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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
- 31
- 32
Optio
Chapter 32: Familia
April 17, 2002 Wednesday 8:28 AM
Subject: Wesker, Claire
Location: Sylt, Germany
Status: …
Promises carried with them a great deal of weight and despite previous arrangements it is impossible to not to enter into them without expectations greater than what was vowed. The smallest promise broken had the power to destroy a trust that had been built over the course of a lifetime and so they were taken seriously by those who were of integrity. Of course a promise broken did not necessarily indicate a traitor. My husband’s promises carried far more worth than the most precious of blood diamonds, and when he failed to keep up his end of a deal it wasn’t truly a failure on his part. If Albert Wesker broke a promise to you then it simply yet callously meant that you were worth less than the shit of a rabid squirrel. Not once had he broken a promise to me and as he further proved his reliability it became quite frightening to fathom the lengths he would go to sate my desires. It was almost as though I was Umbrella. Saying it even in my head made absolutely no sense but once you took into consideration the things he did to keep them happy you would understand my leeriness.
Though I’d negotiated with him on the life of my brother I failed to do the same for others that I loved: Leon, Jill, and even those who’d tried to move forward like Barry and Rebecca. Truthfully I was being wracked with guilt over the omission of their wellbeing, yet I felt that Al had a limit to the exceptions. So I figured that it was better that I didn’t mention them; they were off his radar and I would only put them back on it if I brought up people that had managed to go off the grid. These things had to be dealt with delicately, especially the situation I’d opened our home to now.
This room had been decorated with a teen girl in mind. I’d managed to convince myself that pink was over the top for a sixteen-year-old, but I was stuck when I realized that either you got a teen who wanted everything black, or a teen with 3D unicorns bursting from the walls. Since time was dwindling though I settled on a medium green. White closet doors hid a walk-in with everything I thought a girl would like, and the bed was a full with white sheets and some green and pink pillows here and there. The nightstand held a lamp with a white lampshade, the brown dresser to the right of the bed would have accommodated the necessities to which she would need instant access too, and she even had her own flat screen with a PlayStation 2 and a few video games to go with it. Despite all this last-minute prep I’d made though it seemed that it was for nothing.
These comforts hadn’t provided her with any of her own; she was like a ferret, bopping back and forth, banging on the door in an attempt to escape. I couldn’t understand why though. Her long, blonde hair flew this way and that as she continued to pace, cursing me and demanding that I let her leave, but she knew that I couldn’t do that. As she rushed over to the window I shot up from the bed we’d set just for her, eyeing her closely but quietly until I saw her trying to pull it up.
“Sherry!” My tone was firm, perhaps even mean in comparison to the Claire that she once knew, the one who treated her as though she were as fragile as porcelain. However despite the delicateness of the situation I couldn’t treat her as though she’d break when we all knew that she was more resilient than I physically. I’d asked for this and so I’d handle it with whatever words needed to be employed regardless of their strength against her longstanding sensitivity. Perhaps her world needed to be wrecked the same way mine had been for her eyes to open up to the truth: we were the best thing that could have happened to her. Though the method had been traumatic we didn’t feed into the fearmongering utilized by Simmons; Al had gone in and extracted her as he’d planned. The worse-case scenario would have been a failed retrieval which would have led to her wondering why and when her Uncle Albert would come back to take her from what she’d been brainwashed into believing wasn’t her dungeon.
Wide-eyed, she looked back to me, her nose reddening while her eyes filled with tears that somehow failed in breaking my heart the way she thought they would. This in turn only hurt her more; it signaled the death of the woman she looked up to like a mother in the absence of her own. I’d been reborn in so many ways, but right now it felt like this was the only time that it mattered. “I want to go back!” she shouted at me, her venom impossible to feel. The sadness in her eyes, red blotches beneath her white skin, both of those things told me that she truly meant what she’d just said.
Slowly I walked over to her, the simple act making her wince as if I were the monster she needed to fear. “Sherry-”
“You don’t know what Uncle Albert wants to do with me!” she spat, her eyes darting back and forth wildly. “How could you be with him? They were protecting me from him!”
Without any thought I said back strongly, “And what do you think he was trying to protect you from?”
With a defensive posture she brought one foot forward, her arms out beside her and her hands balled into fists. “I know what Simmons was protecting me from.” Her sudden aggressive stance had put me on alert, and I hoped that soon this room wouldn’t be full of plugs of hair and debris from a cat fight. Never had I seen Sherry so defiant, so angry, and perhaps that was because I believed I knew her better than I actually did… Without missing a beat she added to her silly presumption, “The man you call your husband.”
Subtly I tried to diffuse the volatility in the air by crossing my arms over my chest, a gesture that would hopefully come off as nonchalant rather than demeaning. My next admission would throw a wrench in any previous plans though. “Simmons couldn’t stand you.” It was almost like word vomit. Discrediting Simmons was a logical choice though; Sherry believed whatever he said to her because for so many years his word had been the only word she was permitted to hear. So I would tell her of all the nastiness he’d hidden from her, and although he’d been poor in his masquerade through the eyes of onlookers Sherry’s picture had been painted in watercolor. Her way out was the easy way because she refused to do what she’d done to her parents for so many years: meticulously scrutinize their intentions. Sherry hadn’t wanted to apply her methods to any other human beings because she still wanted to see her parents as the absolute worst and this had been her chance to have a somewhat normal life.
That foot of defiance was now taking a step back as I forced her to rethink whatever little speech she’d drawn up in her head. “You’re really as bad as him right now?” Her voice was on the verge of breaking but I kept my composure.
“What did Wesker do to you while you were in his possession?” “Wesker,” seemed to be a neutral name for him; the casualty of what I referred to him as was not something others were accustomed to or allowed. Also, I was sure that Sherry, given her current state of denial, would fly off the handle at such blasé use of a nickname for a man she’d been taught to fear.
“I was a lab rat!” she shouted. Teeth clenched, she turned her body at an angle to me, her arms now crossing her chest as well.
“How so?” I refused to give her any pause in her questioning; it would be so easy for her to flip the conversation when she was given time to think or throw in useless and erroneous tales of how she perceived a situation. I didn’t need to know what Sherry thought happened but what did happen. Living with Al had given me an advantage it seemed, because now I was able to control a conversation through ascertainment of predictability and in her case I knew plenty about her to know how she’d react.
With glassy eyes she looked down at the white carpet, those blue orbs darting back and forth as she did exactly what I wanted: work to keep up with my time. “He took samples,” she admitted, failing in disguising her tone of defeat.
“And what else did he do Sherry?”
When she realized that he’d done nothing more to her she looked back up at me and shouted, “Isn’t that enough!”
Ignoring the reemergence of her anger I asked calmly but not condescendingly, “What did Simmons do to you for all these years?”
With a matter-of-fact tone she quickly answered with, “Schooled me, fed me, clothed me, and gave me whatever I needed to grow.”
“What else did he do to you Sherry? For all these years?”
She shook her head, refusing to answer the question because she knew that Simmons had done worse than what Al had done.
“Wesker took a few blood samples from you. He was going to do for you everything that Simmons had done. Everything except force you to submit to tests every morning for the rest of your years as a minor.”
Still shaking her head she breathed, “I don’t believe you.”
Taking a step forward I said, “Every morning Simmons forced you to submit to a blood test, every week he would test and track your rate of healing, and every day he limited your human interaction. Simmons kept you because he had no choice.”
With a single laugh she smirked. “You make no sense! If Wesker cared about me he would’ve gotten me back! He just left me there after he got what he wanted!”
Still calm, I asked, “After one week with Simmons what did you believe? I visited you at the end of that first week Sherry and you were scared shitless. And when Leon and I came to see you and made you promise to give it a shot you suddenly changed your mind. You were confined to a government facility Sherry. You were a rat on a wheel to Simmons.”
With a shriek of disbelief and abhorrence she screamed, “FUCK YOU CLAIRE REDFIELD!”
So badly I wanted to gasp at her utterance, to run over to her and hug her, begging that she just believe me and trust that I was doing what was best for her. I’d come too far for that though. I’d asked for this and damn it I would handle it. “No fuck you Sherry Birkin,” I spat, surprising myself. “Your father only trusted one man on this planet and he went through hell to get you away from strangers who didn’t give a shit about you. When he lost you do you think he didn’t consider getting you back? Do you think he didn’t see the fake smiles you wore at my request and think that maybe leaving you with Simmons was the best idea? We all told you that Simmons was the good guy Sherry, and we were the good guys so we had to be telling you the truth right?
Well Sherry I lied to you! I lied because I couldn’t get you back! Leon signed away his life for you because if he didn’t they would’ve killed you! Used you up and tossed you in the trash! Al doesn’t constantly take samples from me! He doesn’t force me to do anything that I don’t want to do! I’m his wife, his family, and I’m offering you a chance to have some freedom for once in your life with people that you actually cared for and vice versa!” Once my rant ended I realized that she had sat down on the bed, breathing heavily as she stared up at me sadly. I’d been partly responsible for building her new world with words alone, and with nothing more than words I’d torn it down.
When I plopped down next to her onto the mattress she didn’t even move or attempt to say anything. Since any more talk about Simmons would more than likely bring about more arguing, or even worse an actual fight, without thinking about it too much I said, “I’m having a baby.” Boy did I know how to diffuse a situation.
April 23, 2002 Tuesday 4:05 AM
Subject: Wesker, Claire
Location: Berlin, Germany
Status: Fine
It may have taken an incredible amount of work on my part, but finally Claire had faced the truth: I was the only one who would look out for her. How many times had Chris Redfield run off without her? How many times had she asked where he’d gone? How many men had she killed in search of him? In our history together I had left her one time. Only one. Even then I’d never truly left her; I was still watching her to ensure that she would not suffer any consequences for taking part in my evasion of Sergei. The debt that I owed her would even benefit her older brother, although he would rather fund Umbrella himself than accept my help in their destruction. His disdain for me however would not ruin what I was building or what I was building towards. History would only serve as a dark cloud today, one with the potential to destroy everything Claire had hoped to experience, and I would grant her as much normalcy as I could. Despite it being imperative to take her feelings into account business demanded my attention still.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out what you were up to?” My hand twitched as I forced myself to reign in my strength and desire to crush his larynx to end his lying. “Where is the other one?” I demanded in a growl, noticing that he was beginning to change colors, and so I wouldn’t be tempted to finish what I started I released him, taking several steps back as he fell to the floor, coughing while he struggled to reintroduce air into his lungs. “You can breathe now speak!” My command was followed up by me taking a step forward again, reigniting his fear that I’d end his life and take away his opportunity to see his work through. The only things I cared about were that he had hidden something from me and that he was stealing something from Claire. One chance was the promise, one potential life to sate whatever fever had fallen upon my wife and Seaborne would return to obscurity in that dead-end bunker back in Mayo. Instead he seemed to have the asinine intention to profit from a product of our union, and I wasn’t sure what incompetent boot lickers he’d had the pleasure of dealing with in the past but Albert Wesker was never on the fool’s end of a business deal.
The lanky scientist wobbled to his feet, using the same wall I’d pinned him against to steady himself. With an arm extended that would do no good in repelling me he wheezed, “I needed insurance Dr. Wesker! In case something happened to this one!”
“Elaborate.”
Finally he’d given up and rested his entire body against the cement wall behind him. “I didn’t want to disappoint either of you if something went wrong, and so I fertilized a second egg. I could terminate it if you want! I never meant to betray you!”
Though a risky move he may have been right. I may have boasted that I was a man of logic but had anything happened to the only chance at a child that existed for my wife and me as of now, due to her grief I would more than likely act in her stead and seek unfounded retribution. The blame would sit squarely on his shoulders in our derangement, and a great mind would be lost only for the decisions we had made to be lamented in the future.
“It’s a girl!” he stated proudly. “You will have a boy and a girl. They’re even growing at the same rate. Not quite twins but close enough.”
Though it shamed me to admit it I had to: I was acting impulsively, and I needed to slow down. For years I’d been chided about my inability to exhibit patience, however, the messenger hadn’t been one that I preferred to recall on a regular basis. Perhaps though, I’d reached a point where I needed to remember, to take his words into mind. If not for my own sake then for the sake of his daughter. I backed away from Seaborne slowly, heading for the door to his lab, and trying to find the strength to vow to myself that I would try to become more patient. After all, soon, I would have to for my family.

April 17, 2002 Wednesday 8:56 AM
Subject: Wesker, Claire
Location: Sylt, Germany
Status: Fine
“You’re pregnant?” Her tone had become softer, more than likely because she feared upsetting an expectant mother any more than she already had.
Choosing my wording carefully I answered with, “We’re using exogenesis so…” Before the conversation became cold I added, “I was pregnant before and it…” A lump formed in my throat as I was forced to recall the events that took place that day in Cheyenne, and saying the exact words seemed almost an impossible feat. “It killed me.” I expected for her to prod me further on that topic, and I prepared myself to relive those moments that seemed like an eternity. The decision that I’d made on that day- my contemplation seemed to stretch on for an eon in that instance.
            Hesitantly, she inquired, “Can you not give birth yourself anymore?”
            Looking back to her I said, “It’s not that. It’s more like: we’re not sure what the outcome will be.” There was no way that I could tell her that I was ripped open internally, seen as nothing more than an incubator-turned obstacle for my offspring. So instead I added, “This way we know.” In an attempt to switch gears I said, “I had this crazy idea that maybe you could help me out with the baby when it gets here.”
            With a look of interest she said, “Well I don’t know how to take care of a baby.” It seemed she was holding back a giggle, still probably afraid to go against what Simmons would have wanted.
“No one in this house does,” I said with a smile. “I can’t even think of a name,” I admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed that despite my passion about having a child, I wasn’t even close to figuring out what to call it.
Giving in she held herself up with her hands on either side of her body. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“No clue.” It wasn’t something I’d been thinking about too much. Though it would matter in the future when it came to important child-rearing decisions it wouldn’t matter at the start to me.
“Well if it’s a girl there’s Isabel, Hayleigh, Kara-”
Cutting her off I said softly, “I was thinking something less traditional.
With the tiniest smirk that I’m sure killed her to display she said, “Seraphina, Haven, Camdyn, Reya…”
Impressed I replied with, “I like all of those.”
“And for boys there’s Liam, Janos, Alfons, and I’m sure this island has some pretty good names to offer.”
“Liam Alfons Wesker,” I said to myself, looking up to the ceiling as I let the name echo in my mind. “For some reason I always pictured a Jacob but I’m liking Liam Alfons. It’s simple but it also sounds strong.” So that she wouldn’t let her thoughts wander back to our less pleasant conversation earlier when she was in this new place, alone at night I looked back to her and said sincerely, “I’m so sorry Sherry. I never meant to hurt your feelings or scare you.”
Her reply came with surprising swiftness, a good sign. “It’s just that for so long I’ve been told that Uncle Albert was this terrible person, and then to hear that you betrayed everyone and went with him… What happened?”
Sherry deserved an answer, and so I told her everything, starting with that New Year’s Eve. I told her about the deal we’d made, Red Lodge, and how at some point we’d developed feelings for one another that would be denied until much later on his part. I recalled my hospitalization which revealed the life-threatening pregnancy, and how I was given no choice but to become infected with Aceso to survive the extraction. I told her about my rehabilitation, my newfound ability to heal (something we both had in common now), South America, our new haven here, and our marriage. The look on her face was akin to an interested child, hearing an impossible tale, but those tales usually ended in obscurity or happily whereas our fates depended on far too many variables. Somehow though I knew that Al would get us out of this, but for the past few days I couldn’t help but question whether or not he would escape this whole thing unscathed. He reacted in a way that demonstrated his detrimental lack of patience when it came to others and when he became impatient he could make mistakes.
I shook those thoughts of doubt away as I remembered his loyalty to me and the lengths he take to fulfill his promises. He’d get through it. He had to. More lives were depending on it.

?
Subject: Wesker, Albert
Location: Raccoon City, Colorado
Status: Fine
Every day it seemed that my colleague strived to find new ways to either discourage me or push me to better myself in the most annoying of manners. William Birkin was never one for normal, and his lack of such a desirable characteristic was deliberately exacerbated as he used his genius IQ as a means of reinforcement. Less like a scientist and more like a child, he felt that he could do as he pleased with no consequences, and he was right. Today he was once more rubbing something in my face and I was in no position to simply walk out and leave him bragging to the walls.
Looking up from his microscope he said smugly, “You see Albert, this is why you were always number 2.”
Turning over a pen with an Umbrella logo in my hands I quipped back, “I was number 2 because you were two years younger than me when you received your degrees and admittance to Umbrella-”
“No. You were number 2 because you were never as patient as me and deduced that brute strength was a better attribute to pair with your intelligence than patience. I am smarter than you, but had you had patience you would have been a rival rather than a lab assistant.” Any other day I would ignore his arrogance and pretend to check the safety on my Samurai Edge with mock intimidation, but today the anger I felt truly existed. I’d had enough on my plate lately with STARS and Irons breathing down my neck about brokering a deal that had to do with his rather illicit activities and specific tastes. I had no more patience to lend my old friend, however, wasn’t he just accusing me of not possessing the much-desired trait?
Before I knew what I was doing I ground out, “Today is not the d-”
Fearlessly he quipped, “What will you do? Hit me? Will that make us teenagers again? Will that make you the superior scientist? I thought not. You ran off and got funding for your little S.T.A.R.S. project where you train a group of brutes to use what little intellect they possess while teaching them to rely on their muscles. I have done for you what I could and I have confidence in my work. If you had been here with me rather than playing with your little cops then you would have developed the same confidence in the Wesker Virus.”
Ignoring the emotion in his eyes that betrayed his condescending tone I asked, “You named it-”
“After you? Yes. You are the man it was made for. Now leave me to my work. I have one last tinker-toy to finish before G is perfected.” With that, he was preparing to immerse himself in his work once more, tuning out everything else happening in the world. I wasn’t sure what had caused that haunting look behind his eyes, but since I’d caught it I wouldn’t be able to let it go.
Always having to have the last word, and needing to in this case to attempt to bring back an air of normalcy I said clearly, “You know Will… one day you will stop interrupting me.”
“And one day you will understand the value of research and testing.” His defiance in spite of his sad eyes left me at a loss for words. “Don’t just stand there, go and pick up Sherry! She’ll be out of class at any moment!”
Rather than argue I turned on my heel and left, vowing that just so this particular circumstance would never occur again I’d obtain this characteristic known as patience. It was unbecoming of me, storming into a place of work with the air of superiority I’d been accused of possessing. Baby steps, I told myself as I turned the ignition to the cruiser. One day I’d be there.
- 31
- 32
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