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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Optio
Chapter 8: Dormientes
March 21, 2001 Wednesday 2:15 PM
Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Red Lodge, Montana
Status: Happy

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sara, happy birthday to you!”
It was an understatement when I said that I didn’t expect a party for my twenty-second birthday, but with Gwen being my new friend in town I would have been a fool not to think a birthday cake and a rented out restaurant wouldn’t be in my future. Wesker swore he had nothing to do with it, so that meant that I should expect a huge surprise later at home. Honestly what I wanted from him was for him to finish my finals up so I could just take it easy on my day, but seeing as he was a firm believer in academics I doubted that he would have made my college career a piece of pie for me.
“You know I didn’t want a party,” I reminded Gwen as she took her seat across the table from me. She gave a coy smile and set her napkin on her lap. “I swear to God,” I began, my threat losing its effect due to my chuckling, “there better not be any presents.”
Raising her hands as if in surrender she assured me, “No one brought a present. This is just a get together with friends for your birthday. And this cake will get finished.” That last part was a reference to the shooting and how it tore us away from all of the home cooked food we had left over. We could have brought it to the hospital but I couldn’t call Gwen up every time I needed something microwaved because I was too afraid to walk to the nurse’s station alone.
“You lied to me,” I said to Wesker on the drive home. “I knew you weren’t just taking me somewhere for my birthday.” For some reason he only smirked at me, making me suspicious of him even though my birthday lunch was over, I had a feeling there was something more. Halfway down Long Street I saw a large truck meant for moving or delivering peel out of Saunders Lane, and my eyes became slits as I turned to the driver. “Wesker?”
He had not fully healed from his wound but he was going without his sling, and he insisted on driving since he could seeing as he wasn’t left-handed. His left hand could be used for flicking on the signal lights but too much arm movement would cause for him to wince at the pain. Another thing that was still affected by his handicap was his sexual performance, and it left him giving the dominant position up to me since we liked to look each other in the eyes during.
For some reason he did not park under the shed as he usually did, instead he left the BMW uncovered to the right of the house on the gravel driveway. “Where are you going?” he asked as I made my way around to the back door.
Nonchalantly I called back to him, “We always use the kitchen door!” His pace quickened behind me and then he began jogging to catch up to me and I froze in place at the sight of a black sheet that was meant for covering one of my most favorite things: bikes. Once he found that I was staring down my surprise I looked to him with disbelief shining in my eyes, and I slowly made my way over to tear the sheet away from a brand new Harley-Davidson.
My eyes were wide and refused to close on my shiny, new red toy for fear that this was just some fantastical dream. “A 2001 Harley-Davidson XL1200S Sportster! You gotta be fucking kidding me (yeah I knew the whole name)!” Like a kid with a new toy I had to at least sit in its seat for a moment, mouth still agape at only what I called the perfect gift. I didn’t own a Harley but damn it I wanted to, and despite having had bikes in the past they were salvaged by me or used (my beloved one was lost to Raccoon City in ‘98). This though was fresh out of the dealership and I could see myself on it now flying down the roads of Red Lodge, maybe with a pair of Wesker’s shades since it’d complete the fantasy. “I wanna say thank you but I need to know why?”
I looked back at his face conveying a since of calm so that he wouldn’t give a smirk that displayed cockiness, and I caught my reflection in his shades. Damn did I look good on this thing. Simply he offered, “It is your birthday.”
Deciding not to argue I only smiled sincerely and said, “Thank you.” For a moment I contemplated hugging him, but we were not affectionate unless we were about to have sex or when we were done so I would not push it. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” The most expensive too. Having to force myself to do so, I got off of my bike and followed Wesker inside, shutting the kitchen door behind us.
“So, how did you know I rode bikes?” Leaning against the counter I threw him a suspicious smirk, and in response he leaned back against the counter I used for food preparation. “Besides the biker ensemble,” I added.
For some reason he wasn’t smirking back at me, and he stared down at the kitchen floor. “Your brother told me.”
My smirk disappeared, my gaze following Wesker’s as I gave a small, “Oh.” Of course he would’ve talked to him since he was his captain, yet I still wouldn’t have expected him to remember things about me. It made me wonder what else Chris divulged to his supervisor during their time working together, and exactly how much he let him in. Since he didn’t even know how my parents had died it was safe to say that he wasn’t privy to Redfield pastimes. “I didn’t know Chris talked about me.”
Maybe I admitted this because I wanted for Wesker to spill that he found me interesting just from hearsay, and maybe I hoped he would ask from time to time, “Chris, how is your sister?” Maybe I wanted to be able to find a gesture from him as sweet to pander to my own ego.
Tactfully I said, “I’m sure he brought it up during a conversation about wrecks. Slowly I raised my head to see that he was looking at me again, and past his shades I could tell that he was reminiscing about his days as captain of S.T.A.R.S. I was sure there were good days there that even he missed, and despite having to put up with Chris and his shenanigans he liked being their superior.
“Miss Redfield,” he began, “your brother talked about you just about every hour.” Eyes wide, I stood up straight. “He worried so much that he wanted me to mentor you.” I was pretty sure I knew why that never came to be: no nineteen-year-old wants to listen to a thirty-eight-year-old cop.
Swallowing hard I returned my gaze back to the worn leather boots I’d first stepped into this house wearing, thinking back to the days when Chris tried so hard to play mother, father, brother, and friend. I was so stubborn, and obviously from my current state I still was. “He was everything to me, but in the end that wasn’t enough. At least from raising me I know he’ll be a great parent someday, but I can’t say the same for me.”
His brow rose and I could tell that he was afraid that I was hinting at a future involving the pitter patter of fat, toddler feet, so I quickly decided that it was best I elaborate. “My mom died early on so I didn’t have time to learn how to be one from her. I wouldn’t know how to even change a diaper,” I added with a sad laugh, thinking to myself how sad it was that I didn’t know any of those small bits of essential knowledge about rearing a child.
Why exactly did you have to make sure the baby was burped? Was colic caused by onions or something gross smelling? Was it better to lay the baby on their stomach so they wouldn’t get that little bald spot in the back of their head? Would using whisky to soothe their gums during their teething period make them drunk?
Yeah I’d kill a kid just as easily as I did my poor goldfish Mr. Sparkle Scales who I named when I received him on my third birthday and buried when I was three and ten days. Then again how smart was it to entrust full responsibility of a creature’s life in the hands of one barely out of toddlerhood?
Shaking away my own doubts about my abilities as a caretaker-after all Wesker was still alive though wounded-I said, “Plus, if I have kids then Chris probably won’t, and the Redfield line needs to keep going. Chris wasn’t the brightest of the S.T.A.R.S. but he’d be a better parent than me because I’m selfish, and I always will be.”
Yes, I had accepted my fate as a kick-ass, roamer aunt who didn’t have a family of her own. I wouldn’t be bitter though, instead I’d happily take on that role and dote upon any children Chris sired, illegitimate by a Peruvian woman met throughout his war on bioterrorism or by a wife. It did however make things a little worse since I was talking about not having kids to the sterile man that I was sleeping with, and it made it appear that I was actually working for a childless future already. Some nights though I did want a baby, like when I saw them babbling to their mothers happily in the stores with their fat legs kicking in excitement all because they smiled and shook their head with their lips puckered in a silly fashion.
Sometimes I wanted to breast feed, feel that bond and for a while be able to go up a couple bra sizes. I wanted my body to go through that change that made it harder to sleep anywhere like a floor, and I wanted stare down at my baby in her crib whilst thinking to myself that I had no idea such love and fondness was possible. I wanted something to depend on me more than an animal past nursing could, but the way a baby would for longer which was in every way. It was not smart to have a baby for the purpose of wanting to be loved, but I wanted something that I could love, raise, and proudly and confidently send out into the world with the knowledge that I prepared them.
Yet morbidity struck me with that optimistic thought: things could happen to good, well-prepared offspring. Wrecks, murder, rape, and so many other horrid things had plagued my mind when I first made the decision to put an end to my dreams of motherhood.
I, Claire Redfield would never have a little Susie or Johnny. Never would I hold my own plump, bundle of joy, and never would I know all of the love in the world from that one look given by something that couldn’t even speak that told a mother, “I need you, and I love you.”
Realizing that I had gotten lost for a moment I blinked away forming tears and said, “It’s probably for the best.” Wordlessly, I walked past a pensive Wesker who bit the inside of his cheek, and I pretended that I didn’t notice his attempt to hold back any display of sympathy. More than likely he had thought of how he would not ever have children either, but if anything he was most likely thinking of how he couldn’t and how I could but chose not to.
It was a woman thing.
March 21, 2001 Wednesday 5:00 PM
Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Red Lodge, Montana
Status: Lost

Finally I realized that I had been going in on the punching bag for too long, and now there was a spot that was permanently indented because of it. I didn’t know how long I had been going at it, and my arms still did not ache with wear. That told me that the black, sand-filled bag had been suffering at my hands for at least twenty minutes, and that something was bothering me. This workout did not help like it was meant to, so there was only one thing that I could do: do something even more strenuous to release whatever was pent up and refusing to let go of my ribcage. It was like there was a cloud on me that refused to go away, and maybe sex was the answer but the talk of no children was an instant turnoff for me when it should have been the talk of children causing that instead.
Stepping away from the bag I looked around and considered my options: the treadmill, weights (which required help), pull-ups, or sit-ups. Just when I was about to walk out in disappointment Wesker appeared, wearing a black wife-beater (go figure) and black workout pants.
“What are you doing?” I demanded with my hands on my hips.
“Testing myself.”
With no idea what he meant I headed for the door behind him. “Have at it.”
His good arm shot out and he took hold of my wrist, and without looking at me he said, “I require your assistance.” Sighing heavily I turned to him, noticing why he was in such a rush to get back to working out: his arms were losing a bit of muscle. Usually his veins were pushing upward beneath his skin and easily visible, but now they were becoming a little difficult to see. Honestly I thought visible veins were hot.
Stepping back to look up at him I asked, “So what are we doing? Weights?”
With not a single trace of humor in his voice he said, “Sparring.”
My eyebrows were drawn inward with the frown I gave. “With one arm.”
“We’ll see.” He was being short tonight, and it was obvious that it was because he was having reservations about this. Although I wasn’t too clear on why since he was trained to be a killer, and the only reason I could think of was maybe he was afraid that he’d push himself and not be able to perform to his full potential. Fucking or not men were easily embarrassed when their masculinity was at stake and there was no question on whether or not he would be mortified by losing a match he requested.
My hesitance pushed him to speak the magic words, “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
Oh fuck you, I thought in disbelief. With a blank face I snatched my arm away and led him to the empty side of the room, noticing his attempt to carry his injured arm with as much ease as he did the other. “Let me know if you need a break,” I threw at him, pretending like I had no idea that the statement could hold another interpretation.
With a deep breath he lowered his shoulders until I witnessed him grimace with pain and then I heard the sound of his bones cracking. He needed to see a chiropractor pronto. Not sure if he meant for me to take a stance I looked around as if a demonstration would present itself before me. He could not take one though because of his arm, so I only balled my fists at my side, my body tensed and ready for an attack.
“Don’t hold back,” he ordered. I attempted to scoff at the cripple warning me, but before I could manage it he ran at me, his fist flying on a collision course to my face. Remembering Chris’ advice on the disadvantages of ducking I dodged to the side and knocked his arm away with my own. With a hiss I shook off the pain from bone colliding with bone and I attempted to punch him in the chin, but with his wounded arm he reached up and grabbed my fist before I could land the jab. I caught him wincing, but decided not to taunt him about his injury.
I just didn’t want him to hurt himself. No way was I stepping into a hospital again for his stupidity.
Deciding that it was best to display my natural talent as a grappler-something I accidentally discovered horse playing with Chris- I spun around quickly out of his grasp and surprised him by tackling him to the floor. With a loud “oomph,” he fell beneath me, and rather than attempt another strike he got the upper hand and pinned me. Rather than just give him the match though I swiped at his left forearm which caused him to lose balance, and he clenched his teeth to prevent himself from showing any other signs of pain. Once I decided to show no mercy it went from being a quick sparring match to a nightmare. He sprang to his feet, and I followed his lead.
Once more I balled my hands into fists, and with all the power I’d use with a real punch I launched my right hand at his head. When my knuckles were only a few centimeters from Wesker’s jaw I saw a flash of red and orange leering at me that replaced his icy gaze, and before the punch could connect, before I could brush it off as my imagination, I felt his palm hit my chest with an incredible impact. I was thrown into the air three feet, flying backwards, and a cry that must have come from within me was the only clue to me of what was going on. My body began falling downward next, and I felt the balance bar set into the wall pressing into my back as if it were all happening in slow motion. After going up, back, and down I was falling forward, being bounced off of the wooden bar like I was a human pinball.
The newly acquired pain kept me alert, and with quick thinking coupled with reflex I held out my hands to receive most of the impact and to save my face from the carpeted yet hard floor. Despite my efforts to save my body from anymore pain my hip, thigh, and legs slammed into the floor hard, eliciting another pained cry.
Frozen with his palm still outstretched and his legs spread and bent in a defensive stance, his mouth was slightly parted. Whether he was in shock or awe was unknown to me, but I had hoped that he at least felt bad for what had happened just now. It took him long enough, but he knelt down to me and helped me to my feet. “I don’t know what happened.” Eyes wide with bewilderment, he muttered, “My apologies.”
I could feel the sting of tears coming on, but before they revealed themselves to Wesker, who now had other things to worry about, I ran from the gym ignoring my injuries. My birthday went from being great to being miserable. He was changing back into what he was before, and that meant that soon all of this would be over with. I was supposed to be glad when I could stop lying to Chris, and when I could finally hush my guilty conscience. But I knew I had another reason to be upset: there were now feelings involved.
As I locked my door behind me I asked myself how could one go from sharing their bodies and a living space with someone and suddenly walk away like it never meant a thing. How did you go back to being alone when you were so used to having somebody there? With a heavy sigh I licked my dry lips and threw myself onto my bed which hadn’t held me for weeks, and despite the cliché that this was I let my emotions control my actions. I buried my face into my pillow, allowing it to muffle the sounds of me crying.
However, what did I truly expect to happen? The night I gave myself to Wesker I still knew what he had told me long ago: his virus was merely lying dormant.
March 21, 2001 Wednesday 9:57 PM
Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Red Lodge, Montana
Status: Happy

“All right sweetie blow out your candles.”
“Can I just let them burn?” I asked, staring up into my dad’s face. His smile was so big that it brought every wrinkle to attention, yet his sincerity stood out more than his age.
“I’ll do it!” Our heads snapped to the left, our glares alone stopping Chris from ruining my moment. “Oh fine!” Like a scolded child he shuffled to the other side of the picnic table with his head down.
Her voice as gentle as ever, our mother cooed, “Four more months until you have your own dear. And how old will you be?”
With a scowl I said, “Almost thirty, which is too old to be stealing my birthday wishes.” With a huff my older sibling threw his head down into his arms on the table, muttering incomprehensibly. Deciding to ignore his temper tantrum I looked between my parents and gushed, “I’m so happy you could make it to my party!”
My mother’s smile told me that she was in a euphoric mood as she stared down at me with a warm smile. “We wouldn’t miss your twenty-second birthday for the world Claire.”
It had never occurred to me until now though that they had missed others. Over a decade of birthdays which my parents had not attended came back to me now, and my smile faded into a frown. When I attempted to confront them on the matter a gust of wind came through, blowing out the candles on my pink frosted cake. When I looked back up they were stone, still smiling and Chris’ head was still in his arms, leaving me pretty much alone under a newly formed gray cloud that separated me from the sun’s light and warmth.
Turning to look at my father I saw that he was frozen while he attempted to bend over my shoulder, beaming directly at the cake. “Dad?” I asked, staring into what was a now a statue’s dull, gray color. Carefully, I slid from my side of the table and walked up to my mother who stared down at where I had been sitting before, her grin still present. “Mom?”
My lip trembled as I realized that once more I had lost my parents, and though Chris was also gone something about losing them again had just bothered me more. “Mommy?” Gingerly I reached up to touch the back of my fingers to her check, and despite my cautiousness she crumbled before me. Mouth wide open I felt hot tears streaming down my cheeks, as her new stone form was reduced to a pile of rubble at my hand, and I fell to my knees with my hands hovering over her remains as though I could put her back together but feared attempting it.
“Oh mortal.” The voice was the only thing that could pull my attention away from my late family, and though I recognized it, it made me feel angry.
Not staring up, I placed my hands in my lap. “You were human once.”
Chuckling to himself he stepped closer, his black boots inches away from the pile that was my mother. “That was then.”
“So what are you now?” With a frown I looked up to him, watching him move to remove his shades,
“Dear heart, I am a god.”

My nightmare had ended abruptly, and I couldn’t understand what it meant. After his bold assertion I remember a bright, red light glowing as brightly as a fire, but I didn’t know what the dream had meant. Eventually I fell into a deep sleep again with the hopes that the nightmare would be erased from my memory, but something had brought me back to consciousness. Something in my bed was moving, and whatever it was, was now on top of me.
I groaned at the intruder only to be shushed. A pair of lips was pressed gently into my neck, like I would break from the slightly bit of pressure, and instantly I knew who it was. Well, I hoped it was him; otherwise someone would be having a crotch-full of kneecap. To be sure I asked, “Wesker?”
“Yes,” he answered before promptly returning to trailing kisses down my neck, and I embraced him, encouraging him to continue. Yet I still knew in my heart that this was not going to make anything better. Soon the old Albert Wesker would be back.
- 7
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