(...sort of. I'm playing catch up because this one ended up so long Aaaaaa. Also on AO3.)
It's Wednesday night. Taco night. Sherry and Jake were over for dinner, and it was as awkward as ever. Claire tries pretty damn hard to make it less awkward by doing it every week, and Jake and Sherry always agree, but it is always so damn awkward.
She's up to her elbows in dawn dish soap and hot water when she feels Wesker approach, and then he wraps his arms around her waist, leaning his forehead on her shoulder. She doesn't stop washing dishes. "You know, it really doesn't help when you and Sherry start talking viruses."
"Jakub works in the same sort of industries you and Sherry do, he can't avoid hearing about it," he scoffs into her shoulder.
"Well. I think it's different hearing it from the guy who developed half of them."
Who's his dad, she doesn't add out loud, because that's still something they're unpacking, years later. Wesker has frequently told her that he isn't fit to be a father, and while Claire doesn't necessarily agree, she understands why he feels that way.
He sighs into her shoulder again then pulls away. "I wish to go to bed."
"Okay. Give me a minute because if I don't finish dishes now, they're not getting done until Friday night."
He grumbles again, but settles into pacing the kitchen like he's thinking. It really is just another minute. She wipes her hands on her pants, and drags him by the wrist upstairs. She gets into the upstairs hall, just one step or so, and then…everything is black. Her stomach shifts like she's falling, except she can't see where or how and her brain is still trying to parse how she was in the hallway one moment and in this void the next.
She's been through a lot of shit, but this is a new brand of crazy.
Wait. She's still got a hand on Wesker's wrist, even though she can't see it, she tries to use it to pull herself up, but something sucks at her feet and then the pressure gives.
The whole thing must have really occurred in ten seconds or less. The next thing she sees are bright, bright lights and the whirr of some machinery around her, indistinct voices. She throws a punch, but it hits the wrong person, because they easily catch her fist and cocoon her. "Oops. Sorry," she tells Wesker.
"It's alright," comes her lovers rumbling, warm voice. "I did much the same thing a moment ago. Broke a lab technician's nose. Besides, hardly the first time you've assaulted me." The last words are a teasing purr.
"Oh, ha-fucking-ha. Where are we, anyway? That was…not the usual brand of weird."
"I've only been awake a couple of extra minutes, dearheart. They're going to get their boss. Apparently they recognize us enough to not throw us into containment."
She looks around properly now. They're in a big room, those bright white lights illuminating a flat pad with colored blue lights beside them, about the size of a pickup truck. There are people in labcoats swarming around with tablets and clipboards like ants. She only gets to watch them for a second before someone enters the room, someone thankfully familiar, though she's wearing different glasses than usual.
"Oh, Rebecca! Thank goodness." Claire jumps up, dragging Wesker up with her. "What the hell just happened? It was like a portal
Rebecca stares oddly between Claire and Wesker. For like. A long time. Then, she turns to one of the figures in lab coats who has come to stand behind her. "We didn't have a test scheduled. What happened here?"
"Mrs. Redfield was here yesterday, inspecting the Project. I suppose…I suppose it must have turned on somehow, and with the DNA in the machine…"
Nobody calls her Mrs. Redfield. Geez, that makes her feel old. Besides, she's not legally Mrs. anything. Hard to marry a dead guy, though everyone knows they're basically attached at the hip after Kijuju and the ensuing mess. Rebecca especially never refers to her as Mrs. That would be extra weird.
Rebecca rubs her eyes under her very square glasses. "Right. Of course. *Somehow*. Have Coen check the security cameras, get me an answer instead of a guess - no, don't bother. I'll talk to him after I deal with…this." She gestures at them, and Claire gets that general sense of wrongness again. "Mrs. Redfield…Mr. Redfield."
Claire can't help the laugh that escapes her at that point. Oh, man. She's gotta tell Chris about that one. He'd hate that. "Sorry. Uh. What's going on, Becca? That's not…"
Wesker is scowling. Rebecca ignores him. At least that part is normal. "You fell through a portal, you're in an alternate dimension. I know that's a crazy thing to say. It's kind of a long story as to why we're working on it. Probably don't worry about it for now. We'll be able to send you back in 48 hours or less. Right?" She turns to the scientist behind her again, who goes a little red and nods. "You're in Raccoon City. Well, the part that survived. Long story, again."
Rebecca doesn't explain things very well. Claire's sure she's doing her best, but she feels like she's lacking a lot of context. Rebecca gets excited towards the very end of the discussion, and scribbles down an address on a piece of paper. "You should go meet you! Both of you, really. At least then you won't have to stay in the lab while this gets fixed."
That is tempting. She looks to Wesker and he nods. He wonders if he's curious about Mr. and Mrs. Redfield like she is.
The cab ride is short, but weird. "Oh, damn! That's my elementary school!" Claire says, pointing it out to Wesker. "I see bombed out buildings in the distance, but this part of the city was fine."
"It is odd," Wesker says quietly, staring out the window and squinting. "Everything is familiar, but wrong at the same time. Of course, that's likely what I should expect from an alternate universe, but…"
"Yeah," she agrees after he trails off. "It's kind of uncanny."
The house they pull up to is nice. Not like…they aren't poor. But Claire lives modestly, and Wesker can't exactly work, being legally dead. This house is like…almost a mansion. Not quite, and it's all very tasteful, but it is huge. Wesker scowls at it but takes the lead and knocks on the door.
And Claire is met with herself at the front door. The woman's hair is maybe a bit darker, suggesting that she doesn't get out as much as Claire herself does, because her hair gets lighter and a bit more reddish in the summer sun. Other-Claire's hair is the dark brown hers kind of settles into during winter. She opens her mouth to introduce them and Other-Claire brushes them off with a hand wave. "Rebecca called and explained. No need to try to justify it. Come in."
They talk for a moment, easy pleasantries between Claire and Other-Claire.
It sets in then, when they're in the living room…parlor…whatever it qualifies as. "Whoa! What went wrong in my life that I dress like that?" Claire tugs on Wesker's sleeve and points towards her other self, like he can't see already. "Look. I dress like you."
"Or maybe he dresses like me," Other-Claire counters with a grin, smoothing her hands down her latex (?) bodysuit and leather coat. Then she looks Claire up and down. "You dress the same as ever, I see. Never grew out of wearing the same things Chris does."
"Oh, he dresses like that now, too," Claire assures. "Everyone's in their goth phase. Where's your Albert?"
The Other Claire scowls, first at her and then at her Wesker. "My…Albert. I don't think he'd like to be called that. But he's here. He's got a laboratory in the basement. He leaves it to work and to sleep - sound familiar?"
Claire snorts. This whole thing is weird, sure but she's finding it more amusing than anything else. After all, they already spoke to this universe's Rebecca about having her company send them back, and she was working on it, so what else was there really to do but enjoy the strangeness of it. Wesker looks less amused, shoulders up and tense and red eyes darting around underneath his sunglasses to try to assess the situation.
The house isn't familiar to Claire, but Wesker has been tense since he walked in, so she has to assume - She looks up at him, wrapping her arm around his, though the crook of his arm. "Hey, is this your house?"
"Yes."
Oh. That explains it. He had to have had a house in Raccoon City, though she hadn't really known him back then. This is not the time to make a joke, but she's been looking around since Other-Claire had let them inside, and it's kind of obvious. "So. Umbrella paid you pretty good, right?"
His frown deepens. "Yes."
…She waits for him to elaborate, or to say something to express his annoyance about the situation, but he doesn't. "VA benefits too?"
"Well, I certainly didn't go to Spencer Memorial if I could help it." Despite the actual response this time, his tone is clipped and upset. His gloved hand comes and covers the one she's got wrapped around his elbow.
Claire opens her mouth to reassure him, or at least say something a tad more genuine, but catches sight of Other-Claire in front of them, coat sweeping as she turns to walk down a hardwood stairway. Yeah. Not a great time. She squeezes his elbow instead as they follow her.
The lights go from that nice, honeyish warm color to a bright white. The floor at the bottom of the stairs is tile. Overall there's less security than she would have expected. Just a singular panel to input a code. She doesn't catch the whole number. It's pretty long, but the bit she remembers… "Is that coordinates?"
Other-Claire turns and grins. "Yup! Rockfort Island. Good catch."
Why Rockfort Island? Claire winces. Something must have happened there that made her…like this. It seems kind of reductive to call Other-Claire…Villian-Arc-Claire, but damn if that's not what it seems like. Her double pauses with the door held partly open. "He doesn't want to discuss why, but he's not involved in the BOW stuff anymore, okay? Well. Mostly. He messes around with vaccines and stuff down here, but most of his work has to do with being an obstetrician and neonatologist."
This shocks Claire more than anything else she's heard in the last hour. "Albert is a what?!"
Other-Claire laughs. "Yeah. I know. From Umbrella to S.T.A.R.S. to preemies." She looks up at Wesker. "Suprises you too, or nah?"
"Very much surprising. I don't think I've held an infant in my life. Well. No, that isn't true. I held Sherry once, but she was several months old because she was - oh. Well. That certainly explains it."
"Why?" Claire asks him, turning to look up at him. She hadn't heard this before.
"Sherry was premature. William told me she was very lucky to have survived, and could really only credit her survival to the excellent medical care working for Umbrella afforded. She had to have several corrective surgeries. My enjoyment for bringing new life into the world has always been focused on the submicroscopic…but I suppose I understand that how in different circumstances, the time I did get to hold her in the hospital could have led to that as a career choice."
"That's…actually really cute." He scowls at her. "It is! I'm totally telling her that story when we get back. You just try to stop me."
His grumble in response isn't really words, but she knows him well enough to understand that he won't try to stop her. Other-Claire opens the door all the way, and they step into a fairly rudimentary laboratory. A tall blonde man sits, hunched over a PC. The first thing Claire really notices about him is that he's not wearing black. Or grey. He's got a navy sweater and brown corduroy pants, and regular glasses on top of his head though he wears the sunglasses.
"Woof," Claire says, and her Wesker pinches her. Other-Wesker looks up at them, and Claire notices something else. "Hey, you're not infected."
Both Wesker's scowl at her then. "And you're tactful as ever. Though I do wonder how you were able to tell."
Well. Too late to be tactful about it now, right? "You're greying."
"Ohhh now you're in for it," Other-Claire snorts. "You're fine, Albert. You look great for your advanced age."
"Advanced age? Really?" He scoffs. "Well, it's lovely to meet you too. I'm assuming something went wrong with Chambers' pet project."
"Or right! Isn't this interesting? Imagine the data we could get."
"Imagine the data you could sell, dearheart. Say what you mean."
Other-Claire shrugs. "Well. You know. That too."
"This is…true enough," her Wesker says quietly, looking at Claire like she might object. She doesn't. Mostly because she's curious. "Your Raccoon City didn't get fully decimated. I can't quite determine where our timelines diverge."
She's never seen Wesker talk so much, to anyone. Ever. Though it makes sense it would be to himself. They start chatting quickly and Claire soon can't keep up, with Umbrella terminology being thrown around. Other-Claire pokes her in the side gently. "I think he's happy to talk to someone who gets the whole 'Project W' thing. Even as versed as I am in that kind of thing today, it's not like living it, right?"
"No, it's not. I know he doesn't want pity, but ignoring what Spencer did to him and the other subjects…I work with victims of bioterror every day. In a lot of ways he's suffered the same long term effects. Even in my own house I feel like I can't make any real progress."
She probably wouldn't admit feeling that way to anyone other than herself - even Chris. But If anyone would know, Other-Claire would, right? "Uh. What do you do, anyway? I work for an organization called Terra-Save, we travel the world and provide relief to victims of bioterror."
Other-Claire grins. "I sell bioweapons for Blue-Umbrella. It's not very hush-hush. I mean, the BSAA basically is the strong arm of the US government when it comes to bioweapons. We decide who gets them. I sell them, Chris throws his weight around and makes sure they don't use them against the US or our allies."
"And you're okay with that?!"
Other-Claire shrugs and offers a little smile. "It was the best of a lot of bad options. It's turned out pretty damn well, though. Okay, if you work in charity, how did you and Albert end up together?"
"Long story, but - well. I guess Africa didn't happen for you guys. Chris and Jill threw him in a volcano, somehow he survived enough to crawl out and I uh. Kept him secret for a while. It was rough revealing him to Chris."
"Yeah. They've got a beef - I don't know why."
"Something happened in the Spencer Mansion, I thought."
Other-Claire shakes her head. "The way I heard it, Jill was the one who confronted him. Chris was stuck in a lab in the basement for almost the whole thing."
Hm. Weird. Not how it went for them. "What made him give up virology."
"I helped kill Spencer in 2001. They had a long conversation before he killed him. About what, I don't know. But he didn't come back quite the same. He dropped everything pretty quickly."
"That was later than Spencer was killed in our universe. I wish we had time to talk the whole thing through."
"Even if we could, you really think Albert would open up about it all?"
Claire ground, thinking about it. "Probably not. But I'm still curious. Some things seem so similar, but different."
They don't get to talk much longer before Rebecca calls and says the machine is fixed. They drive back through the streets of Raccoon City one last time. "Is there anywhere you'd like to drive by before we go?" Wesker asks her.
Claire shakes her head. "I think that would do me more harm than good, honestly."
"A wise realization. Let's go home then."
…
"Do you think there's a universe where we don't end up together?" Claire asks him that night, safely back in their house, laying over top of the blankets while he undoes the plethora of buckles on his coat. Now that she's thinking about it, maybe wearing that to taco night was part of the reason Jake is so weird around him.
Wesker is quiet for a while. "If there are the infinite universes that Doctor Chambers' team suggests, then yes. There are likely many where we aren't even acquainted. A multitude more where I died in the Spencer mansion, or you died in Raccoon City, or Chris successfully threw me into a volcano."
She tosses a pillow at him. "That was an excuse to be cute and romantic. But I realize I'm barking up the wrong tree with you." Claire thinks for another moment. "Well. I'm glad I'm living in this one, then. Sure, we've gone through it, but overall, I'm pretty happy with my bioterrorist. And I'm glad you're not legally 'Mr. Redfield'."
"That makes two of us," he scoffs, finally shedding the coat and his turtleneck beneath it and joining her in bed. "Perhaps…perhaps I learned something today."
"Oh?" What's that?"
He smiles, but not barely. "I think you should try on my coat tomorrow evening when we're both off work."
"Really? That was your takeaway? An infinite amount of universes?"
"I just don't find it worth dwelling on," he admits. "If there are an infinite amount of universes, then there are an infinite amount where my mistakes have rightfully stuck, or we are simply not together. I would like to enjoy the one I am in."
I'm the last person who's gonna tell you that Kindred: The Embraced is a good show, 'cause it's not, but unfortunately, laying atop your dead wife's grave and physically becoming the earth in which she rests is the epitome of romance. Nobody is doing it like this freak.
(This is my VERY favorite trope, and really this is just a slice of a larger fic, but...enjoy! Also on AO3.)
Dear Al,
I liked your last letter a lot. You're very thoughtful in your wording. And obviously well-traveled.
I guess I'm pretty well-travelled too. Last time I was in Edonia, it was not like that. Then again, I'm usually in the worst parts of places for work, so I'm sure there are some really nice places there that aren't war-torn and ravaged, but it's not like I'm going on vacations to find those places.
Okay, I'm just going to say it. That story about Edonia was totally another veer into foreplay, and I am going to fall for it but first I have to ask (and yes. I know it's late at this point and I'm not supposed to ask), were you incarcerated for any of the Umbrella stuff?
They had a lot of labs and stuff in Eastern Europe, almost to the extent of some of the stuff in Raccoon City. I'd say "ask me how I know," except like I said. Not allowed.
But to be honest with you - I made the rules, I can break them. I was the one who set up the pen pals with inmates thing. I know. Surprise. I work for Terrasave. I guess I figured that it would be good to connect people that way. You're going to say it's naive, but I pay a lot of money for people to screen what inmates get to participate. A lot of people were just doing their jobs with Umbrella and Tricell, etc, and made mistakes. Bad mistakes, sure, but we all make them.
I feel like you're going to tell me that's naive. It is, for sure. But I don't feel like I'm being unrealistic, either. Some of my best friends were Umbrella-Adjacent at some point or another.
Anyway. If you were in that field (and I'd bet a lot of money that you were, just the way you talk sometimes) I'd bet you have a degree in like, Microbiology or Virology or something fancy, right? Maybe don't spoil it. I bet I can guess.
Sorry. Kind of a heavy topic after all of that about Edonia and the nightlife and the views and all. It's just not really something I can separate myself from, I guess. Do you think you'd travel there again given the chance? There! I fixed it. Made it lighthearted again.
Cee,
Well. The last time I traveled there was several decades ago, so it isn't especially surprising that it's changed so drastically. No, I do not think I would visit again. I don't generally dwell on things I would or would not do outside of my cell, though. My delusions of grandeur are not what they used to be.
Yes, you would be correct. I worked for Umbrella, and then I worked for Tricell. I would not call myself misguided or a victim of circumstance. And yes again. I do find it naive. You should probably check with whoever vets your inmates for your program. Just a thought. I will not bother to go into the specifics of my time with either organization, you would find it appalling and I would find it tedious to rehash. We can continue to live in a polite fiction where you don't know the specifics of the crimes I've committed.
Though I do find your work with Terrasave interesting. I would be interested in hearing more about that at some point, whatever you can share. You're important enough to be developing programs but still boots on the ground? Most people in your position would sit comfortably in an office all day. I had assumed you had a lot of conviction for the charity work you mentioned before, but to know it's mostly rooted in fixing the sort of problems I used to make…I find that quite fascinating.
And you're right on another count, too. My doctorate is (was? Do they rescind those after you've caused a set amount of incidents?) in biochemistry. I also completed a masters of forensic science with a minor in criminal justice.
I'm terribly well rounded. I get so much use out of that lately. (Yes. Sarcasm. You've mentioned you can't always tell. This is me being sarcastic.)
This is an unpleasant topic, and though I hate being reminded of it day in and day out, I am well aware it's a grave I've dug myself. I don't mind talking about it to you, I suppose. Writing it is easier than trying to justify it in person to a woman I find immensely attractive despite never having seen. There is some solace in the fact that I don't have to. I can simply tell you that I'm a terrible, horrid person and figure you will write me back or you won't. Of course, if you don't, I will regret the loss, but as I have expressed in previous communications, it would likely be better for you.
You're my smart girl though, aren't you? You know better than to get too attached to a stranger over email who admits to being a bioterrorist.
Dear Al,
You drop a bunch of bombshells on me then send that last paragraph. You must be lonely in there, geez. Yeah, I am too smart for that, but that doesn't mean I don't like you. I'll send you an email back every time.
Look. I've met some bad people. Like. Worst of the worst go down in history as a nutcase kind of people. They wouldn't think of themselves as victims of circumstance either, but to some extent they probably were. But I like that you don't try to excuse it away, either. You're right, though. It's probably better I don't know the specifics. Not a fun thing to trade stories about.
Biochemistry AND Forensic science? That's a lot of work. I went to college to get a journalism degree, and I did a lot of the criminal justice stuff, but I never finished. That was okay.
Life took me in a pretty different direction, but I enjoyed the time I spent at college in retrospect. And you call me smart. I'm not the one with a doctorate AND a masters. Did you get offered Elpis when they stabilized it? Obviously someone with that kind of experience could also do a lot of good…no pressure but. Y'know. It wouldn't be a bad option by any means…
I guess I don't know better than to get attached. I think that's always been one of my weaknesses, but now I'm picturing it. Obviously no one is gonna like. Immediately let you out for good behavior, but it could be a thing. Good excuse for me to come see you…
Cee,
Though I appreciate your optimism (something no one has afforded me before, I think), that will not be happening. Any of it.
Yes. I received Elpis. Was one of the very first "human" trials, in fact. They tested it on those suffering from Raccoon City Syndrome first, as you likely know. I did not get a say in it. I would have been happy enough to die from it, but I suppose having my abilities weakened also makes me easier to contain.
I have thus far left out a lot of the details of my incarnation. We promised at the very beginning of our correspondence to remain vague, but I feel as though my warnings have gone unheard by you.
So let me clear this up by offering you some insight.
I spend the entirety of my days in a very reinforced glass box. This is an improvement on the reinforced metal box I spent my time in prior to Elpis. I am allowed a personal computer on the condition that it is heavily monitored and my interactions with the outside world are restricted to observance only.
I have enjoyed corresponding with you, especially some of the…racier conversations and the more carefree personal ones. I have, of course, been upfront that these conversations were not only seen by me, and I appreciate your willingness to continue anyway.
But I am not a good person, Cee. There is no amount of goodness hiding deep inside my chest for you to dig out. From infancy, I was created and designed to be precisely what I am - something I have had many years to contend with - which is another man's stepping stool to godhood. I will never be released. I will never be afforded luxuries based on 'good behavior', and we will never get to see each other in person.
I insist, that if this modicum of detail about myself does not frighten you away completely (and I find myself hoping that it doesn't) then you must never bring up the possibility of meeting in person again.
I will see yall tomorrow with day 5 of Clesker week because my silly hat bit for day 4 is taking longer than I thought and it MAY have a writing bit too? IDK
does anyone have that tweet that's like "talking to the ace hardware employee: gonna remodel an old brownstone by myself can I get the fisher price tool kit and stupid white paint"
Claire has spent a lot of free time at the RPD lately. It's not just that it's easy to get a ride there and home with Chris, but they've got a lot of records that she likes to scroll through. Weekends when she's home from college, she's either working on one of her bikes or using the microfilm readers on the second floor of the police department. There are pretty much endless things to dink around with. Old photos of the forest and newspapers from before her parents were born. Eventually, she figures she might be able to work something into a paper, but mostly it's just for fun. A weird hobby. Besides, no one ever comes down the dark and dusty hallway into the glorified storage closet where they keep all that stuff.
Well. Usually. Today, she's scrolling through some WW2 era JC Penney ads and someone pokes their head, tiny and blonde with a blue headband.
"You look lost," Claire says slowly. "Do you need help? Are you looking for your mom or dad?"
"Uhm. No. I'm looking for my Uncle, actually. The lady at the front desk said to go upstairs and down the hall all the way, but…"
"Yeahhhh. I'm guessing your uncle doesn't work in the storage closet," she snorts. "I'm Claire."
"I'm Sherry." She says quietly, and her eyes drift to the microfilm machine. "That's the Raccoon City Ledger. It ran from eighteen ninety-eight to nineteen sixty-two."
A quick look at the headline confirms it. "Uhm, yeah. It is. This is an issue from the forties. I think they stopped publishing it because they got bought up by The Daily Raccoon."
Sherry nods, and walks up to the machine, squinting at the articles. "I like looking at my dad's old issues of News Comet, and Nat Geo." News Comet, if Claire remembers correctly, is a pretty racy tabloid that they publish in town. Not racy exactly, but definitely picks up the stories that the other papers won't. "How old are you?"
"I'm eleven," she says.
"A little young to be reading News Comet."
Sherry shrugs. "My dad doesn't care what I read. My mom says he's lucky I haven't broken into the textbooks but reading about molecular biology is way more boring than murder."
"Yeah, fair enough. I was probably reading worse at your age." She winces slightly when she thinks about Chris's adult magazines she'd stumbled upon around that time. Chris did his best, but he was a kid too, taking care of both of them. "How about I help you find your uncle, huh?"
"Yeah! That would be good. He works in the S.T.A.R.S. office."
Oh.
Claire keeps her voice light and cheery. "Really? My brother works is part of S.T.A.R.S., too." Suddenly Sherry's blonde hair seems like a bad omen. Isn't Richard Aiken blonde? Yeah, but Aiken isn't even in today. That just leaves Wesker. Damnit. "Uh. So. Is he your mom's brother or your dad's?"
Sherry thinks for a while. "You know, I'm not really sure."
"That's okay. Well, the secretary was almost right, but the S.T.A.R.S. office is on the third floor, not the second one. I'll show you." She doesn't offer her hand, Claire's not totally sure if eleven is too old to want to hold hands, but it probably is. She leads Sherry through the RPD to the door of the S.T.A.R.S. office. It's closed. "They're probably getting chewed out in there for something. The door is usually open."
Her companion nods sagely. "Uncle Al does that a lot."
Damn if Claire doesn't know it. But hearing her call Wesker that is undeniably adorable. She files that one away to bother him with later. "Well, we're here to rescue the rest of them." Claire grins at Sherry like they're sharing a secret, and opens the door.
The situation is, in fact, dire. Nobody's sitting at their desks, rather standing in a line almost shoulder to shoulder. Brad Vickers glances behind him and offers her a pleading look. Which turns out to be unnecessary, because Wesker has stopped talking, his hands carefully behind his back. His mouth is still open, though. She's never seen him look quite so stunned. He can't tell if he's looking at her or Sherry or both, but his attention definitely isn't on Alpha Team anymore.
She watches him realise in real time his mouth is still open, snapping it shut and then half of it curls into a snarl. His head tilts back towards Alpha team. "...This discussion is on hold, but it is not forgotten. If I hear one more word regarding any of that behavior again, so help me I will send you all down to the bullpen and you can be regular police. Miss Redfield, Miss Birkin, my office. Now."
Chris perks up and looks at her quizzically. She shrugs instead of offering an actual explanation and follows Sherry and Wesker into his tiny office.
Calling it an office is kind of an insult to offices. She's pretty sure it used to be a closet too, or maybe some sort of storage when it was a museum. Now, it houses a desk that's way too big for the space. She knows Wesker shares it with Captain Marini because there's a picture of Marini's wife and baby. Wesker doesn't have any of his own pictures, but there is one of the whole Alpha team, which says more than he probably realizes. He closes the door behind her and Sherry.
"Sherry, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at school."
She blinks up at him, frowning a bit. "School ended at three fifteen. It's four thirty."
Wesker has the decency to look ashamed, tilting his head down a little as he seats himself at his desk. "I'm terribly sorry. I lost track of time."
Sherry shrugs. "It's okay, mom and dad forget all the time. It's not a long walk, anyway."
She watches Wesker's icy blue eyes under the lenses of his glasses narrow and turn to Claire, making a look like, do you see this shit? Which, she does. She's not sure she likes Sherry's parents too much, though she knows she probably shouldn't judge based on the two-ish things she knows about them. But Wesker is judging a little, and he's Sherry's uncle, so. Maybe it is warranted.
"I still apologize, Sherry. I said I'd pick you up and I didn't. It won't happen again."
"I could pick her up," Claire tells him. "And bring her here when school's over."
His eyes fix on hers, narrowing again but this time in suspicion. "I wouldn't want to put you out…"
"It's fine. I'm over here almost every day anyway, dinking around in the archives. I'll just steal Chris' car for a couple minutes."
"I'm happy to pay you for-"
"Nope. Not necessary. It's not like it's a big deal, it's just a couple of minutes out of the day."
"Still, it was a task I was asked to do, and if I'm delegating it-"
"Then you can read over my paper for my Criminal Justice class like you said you would before." She raises a hand to the side of her mouth so that Sherry can't see when she mouths, and kisses towards him.
He stares at her for a moment, looking unimpressed. "Fine. That would be…helpful. Sherry, is that alright? Miss Redfield is a safe driver - when she's not on her motorbike - and a…friend. Of mine."
Claire rolls her eyes. Wow, like an eleven year old girl isn't going to pick up on that. Sherry doesn't seem to react, at least. "That sounds good. Thank you Claire!"
She shoots some awkward fingerguns. "No problem. See you at three fifteen tomorrow, sharp." She leaves the tiny office, but pauses by the closed door when she hears, "I really like her!"
(Uh. If you know me IRL don't touch this one pls LMAO. Solid M rating for spicy-ish but no smut and language. Still embarrassing.) Also on AO3 with a couple additional thoughts.
It's been a week from hell. Her scholarship hasn't gone though and the financial department hasn't been helpful. Then Chris won't let the hell up about her moving back over summer break even though then she'll have to get different housing in like two months when she goes back. And then she's getting pulled over on her bike for going maybe five over. Everyone goes five over on this road! It's the fucking highway, and no one is ever on the road anyway.
…But it's an RPD cop, not a Arklay County Sheriff's department car or highway patrol, so fine. She'll be nice, only because her brother works there, and she's pretty damn good at getting out of tickets when they look at the last name on her ID.
She tilts the visor up on her motorcycle and rests her hands on her thighs. In the mirror, she barely catches a glint of familiar blonde. Claire can't help but groan. Well, no getting out of this ticket, then.
He comes up to the side of her bike and folds his arms over his chest, notebook in one hand, and pen in the other. "Miss Redfield, I feel that every time you're in town someone pulls you over for speeding on your motorcycle."
That's not true. Not every time. They usually don't catch her.
"Captain Wesker," she responds, equally neutral. "I didn't know S.T.A.R.S. did regular patrols."
"I'm not on patrol. Simply headed back to the office after lunch break, and saw someone speeding down the road."
Yeah, she'd probably take lunch break outside the building if she worked with those clowns too. Except Barry. She likes Barry. Claire scoffs slightly at the speeding comment. "Speeding? Really? You're taking time out of your day to pull me over because I was going five over?"
He grins, and as she often is, she's struck by how odd his grin is, a bit too wide and almost sharp. She swears she sees his blue eyes glint under his sunglasses, and then she realizes that he doesn't really give a shit that she was speeding. This is a game to him. "So. This is the part where I hand you my license and registration, right?"
"That won't be necessary, will it? I know who you are, and where you live, and that your vehicle is registered."
She takes the helmet off and rests it in front of her, balanced between her legs and quirks her eyebrow at him. "Wesker, when you say things like I know where you live, it makes the chances of you getting in my pants lower by about ten percent, just so we're on the same page here."
He has the audacity to roll his eyes back at her. Sometimes she finds that he is such a dork. She wonders if Chris, Jill, or Barry ever notice, or he just drops a little bit of the hardass act with her. "I think you'll find that I can win that ten percent back fairly easily." He unclips something from his belt and dangles it in front of her. She snatches the cuffs from him before he can have second thoughts.
"When do you have to be back at the station?"
"Mmm. Twenty minutes, but no one will dare say anything if I take closer to forty five. You know how Raccoon City traffic can be."
"Nonexistent?"
He grins again. She hops off her bike, popping the kickstand down, and manhandles him with his wrists behind his back so she can fasten the cuffs around him. Well. He lets her manhandle him, and they're both well aware of that, but that honestly makes it hotter to Claire.
They make it to the back of the police car, the door open and Wesker pushed into the back seat, on his back with his long legs hanging out of the car. He leans up, straining against her hand on his chest and legs bracketed around his waist, kissing his with perhaps a bit much teeth. "Missed you," Claire mumbles against his mouth, one hand still on his chair and the other going to muss his hair purely because she can. He probably keeps hairspray in the glove box. It's fine. "It's been such a shitty week, I need a distraction."
"Well if I'd known you were going to be in town this weekend, I would have cleared my schedule," he practically growls it against her mouth. "This will have to tide you over until I figure something out, I'm afraid."
She's not terribly annoyed about that - they're pretty hit and miss getting to see each other anyway, and she probably should have emailed and mentioned she was going to be in town - but it's more exciting to play it up, roll her hips against his and grip his blonde hair a little tighter, jerking his head to the side so his sunglasses go skewed on his nose. "Kind of rude. Maybe I should just leave you here in handcuffs and let you explain yourself to whoever is unlucky enough to come find you."
It does what it's meant to do. He rolls back into her touch and nips at her neck in a place she knows would be a terrible place to have a mark. "I assure you, Claire, it might take me a bit, but I'm capable of getting out of the handcuffs before someone would think to look for me."
"I'd like to see that. No, really! I would. Not right now, obviously. Is that something they teach you in the police academy or the miliary or something.'
He offers a little shrug and his nips turn to licks down to her collarbone. "I think you're getting distracted."
"Very distracted," Claire agrees. "But I've got a great plan to fix that." She untucks the blue button up from his slacks, starting with the bottom button, revealing his ridiculously pale skin. She's most of the way through the buttons (though she keeps getting distracted pinching him in a way she can't decide if he likes or not) when a sound she dreads filters in from the front seat. A tinny voice, a bunch of codes that mean nothing to her, and then a sigh from Wesker.
"That's it?" Claire guesses.
"Blame whatever situation they needed SWAT and S.T.A.R.S. for on exit four."
"Geez. No thanks, I'll be staying well away from that shitshow." She reaches behind him to unlock the cuffs, and tries to smooth his hair out a little, though it…doesn't really work. "There! Good as new."
"Doubtful." He buttons back up his shirt, and tucks it back in, but doesn't immediately push her off of his lap as he sits back up, and presses a much gentler kiss to her mouth. "Well, I suppose you've gotten out of a ticket this time, Ms. Redfield. I trust you'll drive according to the laws of the road on the way back home?"
She sighs dramatically. "Well, I guess. If five over is really that big a deal for you."
"It is. I'm a notorious hardass," he says, almost sounding proud. "Just ask your brother."
"Ugh! Don't mention Chris when I'm still on your lap." She pulls herself out of the car, and tosses the handcuff keys at him. "Stay safe. Don't let a maniac blow anyone up for whatever."
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
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