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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
- 30
- 31
- 32
Optio
Chapter 31: Historia
April 14, 2002 Sunday 7:06 AM
Subject: Wesker, Claire
Location: Cozumel, Mexico
Status: Fine
Rockfort Island was the only reason that I’d ever encountered Albert Wesker. I remembered that day not only due to the gore surrounding me, but because of the characters that introduced themselves into my life. Rodrigo Juan Raval had been the first, a man who released me not because he knew what they were doing was wrong or because he felt sympathetic towards the teenaged girl behind bars, but because he figured that there was no hope anyhow. Though I showed him kindness that he later returned it was obvious that his initial act of benevolence was merely due to his lack of control over the situation, and so any small amount of power over me would not return him to his former glory. When Chris told me about his death I had felt an odd sadness over my captor’s demise, one that bothered me for quite some time without any particular reason. Perhaps it was Chris’ tone that told me that Rodrigo had developed some semblance of admiration for me, and that had managed to somehow keep him locked in the piece of my brain that was reserved only for those who I maintained a fondness for. His death was not a surprise to me though; there was no way he would have been allowed to live. No one who had worked there was allowed to live. Out of the individuals I encountered on that island of horror I could honestly say that I was only alive because of him.
Rodrigo had essentially given me my life.
Steve Burnside and his own issues on the other hand had almost taken it. He was just a kid, only two years younger than me but the difference between a seventeen-year-old male and a nineteen-year-old female was vast. I’d barely escaped that makeshift cemetery due to a sudden flash of PTSD from my still-fresh experience in Raccoon City. The dead had risen from the ground easily, not even granted a parting gift in the form of a pine box, and it seemed as though the corpses were hell-bent on taking that out on me. God it was a close moment, too close for me to have recently escaped Raccoon City with two Umbrella bioweapons running rampant. And when I’d finally taken them out I was almost taken out myself by that young fool. Of course all it took was taking out his spotlight and he surrendered himself to me, only to dismiss me as a girl that would slow him down. Steve hadn’t even given me a chance. Even after I’d saved him he still kept me at arms’ length, only letting me in when we were faced with what he’d been suppressing from the start.
His father was a major source of contempt, causing him to fly into a rage so uncontrollable that he’d wasted precious ammo. Of course not too long from then he was faced down by his own personal hell. For a moment I was sure that I was going to die at the hands of the corpse that had once belonged to his father, the corpse that looked nothing like the smiling man in that goofy family photo Steve held on to. Just as I was ready to kiss the world goodbye he finally gave up whatever notion of loyalty he felt towards the remains of his father, and he brought an end to it all. His method of disposal could have killed me that day, canceling out the gratuity later down the line that I’d felt for him. Steve was too young for what had happened, too naïve, and he took it all way to personally. Not a thing that occurred on Rockfort had been about him. The murder of his mother was mean to hurt his dad, the capture of both he and his father was meant to prove a point to the traitor, and his father’s infection had more than likely been the result of the virus going airborne. In the bigger picture I guess I understood where his frustration had come from.
It all stemmed from the fact that no one seemed to put much thought into him. Hell, even I was guilty of that, but I didn’t want to think about it in such a way. Steve, at some point, had developed feelings for me, feelings that I was incapable of returning. In college I remembered learning that the brain is incapable of differentiating between fear and love, and so I always chalked Steve’s admission up to the overwhelming fear that he undoubtedly felt as his life began to flash before his eyes. That’s where I would leave it too. Yet at least once I questioned whether or not the events we’d endured had accelerated time in his mind, and so simple attraction rapidly morphed into what was only inevitable. That boys dying words to me had been, “I love you, Claire.” And all I could say was, “Steve,” idiotically attempting to revive him by shaking him and foolishly hoping that somehow he’d wake up.
His body had been so mangled during the transformation into that thing that he still bore the signs after he turned back, and I knew he could never be the same again. I think I knew though. I knew that after he put down his father that Steve wouldn’t make it. Even as we boarded that plane, even after I disposed of the last Mr. X I prayed to ever see again I heard something say to me that he would not make it. And then he didn’t.
Alfred was the next person I had the displeasure of meeting. I hated him with such a passion that to this day I couldn’t honestly yet guiltily profess that I was glad that Al destroyed his childish visions. Somehow he thought that I had been responsible for the bombing of the base, ignoring the important fact that I was in danger myself. He’d been insane since he lost his twin sister, and the degree to which he’d lost his mind was more telling than he probably preferred. Something about their relationship had been off, yet what I thought about it would have been a mighty bold assumption to make. Somehow he’d split into two pieces to compensate for his missing half, the smarter half, and the more beautiful half. He lived to serve his sister, and despite the complexity of the Ashford twins I never looked forward to further analyzing them. It was best that I save my thoughts on them for another day, and who knew when that would happen.
Then I met him… Al. In that moment he’d been Wesker. He’d been a ghost, a legend, and already gaining traction as the bane of my brother’s existence. I’d never been slapped so hard in my life. His intention was to kill me as we stood before that mansion, to crush me beneath his combat boot as he relished in the suffering that my death would cause my brother. Never did I ask him what set him off, probably because it would have been cruel to remind him of our initial encounter… and the following one. My mouth was more than likely the reason behind his sudden enragement, as it continued to prove much later. This is why I saw a difference between Al and Wesker. Wesker was the man that held me hostage, threw a low blow at me about Steve Burnside, and then proceeded to attempt to kill my brother.
There was a secret that I’d kept though: I didn’t want him to be a bad guy. When I saw him I branded him as my salvation in my head, but that idea was quickly destroyed when he mentioned Chris.
Chris Redfield. I think I made excuses for him because he was my brother. Now was not the time to make excuses though, not when the battle line was quite possibly about to be drawn. Should this really have been an issue though? Should I really have to struggle so much with where my allegiance should lie when the choices were: brother or husband? Yes. My husband was the bad guy, he’d hurt people, he’d betrayed people, hell he’d hurt and betrayed my brother. As I stood in the shower I let many things nibble at my brain, the past, the present, and the future.
Albert Wesker had worked for Umbrella since he was a teen. He was supposed to be just going into to college, not out, and he was supposed to be experimenting with things like sex, drugs, and how to adequately cram for an exam. Instead he experimented with viruses. Al was supposed to be living off of financial aid and his parents’ kindness, not the paycheck of a doctor who had built his own practice and was close to retirement. He was supposed to learn to cherish luxuries that he bought with the money he earned, not carelessly watch mini-mansions, boats, and planes burn without so much as a gasp of disbelief or regret over the money lost. He was supposed to meet a girl, maybe break her heart, fall in love a dozen times before he finally got it right. Then he was supposed to get married, have babies, and live his life happily somewhere with a private practice, with the wife, with the children. Instead he plotted, he schemed, he conspired, and he died… Something happened though.
Against the odds he came back, he returned to the world that so many of us wanted to escape from, and he was seemingly relishing it. Then again why wouldn’t he be? I was behind him every step of the way, waiting for him to come home to me. There were men in this world who worked an honest nine to five with benefits that couldn’t say they expected to walk through the door to a happily, married housewife. Though he didn’t typically give cues to indicate his current mood I was able to feel it in the way he would pull me in for that kiss hello that I’d fantasize about since he left. It just seemed like somehow the universe had brought us together despite our histories suggesting that we were destined to always be on opposite sides of a war.
Speak of the devil, I thought to myself as I heard the shower door open, and when it closed I couldn’t help but grin to myself. Instantly I felt my body being pulled back into his torso, and I turned my cheek into the skin of his chest. I hugged myself, crossing my arms over my breasts as his arms locked around my waist. Shutting my eyes I allowed my body to settle into his, enjoying the feel of him and the warmth of the shower stream lulling me into a sense of comfort. God I loved him.
I felt him nibble at my shoulder, tightening his embrace and causing me to shudder. I felt the rumble in his chest as he said into my ear, “My apologies for yesterday’s interruption.” It almost amazed me how he saw it as trivial, but then I remembered who my husband was.
At the feel of his lips against my neck I felt a chill despite being pelted by hot water, and that pleasant tickle from below was becoming hard to ignore. “Chris will be Chris.” A hand slid up my stomach, reaching my breast and giving it a light squeeze. I arched my back, pressing my behind into his loins as he brought his other hand up to take hold of my neck.
“Shhhh.” He was now trailing kisses along my jaw, letting his lips set for just a bit before the next peck. “He’s already almost managed to ruin our honeymoon,” he whispered.
“We shouldn’t talk about that,” I groaned, hoping that he would just drop it.
Inhaling deeply he nuzzled his face into my neck, still nipping at me. “You’re my wife. Your place is by me.” His tone was somehow remaining gentle despite my refusal to give up my Redfield allegiance so quickly, but he was right.
I moaned as his hand wandered lower. “I’m here,” I assured him, hoping that that would suffice. My loyalty should not have been questioned at this point, and this was akin to him asking the childish question of, “If Chris and I were in a burning house who would you save?” Such childish games deserved no entertainment from me, however, my husband saw himself as being the exact opposite of childish.
“You have my undying loyalty.” His admission gave me reassurance that was unnecessary, and it only confirmed that he was fishing for his own vow from my lips. Albert Wesker was a patient man; he could wait until I was hooked no matter how long it took.
“This is supposed to be our honeymoon,” I reminded him. There was no room for a family meeting here where ground rules would be established on how to feel about my brother.
“Say it,” he whispered, grabbing my breast roughly as his other hand rested against my sex, and he earned a gasp of surprise from me. The shower water had yet to become cold, making it harder for me to want to leave, especially since he was in here with me now playing the role of the devil. The feel of his growing erection was causing me to experience that swirly feeling again, making this whole thing feel like merely another day when something much more important needed to be decided. “Say it,” he repeated firmly, unable to resist sliding his hand over my slit. Those eyes bore into my own, yet he could not hide that this was a request rather than a command; things were too different since the wedding. In the past he demanded my loyalty, mandated my compliance, but he secretly expected my Redfield characteristics to make themselves known. Now it was an understanding that he came first to me, and I came first to him. Then why was I taking so long to say it?
I gasped as he released my breast, tensing up at the feel of his hand grabbing hold of my jaw to keep me from breaking our gazes. He was my everything, he was my sun, I was only here because of him, and I was only surviving because of him. Going back to Chris would mean imprisonment, interrogation, experimentation, and possibly living the rest of my life in a prison/government institution. That man was my brother, my blood, but he would rather subject me to horrors because I made the decision to do something that would benefit him. Yet it seemed he would rather spit on me than accept any help I could offer. Albert Wesker was my husband, the father of our future child, and more importantly: freedom. I was Claire Wesker now, I was someone else’s everything, and I was the reason he was probably still trying so hard. If given the chance Chris would turn Al over if he could stop himself from killing him, but this man that was supposed to be so evil had left him breathing at my command. This monster that was supposed to lack loyalty to anyone or anything but his own ambition had become my very own, eager to make and keep me happy. I was sure he never wanted kids, that he never wanted to help Chris in any way, and now because of me he was becoming the opposite of what others said he was.
So yes… I’d say it. “Yes.”
His finger pressed into my entrance, pulling me closer to him with the palm of his hand still against my sex. “‘Yes’ what?” he demanded.
“Chris is…” I needed to say it with certainty, because once uttered those words couldn’t be taken back.
“Say it,” he demanded loudly, the bass of his voice causing a rumble in my chest.
“Chris is the enemy,” I whispered.
Unable to control himself any longer, compelled by both his desire and surprise at my words he leaned in to kiss me, crushing me against his chest as his mouth crashed in to my own. Our eyes were wide open, staring intensely as we sealed our agreement. I was first, he was first, and all the other players would fall where they would.
April 14, 2002 Sunday 11:46 PM
Subject: Wesker, Claire
Location: Cozumel, Mexico
Status: Fine
Something had been nagging me for quite a while, yet even though it was on my brain I couldn’t bring it up. Tracing circles into Al’s chest was surely going to start annoying him after a while, so I figured it was best to spit it out or try and force myself to go to sleep. “Al?” I asked, finally giving the skin of his chest a reprieve from my repetitive motions. Though he didn’t bother acknowledging me, I knew that he heard, and so I decided to soldier on. “What are they doing to Sherry?” His body tensed slightly, an involuntary action that I was sure he hoped would go unnoticed, but I’d become so in tune with him that I picked up on the tiniest changes in his mood. “I feel bad,” I added. “I haven’t talked to her in forever and I don’t want her to think that I abandoned her.”
He pulled me in closer to his chest, settling any fears I’d accumulated over asking a simple question. Peering down into my eyes he asked, “Is that what you want?”
I had not asked anything of him, and if anything I had expected a status report on her at the least, but he was offering me more? Sherry was in the custody of the United States Government under strict surveillance with an abysmal sum of human contacts. She may have been the daughter of a genius and a genius herself, but she was a young woman living in a prison setting based on the sins of her father. With no specific instructions I wasn’t sure if I should say yes to him right now, but if there was any time when I needed let Al go for a few days and sic Wesker on anyone now was the time. People would die, he would be an easy target during the infiltration, and if he failed Simmons would more than likely bury Sherry alive.
“I had her once.”
At his admission I sat up, staring at him almost cautiously. “She never mentioned-”
“Do you think Simmons would have allowed that?” He was a man of pride that one, but could he have forced Sherry to keep quiet about that?
Staring up at me he confessed, “They are ‘keeping her safe from me.’” Sitting up next to me I heard him chuckle. “For a moment I thought you’d forgotten about her.”
It was impossible not to show that I’d taken that as an insult, and I wanted to childishly throw the remark back at him. “Why didn’t you get her back?”
“William’s daughter she may be, but you must ask yourself if it was worth the trouble?” Arms folded over his chest, he silently demanded a reply from me, and he knew that I would not supply him with one until I’d calmed myself down.
Grinding my teeth I looked down at the sheets covering my legs, feeling an inescapable guilt wash over me in the form of an emotional tidal wave. How had I forgotten her? Why had I been able to? The only way to get out my question without crying was to whisper it. “Do you want her back?”
“Our wants don’t matter here Claire. Sherry has been with Simmons for some time now. What do you think she believes?”
Leon had undoubtedly gone to see her, after all, her safety was due to the deal he made with the US Government. Though I was sure that he never said a word to Chris about my decisions, had he confided in Sherry thinking that maybe she wouldn’t judge him for keeping quiet? I couldn’t know unless I asked her. The presented possibilities brought me back from that guilt, and I looked back into those fiery eyes. “I don’t know.”
With a straight face he corrected me, “You don’t care.” A moment of silence passed between us, but he quickly proved that he would not allow this to be dropped. “Is that what you want?” he asked in a more firm tone. Selfishness had become such a norm for me it seemed; I’d been with him for too long, possibly long enough for Sherry to assume that I was as bad as he was in her eyes. “Is that what you want?”
My gaze would not break this time, not even as I grappled with this decision that was twisting me from within. I could’ve asked for anything else in this moment. Anything. So why did I ask for this? Sherry would never be free no matter where she went, so now I would pose the same question he had in regards to the worth of the situation. I remembered all of our visits, all of our moments that teetered on a mother-daughter relationship, and I couldn’t remember being happier since Raccoon City. “Yes.” The whisper may have sounded weak, but the strength behind my resolve was rock solid.
Proving that the fulfilment of my desires gave him a sense of pleasure, he grabbed a fistful of my hair in his hands, pulling my head back and exposing my neck to him. “Tomorrow you will return to Sylt with Krauser.” Smirking down at me he added, “This was enjoyable.” Teasingly his lips hovered just above mine, the warmth of his breath tickling my own, but he wouldn’t budge until he was sure that the last word was his. “After my departure, we will reconvene in a little under a week.”
So this was it. This was what it would be like to be his. To be Claire Wesker.
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