanted and what I wanted was a baby.
Simple.
So I waited, sitting in the dining room in silence, and as I thought of Al’s return I dropped a hand to my stomach, my smile growing so wide that my cheeks began to hurt, forcing me to purse my lips. My only complaint right now was how long he was taking to walk through that door. His patience may have been a virtue in his field of work; scientists waited for things to happen. That wasn’t me. I wanted to make things happen.
That though took me back to Red Lodge. I’d never asked Al how long he’d wanted me, when he realized that I was more than just some stupid kid making a stupid decision over a promise from a known-traitor. I knew it was before the dinner with the Luomas, but it was impossible to figure out exactly when. All of these thoughts weren’t my usual ones, they weren’t me but at the same time it felt like it was. How could I have changed so much?
Stupid question.
Al did this. I was now concerned with kitchen appliances, the garden I never wanted responsibility for, dinner, and Goddammit laundry. I was his, I was his woman, and I wanted more out of life than a fake last name that sounded an awful lot like his. At the sound of the locks turning I knew it was him, and I fought the urge to rush to the foyer to greet him. With trembling finger I placed the rose back into the vase, my apprehension born from the fear that he’d reject my proposals. I told myself to play it cool, to play it sexy, but that usually led to awkward moments where I made myself look like some silly amateur. His footsteps grew louder, as did the beat of my heart, but as he drew nearer something chemical began to stir inside of me. I was being led by this biological compulsion. With each step my worries faded away, my anxiety was disappearing, and the robe that I wore was becoming a nuisance. I stood around the corner waiting for him to step into the den, waiting to ambush him.
Tonight I was prepared to beg, to perform whatever favor he requested, to make any commitment he required as long as he made one in return: to become a father. This life was lonely for both of us sometimes, it was even dangerous, but the level of trust and fait that had been built would have to count for something. I would never let anything happen to any piece of Al; I would be better at staying home, quelling any desire to make contact with the outside world. If he gave me this then Chris didn’t matter anymore, Leon didn’t matter anymore, and everything would be about us and the baby. We would have a baby!
Suddenly my glee abated; it was time. Despite his ability to see in the dark he would have missed me and continued to head to the basement, not wanting to wake me. Very much awake, I stepped out of the dining room, seemingly catching him off guard.
Nothing was in his hands, but I could sense that much was weighing heavily on that mind of his, “Why aren’t you in bed?”
I scoffed at that question; tonight was one of those nights where he wanted to dismiss me, and I knew it was because he felt I retained too much immaturity. I learned to toughen up though when he insinuated such a thing’ it wasn’t personal, well it wasn’t meant to hunt me at least. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Still dismissive, he responded with, “It’s too early to speak with certainty.”
“That’s just it though.” My best fame plan was to remain calm, keep my hands to myself during the conversation; and I had almost broken my own first rule. I needed to focus but my mindset was rapidly becoming muddled as a more physical need became stronger. For some reason rationality was nothing but an impossibly task, and what felt more conducive was action. As I fought with myself I closed the space between us, placing my hands on his chest. “Al, I know.”
My eyes had adjusted to the dark well enough to spot the movement of his brow. “What are you talking about?”
“We can have a baby. I can feel it. My body is telling me that I can.” Though I wasn’t sure I could sense that he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and I didn’t blame him if he was. I know it sounded crazy, but I just knew. To be taken a bit more seriously I lowered my hands, hoping that it made me seem like a more stable person rather than a crazy woman. Yet even with that bit of logic that I demonstrated my body forced me to take those two metaphorical steps back. It was like I couldn’t stop myself from pulling the belt of my robe. The silk practically fell off of my body, exposing me, and all I could say was, “I want one.”
An ache in my loins had commenced, and at that same moment I saw the red of his eyes disappear as he shut them. Was he shuddering like I was, was he experiencing the same caliber of arousal as me?
“Claire,” he groaned, the bass in his voice like a rumble of thunder. Just when I thought this signaled an opening for me, he leaned down to scoop up the robe, draping it over my shoulders. “Go to bed.” His command was given begrudgingly, and in a show of great mental strength he leaned in and kissed my forehead. This chaste action made me feel miniscule, but my desire only grew.
Before he could walk away from me I shrugged off the robe for what I hoped would be the final time, catching him by his belt when he attempted to turn to leave me. “Al,” I pled, the amount of desperation in my voice catching him off guard, “You feel it to?” I knew he could feel the same ache as I did; I remembered that night in Mayo, the night he broke his own vow to never touch me again. He was like a man possessed, sneaking into my room while I slept. and this revelation was my proof that right now he couldn’t resist me. “I know you feel it. You felt it in Mayo. You were never supposed to have me again but you snuck into my room, you tasted me, you fucked me like never before.” At this point I was gloating over his inability to control himself. “You have nerves of steel,” I teased, my hands working to unsecure leather and metal, “but this is chemical, biology, and you as a scientist know what that means.”
Like a statue he stood there, and like a statue he couldn’t speak. Speaking would mean confirming my theory, speaking would mean breaking that concentration he was working so hard to sustain, speaking would mean him fumbling over the words, “Claire, stop.” So while his pride was sitting on the table, the option of whether or not to stutter torturing him, I unzipped his pants. It would be just as I had said.
Chemistry.
Jaw taut, eyes burning with both anger and passion, he lifted me up, gripping my ass as I wrapped my legs around his waist. His mouth crashed into my own, as he tried to gain some balance to enter me, he slammed me into the wall. My scream of pain was silenced by his mouth, all forgotten when he finally penetrated me.
Something about this felt different, more intense, and dare I admit better. It no longer mattered whether or not we kissed; the main purpose now was to muffle out moans, but we were both just too loud. Then he stumbled into the dining room, still holding me up, and he lowered me onto the table.
My back was already dampening with sweat, my skin now catching the table, his strokes causing me to bounce back and forth, and I stopped caring about us being heard. There were moans, expletives, the table creaked beneath us, and before I knew what I was saying I had moaned out, “Ah, give me a baby Al.”
His strokes ceased instantly, and he let out a sharp sigh. Disappointment fell over me like a dark cloud, and I sat up as I saw him trying to safely tuck his erection back into his pants. My heart fell from my chest, a lump had formed in my throat, and tears sprung to my eyes when he turned away to leave. Even worse, he gathered my robe once more and draped it over my shoulders for what I definitely knew was for the last time tonight.
With his final words he sounded more disappointed than I felt, something that hurt my feelings. “Goodnight Claire.”
April 2, 2002 Tuesday 10:00 AM
Subject: Krauser, Jack
Location: Berlin, Germany
Status: Fine
These back-and-forths were becoming a pain in the ass but it’s not like I could tell the boss that. I tried to think of it this way though: being a good, little solder boy had gotten me a discharge and a useless arm, but turning over to Wesker’s side got me… something strange and frankly frightening. Despite my wariness about my current condition though I was grateful that I could once more call myself a soldier of any kind, and I also could use my arm again. Sometimes it tingled, pulsed it felt like, but I’d be a liar to say I would do things differently. So I’d go between Sylt, Berlin, hell even the Antarctic if I was asked, but make no mistake I’d complain about it. Right now I was being annoyed by something else though: what seemed like five miles of guards, security protocol, and elevators. Wesker trusted me so much that I was temporarily released from my post to guard Claire so that I could go check on Seaborne and their progress. Although it couldn’t have been that much development in a few days I merely hypothesized that Wesker didn’t trust the creepy doc not to fuck him over. Honestly I couldn’t imagine a little Wesker/Claire spawn running around; what I heard about her and the fuss she had created simply by interfering in the Rockfort incident proved to me that she was a hellcat that managed to make her one decision reverberate louder throughout history than most. It didn’t help her case that I had witnessed her drunk off of her ass, running amuck throughout Germany, giving many Europeans a run for their money.
In Wesker’s case, no explanation was needed. He was the most wanted man in the world, and I don’t think that Osama had shit on him. Because the things my boss did were covered up despite there being a crater in the place of a huge fucking city, I say he won. The man had evidence a city wide, literally, but because the American Government was up to as much good as the schizoids suspected, no one was the wiser as to what went on in the company that made their compacts, makeup, soap, prescription drugs, and the list went on. They had been basically given the answer but they completely ignored it thanks to the mention of “zombies” and “bio-organic weapons.” Good job boss. Even had me fooled.
The farther we walked into the building, the whiter everything got, and the more the place looked like a spaceship. I had a feeling what this facility dabbled in, but I didn’t even want to think it. All would say is: it definitely was a facility devoted to birthing different things. We reached a room where I was forced to disrobe before a decontamination shower nearly scared me into a heart attack. The mist left me cold and damp, but I was immediately fitted into some white scrubs and some weird sneakers meant for doctors. They wanted no trace of the outside on me obviously, and I guess when we were dealing with something so sensitive it was for the better.
“You go through this every day?” My question was ignored by the armed guards that were so generic that they were almost identical. Clean shaven, wide jaws, straight noses, thin lips, army fatigues, and not a hair peeking from beneath their caps. They were toy soldiers in every sense, meant as nothing more than meat shields for the overpowered nerds that worked here and finally got a whiff of what it was to be seen as a top dog in a world where so far brute strength and puny brains were winning out. In a way I felt bad for them because if you weren’t standing right next to men like Albert Wesker you were as good as dead. They weren’t even in the same room as Seaborne. They were expendable.
Still silent, they point me through one last automatic, sliding door. The bare, white rooms were all behind me now, and now we stood before steel door barely discernible from the walls were of the same material. For a moment we just stood there, and finally I realized that I was meant to enter. What, did these guys have no tongues?
As I approached a red laser scanned over my body, a female voice drifted to me that I couldn’t pinpoint coming from an exact location. It was everywhere around me. “Jack Krauser.” This identification method was obviously state of the art as it was correct in identifying me, and I had been moving and blinking all the while. The doors slid open, only wide enough for two bodies to pass through side by side, and I was wider than most. As soon as I crossed the threshold the doors slid closed behind me, this new room cold, steel, exactly how a lab is pictured by the general population. There were tables on the left side of this room that was the size of a medium-sized building, all lined up with the layout of a school science lab, and that gave some order to what still looked like a clutter. Microscopes, vials, burners, and a few sinks occupied the tables, along with a few notepads here and there. The right side of the held another room that looked more like a booth, and I guessed that was used for safe monitoring. There was no need to ask what was being monitored though; the middle of the room was occupied with a lit row of pods, all filled completely with an orange liquid that was visible from the top of them. The sides of the pods were paneled with black, maybe to mirror the darkness of a womb a bit better, but all of this science might as well have been sorcery to me.
Curiosity was getting the better of me though as I attempted to count just how many pods were in that one row that stretched all the way to the back of the room, but for now I was guessing 30 maybe. I thought Wesker and Claire were only making one baby as an experiment that would be terminated? Why were there so many pods here? Before I flew off the handle at the sight of Seaborne, I took a deep breath and told myself that Wesker had visited here before. This was a facility devoted to Exogenesis, and it would have been foolish of me to suspect there would only be one pod per room. Still, it nagged me that as far as I could tell, every pod was filled with that orange liquid. My loyalty just would let it go, and next thing I knew my feet were being led forward, my steps soundless against the steel floor. The only noise was the sound of the air conditioning and the fabric of my scrubs when I took one more step.
“Mr. Krauser!”
Like I was caught, I quickly stood at attention, adrenaline coursing through me when I spotted Seaborne standing at the door of the booth with a smile on his long face.
He ushered for me to enter, still enthusiastic, even when my walk gave off a sense of apprehension. The only scientist that I trusted was Wesker and by default his late colleague Dr. William Birkin. The skinny doctor disappeared into the booth, but he was still visible through the glass screen at the front, and I saw him looking down at something. Figuring that I needed to get this visit over with, I pulled my mental strength together and headed for the booth, stepping up and over the threshold. It felt even colder inside if that was even possible, the lightening was almost non-existent, and there was a control panel that made this look more like a cockpit than anything. Buttons, green and red lights, levers, and monitors were laid before us, and Seaborne had to gesture for me to take a seat in the chair next to him to bring me back from thoughts of Sci-Fi movies.
Seaborne was looking at the largest monitor in the middle of the panel, his smile widening so much that for a moment I thought his goddamned face would crack from the strain that had to be going into it. A long, bony finger tapped a button on the keyboard in front of him a few times, gently, as though it’d break. It took a while for me to notice that he was zooming in on whatever the monitor was used to watch. With a few more taps I began to see what I could only identify because of high school text books. It was stationary, snug in what must have been the bottom of the first pod.
My grimace must have prompted Seaborne to defend his little science project, because he suddenly boasted loudly, “Day 10, halfway into the second week and it already has eyes, limbs, and a heart!”
It looked like a crude little creation to me, something a kid would clump together, but I didn’t doubt its authenticity. That was exactly how those things looked. “I’m guessing you’re pro-life,” I muttered, trying to make out these limbs he spoke so proudly of.
“This is not political Mr. Krauser,” he replied, his eyes scanning the side of my face in hopes of getting to me look at him and give him some facial reaction. “Of course I would like to see this to term, but this is Dr. Wesker’s project.”
Fighting the urge to leer at him, I continued to stare at the embryo, nothing but a possibility right now, never meant to be a promise based on the agreement I’d heard. “It’s Claire Redfield’s potential baby.” Once I registered how firmly that sentence came out, I looked to Seaborne almost apologetically, but in my defense I knew that Claire wanted this even when she wasn’t trying to trick her partner into impregnating her. I could see it in her face when I spoke to her yesterday. It was killing her to pretend that she didn’t want any piece of normalcy, and it was killing her being left alone most of the time with no one or nothing to love.
I suggested a pet, but I don’t think Wesker’s a dog person per se.
Matching my previous tone he came back with, “Is it not half of Dr. Wesker as well?”
With a smirk I leaned back into the chair, crossing my arms over my chest, giving a scoff meant to display a mood meant for no fuckery right now. “You and I both know a patriarchal society is ideal Doc, but these women own our kids. We don’t even fight it anymore, you noticed that? We’re nothing more than donors to them. The kids get a house, food, our name, but that kid is gonna be the woman’s. You really think Wesker would take time out of his schedule to take Alby Jr. out to the park to play on the swings, teach him how to play catch, tell him to brush off that bully? No. If that ever happens it’ll be Claire Redfield’s baby. Claire is gonna be breastfeeding that kid.
Claire is gonna be rubbing ointment on his scraped knee. Claire is gonna be struggling to get grass stains out of his jeans. Claire is gonna teach that kid the basic skills to survive as a young child in the world, and I guarantee Claire will be the one to tell that kid to knock that fat, bully the fuck out and leave him on the sidewalk bleeding. This is what will happen. Wesker isn’t doing this for him; he’s doing this for Claire. He is giving Claire the hope for a baby, not the other way around.” With a single laugh I then added, “Now I’d like to see you try to tell Claire -or Wesker for that matter- otherwise.”
With his smile completely gone, he quickly stated, “It doesn’t matter anyway. Two months will go down the drain. Dr. Wesker doesn’t even seem to care that another pregnancy won’t necessarily mimic the first. We would need multiple test runs to establish reliability and percentages.”
Seaborne’s tone told me that he was holding out hope that Wesker would change his mind about terminating the pregnancy, and honestly, I believe he expected this. To top things off if I was being frank with anyone who questioned this whole thing then I’d have to say that I expected it too.
April 2, 2002 Tuesday 11:05 AM
Subject: Krauser, Jack
Location: Berlin, Germany
Status: Fine
After Seaborne purposely threw out confusing jargon for over half an hour as an appropriate act of revenge to insult my intelligence I was allowed to leave the lab, given back my clothes, and one of the creepily quiet guards told me to help myself to their “impressive snack room” in the voice and tone of an automated host. Strangely though, as I walked down the hallway I could see that the snack room wasn’t as bland as the rest of the building was. From what I could see the walls were a deep blue, an abstract piece was strung above a green couch, and I could see part of a potted tree peeking from behind the wall. Of course I wasn’t going in there for the scenery or even to pass the time to get back to Sylt; I was a big man, and I was starving. Once I crossed over the threshold I saw a round, yellow table large enough to comfortably accommodate six occupants, a red table was at the other end and about the same size. A 50’ flat screen hung from the wall on the far end, a long, black leather couch stationed in front of it. Towards the back of the room there was a kitchen area complete with a sink, oven, electric stovetop, refrigerator, coffee and espresso machines, and a microwave. Closer to the TV I saw a woman standing at one of the six vending machines, talking on the phone as she stewed over what kind of premade Frappuccino to get.
Not wanting to actually have to make something, I decided to head over to the vending machines, passing up the one that you saw in every hallway at a college and heading over to the more interesting two. One had German writing on the top, proclaiming to have the essentials for a meal. Through the display glass I saw wrapped sausages, eggs in a carton, milk in a jar, wrapped cheese, and some kind of packaged meat that was still soaking in blood. Like I said, I didn’t want to cook. The next machine was red and yellow, its sticker saying, “Pizza Time.” There were three parts to this vending machine, the first showed you a part of the inner workings, the middle was for selection and payment, and the third piece was where you were informed to wait two and a half minutes before being deposited your pizza.
Fuck. Yes.
For about ten bucks this was the best thing ever. I inserted my money, selecting only cheese as a topping since I wasn’t even too sure how this would taste. The machine whirred up, flour being mixed and prepped, but I wasn’t too interested in the mechanisms that went into it; I just wanted my damned pizza. The woman had figured out what she wanted, and as I waited I took a look at the drink machines, seeing there was also a normal drink machine along with another that seemed to contain different alcoholic beverages. Seaborne really did have a reason to think he was better than me goddamn him.
The woman was becoming a bit whiny with whoever she was on the phone with, probably a boyfriend. The hot chicks usually were fucking nuts, a fact I learned from being around Claire so much. They’d show you why they got a boyfriend, and then they’d show you why they can’t ever hang on to them. This woman was definitely smoking though. Long, dark hair, short in stature, tiny and toned, olive-colored skin, and a nice, fake rack to boot. For a moment I considered stealing her away from her boyfriend issues.
She sat at the red table behind the couch, now ignoring that Frappuccino that she took forever to decide on. “Fine. No it’s just been stressful; it was this bad when my nonno got sick too. Even my abuela is gone so this is the end of a generation for both of my parents.”
Well, Latin and Italian. Someone was definitely losing their girlfriend today. I looked around to make sure no one else was coming, because that pizza cost too much to be stolen from under me, and as hungry as I was not even a romp in the janitor’s closet with this chick was worth losing that over.
The frown had become a small sweet smile and she moved to play with the rim of her drink. “I love you too Agent Scott Kennedy.”
I’d bumped into the couch. Leon? Leon?!
Her small thumb went to hit the end button, her smile conveying that everything was now all right. Too bad she had just piqued my interest in the worst way.
As I neared the table I pulled the knife from my pants’ pocket, folding my arms so that the hand the knife rested in was clearly visible. “Who were you talking to?”
The woman took a sip of her Frappuccino, refusing to look at me. “None of your business.”
Her defiance was angering me, and all I could think was that Leon had found out about what Wesker was up to. Did he tell the US Government? Was this woman here to put an end to the experiment? “Miss,” I began, tapping the knife against my arm to get her attention.
Hazel eyes darted in my direction, a scowl ready, but as soon as she spotted the knife she looked oddly shocked. If she were innocent she would have been terrified, not fucking shocked. Suddenly, her gaze once more became defiant, a clicking sound coming from her lap.
Fuck.
When my eyes wandered to the tiny, little gun in her lap, a cocky smile spread across her face, and it was well-deserved.
“Who do you work for?” Though I was in no position to demand answers I figured what was the harm when she could do whatever she wanted?
“None of your business,” she repeated.
“If you know Leon Scott Kennedy then I’m afraid it is my business.” Sweat was accumulating beneath my shirt, but I didn’t care as long as it didn’t show on the outside.
Her eyes widened at the mention of his name. “How do you know Leon?”
In a show of pettiness I growled, “None of your business.”Arms still folded, composure maintained, my grip tightened on the handle. “Who do you work for?”
“You first-”
“Ladies first-”
“If you knew who I worked for you’d be shitting yourself and fumbling over an apology.”
“Yeah? Cause if you knew who I worked for you’d be realizing you’re a fucking idiot to think that you could shoot me in this facility and make it to see supper.” A mouth would get her nothing but self-provided distractions and a knife through it. I would wait for the moment she let her full rage show before attacking, unless I wanted to be shot in the thigh. At the thought of her being a real threat my arm began to pulse, the muscles in spasm just beneath my skin. She definitely didn’t want to be hit with that.
Her mouth became a pout, emotions boiling so hot that it was showing in the red undertone she suddenly developed. “If you don’t drop a name, I will drop you.”
“Then you don’t know me, and you don’t know Wesker.”
In a flash her face went from angry, to what I recognized as ashamed. The gun disappeared from view, and she took her gaze off of me for the first time since she saw my knife. “Sit down.”
“What?” I wanted to scream, but that would have meant alerting the tin soldiers to the incident.
“Sit down; we work for the same person.”
The machine dinged behind me. This would’ve been so much easier had I just been able to kill her. Reluctantly, I put my knife away and took a seat on the other side of the table.
Once I was settled in she took her cup into her hands, struggling to look at me out of embarrassment. “How do you know Leon?”
The question was unexpected; we’d just found out that we both worked for the most wanted man in the world so why the hell did she give a fig’s ass about how I knew Leon? “A better question is: if you work for Wesker then how do you know Leon?” I’d keep it simple, because I really wanted to know who she was double crossing here. Leon or Wesker?
“I don’t know if you have the proper clearance for that information.”
“Being his woman’s bodyguard isn’t as sacred as I was led on then?” No names. For all I knew she could’ve been looking for Claire to take her back to Denver.
When her brow furrowed again, I couldn’t help but realize how cute she was when she was confused. “You know Claire?”
“Better every day.”
Humming from the vending machines became the only sound I heard as she sipped her Frappuccino in thought.
“How do you know Claire?” The pulsing in my arm dissipated, leaving me with nothing but a dull throb, merely a reminder of how close this woman had come to losing her life.
Swallowing, she looked back up to me, her expression still pensive. “I don’t know if you have the proper clearance for that information.”
A sigh was all I could give her that wouldn’t offend. “Names,” I offered. “We’ll start with names.”
Her black hair shook back and forth as she nodded enthusiastically in agreement, but I didn’t expect her to go first. One of us had to demonstrate a show of trust or at least cooperation so we could figure out what was going on. Calling Wesker would seem like a logical idea, but if she was lying then it could endanger what he was working on here.
“I’m Jack Krauser. Real name.” With a single nod I signaled for her to go next.
Before speaking she bit her lip, the muscles in her jaw tightening as she prepared to commit what could’ve been treason if I was an enemy. “Maritza Arti. Real name.”
“All right, we’re getting somewhere.”
Our conversation seemed to go on and on, yet we got nowhere. Maritza wasn’t telling me how she knew Claire, why she knew her, and she definitely wasn’t telling me why she was telling Leon she loved him. I was ex-military, she was just a woman looking for big payouts, and in some way she wound up in the business of being what essentially was a professional lookout. Other than that we were just going in circles. Somewhere in that conversation though, a name came up that I had heard before. “Ada Wong? She’s in this?”
Playing with her now-empty cup Maritza’s interest was reignited. “Yeah who is she?”
Rather than play games or offer up information in exchange I decided to play nicely. “A spy apparently. She was wrapped up in the Raccoon City incident with Leon. From his story about her there was never a clear answer as to who she worked for. One minute she’s looking for some reporter or journalist. Vultures all of ‘em anyway,” I spat. “Then she was looking for her boyfriend John, then G’s creator’s wife.”
Her eyes fell, nervousness showing in her movements. “I don’t trust her.”
“Why’s that?”
Her tongue peeked out from the corner of her mouth, lips pursing as she considered her next statement. “Because she doesn’t trust me. You confirmed that. She heard me on the phone with Leon and ever since then she’s been acting like I killed her dog.”
Without the intention of raining on her parade I leaned in and said, “He spoke fondly of her.” There was no point in lying about it, especially when we were both trying to get to the truth about this woman.
Maritza swallowed down the lump in her throat that must have been jealousy, or maybe it was just her being territorial. “I wasn’t even supposed to meet Leon. It just happened. I was a distraction meant to keep everyone away from Claire’s place. I was just supposed to make sure that no one came looking for them.” For a moment I thought the shocked expression on her face was due to her divulging too much, but she quickly began begging me, “Please don’t tell Claire I’m here! Don’t tell her I work for Wesker! I really do care about him and I don’t want Claire to think I’m using him! Please!”
“You’ve told me plenty,” I assured her. “I trust you, but I think there’s only one person we need to worry about right now.” Ada Wong, who are you and just who do you work for?
April 3, 2002 Wednesday 1:05 PM
Subject: Krauser, Jack
Location: Sylt, Germany
Status: Fine
All morning I had been thinking back to my little study session with Maritza; somehow we managed to pull up a little information on the elusive spy Ada Wong. That’s exactly what I didn’t like about her: she was a spy. She worked for money plain and simple. Loyalty was nothing to her but a useless value that she would fake for the sake of a fat check.
Speak of the devil.
Red. Asian. Cocky walk. That was all I needed to figure out that the woman walking towards me was Ada Wong. A dainty hand swept back her shorthair, the heels of her boots meeting noisily with the wood beneath her step, and a red blouse that looked more expensive than my entire wardrobe. Nothing about this woman spelled out that she was trustworthy, no expression on her face that even registered as neutral. She was on her own side, and she would never allow anyone on it.
Her catlike walk came to a stop once she was within three feet of me, one hand meeting her waist as she took a modelesque pose. “Hi there. I need to see Wesker,” she purred.
“No one’s allowed in,” I replied, keeping my stance as a soldier at the basement door.
“I’m sure he won’t mind.” Seductive was an understatement of what her tone came off as, but serious it was not.
“I mind.” Rather than play with her head I felt it best to let her know that I knew what she was up to. “I don’t trust you Ms. Wong. Or whatever your real name is.”
Rolling her eyes, she shifted her weight to her other hip. “It doesn’t matter.”
As she took a step forward so did I, the unexpected move causing her to jump back slightly. “It does matter. I’ve seen your resume, your high-profile assassinations, and thefts from the CDC that still haven’t been noticed.”
The smirk that she now presented was an admirable attempt to exhibit apathy, but I knew she cared that I had managed to get some information on her.
“You’re freelance,” I continued, “and I don’t respect that. I don’t trust that.” I would’ve respected her had she just been attempting to build her own empire or league of spies or whatever. She was just a traitor.
A single laugh came from her throat, one meant to intimidate, but it only fueled the fire for me.
“So stay away from Wesker, stay away from Claire, and stay away from Leon.”
“I see.” A thoughtful look came over her expression. It didn’t matter to me if she suspected Maritza of saying anything because I’d have her back. For this, I would ignore that neither of these women should have developed any feelings towards him. “Just remember this,” a polished nail pointed in my direction, “If I wasn’t meant to be here then Wesker would have never saved my life.”
Thankfully, she spun on her heel and walked away, saving me from lowering myself to cursing at a woman, and possibly even fighting one. This wasn’t the last time I’d see her though, her confidence alone told me that.
April 3, 2002 Wednesday 1:29 PM
Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Sylt, Germany
Status: Anxious
Great. Krauser was guarding the door. Seeing him there almost deterred me from even attempting to see Al, but I didn’t have anything better to do. Rejection was becoming less and less painful nowadays, especially when it became a game to figure out when I’d be pushed away. Just like a soldier he stood with his chin in the air, keeping me out of his field of vision purposely. Though that was how it was usually done by guards, it was still a dick move.
“Okay Jack let me in.” Being ignored was not something I dealt with very well, and he was really pushing me to the limit with nearly a minute of silence. “Jack?” Waving my hand in front of his face, I leaned to the side to attempt to get his attention, hoping he’d meet my eyes. “Jack Krauser!” My voice almost reached a full-throated yell, but I didn’t want to piss him off too much when he was the one who got to decide whether or not I entered.
His mouth twitched, but I received no other indication that he had heard me. There was no way he was tuning me out completely when I was as loud as a banshee.
My mood changed quite drastically, that feeling of utter loneliness returning that coupled itself with guilt due to my admitted selfishness. Wesker was working, he was working to help me, or rather us. I didn’t mind being alone in the past because at least then I was still able to pick up the phone and call someone despite ignoring them for months on end, but now I simply couldn’t do that. So I nodded to Jack once I remembered there was one person here that I could still talk to, or at least I hoped I could. “I’ll just go find Ada,” I announced, my voice small and quiet. Turning my back on my sometime-bodyguard I prepared myself for what would more than likely turn out to be a fruitless search for Ada who was quite good at not being found.
“You shouldn’t be so trusting of her,” came his gruff voice, his words stopping me so effectively as if they were a physical force.
He’d taken away my final hope for having a regular conversation with someone. Did he want me to hate him? My temper flared as I turned back around, storming in Jack’s direction, “Wesker open the goddamned door I know you can hear me!”
Arms at the ready to intercept me, Jack took a step forward into a defensive stance. My body was braced for what could have possibly turned into a light tussle that would end in me being pinned to the ground while I attempted to punch him.
“Let’s her in Krauser!”
Instantly, the blond stepped to the side, falling back into his soldier mindset, something that hid any shame he may have felt right now.
As I fought the urge to stick out my tongue I began walking calmly for the door, turning the knob and stepping inside. Though I wanted nothing more than to run over to him happily I still remembered his choice to ignore me, so I took my time in shutting the door behind me. When I thought that I’d perfected my careless expression I turned back to him, surprised by his lounging posture.
One leg was crossed over the other, he leaned back in his chair, hands clasped in his lap, and no shades present. Despite knowing my emotions and thoughts very well he remained quiet, possibly waiting for me to spill my guts like I usually did. Giving me time to rant was admirable of him, but I needed reassurance right now.
“Two days. You avoided me for two days.” My voice was shaking, not an exaggeration at all, no trick to gain his sympathy.
With a face and voice as calm as ever he said, “Claire-”
“You didn’t even speak to me, call me.” Though I’d cut him off I paused to take a breath in an attempt to keep my voice down. “I know I was crazy then but… I promise it’s over now. Just talk to me.” There, I’d begged. Nothing about it was insincere. Sure, I didn’t want to talk about what I was thinking the other night but I knew for sure that those crazy ideas were just that. I knew we couldn’t have a baby right now and no matter what my hormones were screaming for me to say, they were wrong. Inside I knew though that I couldn’t bring it up, because if I did then I’d be sounding crazy all over again.
Lost in my jumbled thoughts I failed to notice that he’d gotten to his feet, walking towards me until his face was inches from mine. A cold, bare hand caressed my cheek, its owner still as calm as he was before. As his hand cupped my cheek I felt a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that only intensified as he leaned forward to touch his lips to mine. Nothing needed to be done in this moment, no grabbing was necessary when he could convey so much with a single kiss that needed no effort behind it. With one hand I heard him unzipping his pants, still quiet, still calm. His own mood set the tone for me, allowing him to step away without an objection from me. In that same unusual and relaxed mood he sat back down in his chair.
Without so much as a nod from him I pulled down my shorts, kicking them off to the side. This was my reassurance, and I didn’t even have to ask for it. He could feel what I wanted and I could feel what he wanted, a fact that reminded me that no matter what we would always be bound to one another by what I knew was no mere theory. It was real, and it was intoxicating. It was so strong that it nearly drove us to ignore the information and logic that we both had access to. It was chemistry. God save the man that would dare try to come between this, because we both were learning the hard way that it was almost an impossible feat for even us to ignore it.
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