Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction ❯ Uncontrolled Exposure ❯ Chapter 5

Slights & Introductions pII

Bastian moved, dropping his bags onto the bed of his room with a sigh. God he couldn't believe this. For all of the people for Mikhail to try and date he had to pick Chris's little sister. A girl who had-on her last trip home just a few months before-been head over heels in love with their mutual friend Steve. And now he had to watch the two of them together while Jill and Forest tried to keep Chris in check . . . and Khail kept apologizing to Chaos for making such a damned mess.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he moved to unpack. This was a nightmare just waiting to happen. All it was going to take was one wrong word or move and he knew his sister's already thinning patience was going to snap. And the others were going to get to see the combination of his stepmother and father's tempers flare to life right before she pummeled their brother to death.

He pulled his clothes out of his suitcase, dropping them into one of the empty drawers in the dark wood dresser with a long suffering sigh. This was not what he'd planned on when he'd invited Wesker and the others to come up here. But at least the rest would be gone tomorrow afternoon . . . and then he could focus on getting Wesker to lighten up.

Who knows, maybe a few hours watching Chaos and Khail duke it out and argue could make the man actually act human for longer than two seconds. Probably not but hey he could hope right?

A knock on the door made him look up.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Chris pushed through, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him. And as soon as Bastian saw the look on his face he knew he was going to have to bite his tongue. God when all of this was over he was going to kill Khail. Slowly and painfully.

“Man, we gotta talk. And I swear I'm not trying to overreact here . . . but can you please ask your brother to not throw my sister around like a ragdoll? I don't care if she's laughing or not; she's my baby sister.”

Bastian groaned, flopping back onto the bed and covering his face with his hands. He let out an aggravated growl before he hollered.

“Mikhail Alexander Shaw! Get your ass in here. NOW!”

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Claire glanced over the coffee table in the living room of the cottage, trying to make heads or tails of the gibberish scribbled over all of the papers and written in the books. But it was all a swirling jumbled of letters and numbers to her, nothing coming together to make a single distinguishable thing. She shook her head, turning away as Mikhail and Bastian's sister came back into the room; Jill following closely behind her with two glasses of what looked like white wine in hand.

Jill moved, setting one down in front of her with a wink before she sank into the couch. Jill shifted, settling into the plush dark leather before she turned to the other girl with a friendly smile. But the girl just sank into the massive chair at the opposite side of the table, picking up the thickest book and a highlighter. Jill however wasn't going to be deterred. She cleared her throat, still smiling when the girl looked back up.

And Claire suddenly hoped that she would be able to be as kind as Jill when she was faced with a situation like this. Because this girl was not the sweet and kind person Khail had made her out to be. Not by a longshot.

“I didn't get the chance to introduce myself before. I'm Jill, Jill Valentine. I work with Bastian.”

The girl raised a brow before nodding once, her eyes dipping back to the book in her lap. But Jill seemed determined to start a conversation with the girl.

“You have a lovely home . . . Chaos, right?”

The girl sighed, nodding again as she tossed the book back onto the table before leveling a pointed look on both of them. And Claire wasn't above admitting that she was a bit unnerved by her light blue green eyes. Especially when they were narrowed and hard like chips of aqua ice.

“Chaosia. And I know who you are, Ms. Valentine. My brother speaks of you often. And while I'm thrilled to make your acquaintance I'm only going to say this once. I have a very large, very in depth thesis to complete before the end of my holiday. I don't intend to be rude but I have to work on it.”

Claire blinked, watching Jill's smile falter at the edges. But Chaosia's next words threw her for a loop.

“Besides, I'm not very good conversation right now anyway. Bastian should be settled soon and then he can show you the rest of the property.”

Jill nodded, turning to Claire with a raised brow. But they both watched the girl pick the massive book back up, running her highlighter over entire paragraphs as she returned to her work. God who was that damned dedicated at school?

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Hours later, after all of her guests were settled and asleep, Chaosia was finally able to hide on the back porch and look over the pond behind the cottage. And drink her damn glass of scotch and unwind. God her brothers had fucked her over royally this time-the idiots. Of all of the people for Bastian to bring he had to bring Mikhail's latest piece of ass. She sighed, taking a hard slug from the drink. This was going to be a nightmare . . . but at least the other four were leaving sometime after lunch tomorrow so it wasn't going to be too bad.

Hell, if Khail caused too much trouble before then she could always ship him off with them . . .

She grinned, taking a smaller sip as she watched the fireflies dance over the misty water. Now that idea had merit . . . too bad she actually wanted to spend time with the little jerk. A sound made her turn and she was surprised to see Bastian's commanding officer standing just to the side. He was glancing out at the lake but as he turned he seemed just as shocked as she had been. She nodded to him, raising her glass ever-so-slightly before turning back to looking at the lake. And she honestly thought he would leave her in peace . . . especially with the chilly reception she'd given chatty Kathy and her sidekick. But he surprised her even further by moving closer.

She watched him motion to the chair beside her and she shrugged, waving him to it before taking another drink of her scotch. She sighed, watching the bugs before his voice broke her out of her daze . . . . And she had to wonder where he was from originally that had given him the slight lilt to his voice. It wasn't much, just enough to barely be noticed. But it practically screamed breeding.

Which made her wonder for the millionth time why in the world Bastian seemed so damned keen on trying to befriend him. He'd called her more often that she liked to admit, asking about different things she'd done to get people to open up . . . and so far very few of them had worked on the stoic man beside her.

“I believe I owe your brother an apology. With the exception of trying to get here-and the introductions- this is rather peaceful.”

She nodded before shrugging and turning back to the lake as she spoke. And she felt his eyes on her even behind the sun glasses. Seriously? Sunglasses at night?

“It usually is . . . I bought this cottage for that reason. Plus it isn't too far away from dumb and dumber if either of them needs me. Well, from Bastian anyway.”

He chuckled and she decided that she liked the sound of it. Even if it did remind her of what a spider probably sounded like when it was courting a fly.

“That is a most apt description from what I saw earlier. And I'm sure Valentine will remember to use the ear method the next time Redfield and Forest go to get out of line . . . It seemed most effective.”

She grinned at him before nodding to the decanter set on the table. To which he raised a brow.

“If you'd like a drink feel free. I have a feeling that you have earned it. I saw Bastian's car earlier . . . how many times did they wreck?”

He reached out, uncorking the crystal bottle and pouring himself a hefty glass before bringing it to his nose. He took a small sip before swirling the dark rosewood colored liquid. And she knew that he would probably enjoy it. The Macallan smelled spicy, with hints of raisins and orange zest. He nodded to her and she smirked back, taking another sip of her own. While the drink itself was wonderfully soft, smooth and spicy, with lingering touches of citrus and peat-smoke she loved the way it burned as it made its way down. And so did he-apparently- as he took a long drink and sighed, letting his head lull back against the plush patio chair.

A few moments later she heard his voice again.

“Only three. That . . . is actually quite exquisite. What brand and vintage is it?”

She grinned, watching two fireflies twirl together over the dark glistening water only semi-visible because of the mist before turning to him. And she was glad that he didn't seem to mind her not chattering away like the other two women had. Actually Claire had all but hidden behind her brother and Officer Valentine-who insisted on being called Jill- after she hadn't just instantly fallen in love with her. She snorted, rolling her eyes. Her brother was fucking her . . . not her. Besides, she wasn't even close to her type.

“Fifty-five year old Macallan.”

He nodded, looking back out at the lake before he reached up and removed his glasses. And she was surprised to see his eyes. They were light blue with what looked like tiny flecks of darker blue and almost silvery gray bursting out from his pupils. And they set well against his slightly pale skin and hay blonde hair . . . His voice brought her out of her perusal of his features and she almost blushed.

She hadn't meant to stare . . .

“I must admit that I find myself at a loss. You barely speak but you stare . . . Is my company so unenjoyable?”

She shrugged, turning back to the lake as she settled deeper into her own seat.

“Not at all. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable but you have striking eyes. And I don't really talk much with people I don't know. Actually I rarely get to talk at all . . . A habit from school and work I'm afraid.”

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Wesker nodded, glancing at her before he stretched out and took another drink of his scotch. It was actually very good . . . and the woman beside him obviously had better tastes than any of the others. They had all gotten drunk on the beer and liquor they'd brought-even Bastian who lost more than a few points for it- before passing out in random stages of idiocy. Leaving him alone and awake while the rest snored. Or so he'd thought until he'd come outside and found Chaosia.

Shaw owed him an explanation. Because he never once-in all of his ramblings about his siblings-mentioned that his sister wasn't some adolescent child or idiot to be cared for like Redfield's wayward fledgling. Though to be fair, Claire was smart with a decent head on her shoulders. She just seemed to defer to Chris as much as she could to make him `feel better' . . . or at least that's what Valentine believed.

But Shaw's sister was nothing like that . . .

She was petite and blonde-with hair lighter than his own- but her skin seemed darker; tanned and warm to the touch. And soft. When he'd shaken her hand as they'd been ushered into her home, he'd noticed that while she had calluses from some type of work her skin was still soft and smooth to the touch . . . and she had a good grip. He glanced at her without his glasses and had to admit that her own eyes were startling. They were a light almost iridescent blue green . . . though neither color seemed to truly dominate the other. And the small flecks of light almost white blue mingled towards the rims of her irises made her eyes seem incredibly large and open. Well, that and the thick fan of sooty lashes surrounding them.

He'd heard Forest comment to Redfield that the girl looked like some sort of model . . . and while he would be more inclined to say she favored a classical beauty he would concede that she was nice to look upon. With the added bonus that she didn't seem to chatter incessantly. Suddenly Bastian's insistence that he meet the girl seemed to make more sense. As well as his easy acceptance of his odd ways. He shifted, finding himself curious as to what she did.

You never know when someone would come in handy . . .

“Bastian has mentioned you were attending University near here . . . but he neglected to offer that you were a Graduate composing your Doctoral Thesis. What area are you studying?”

She turned, pulling her plump bottom lip between her teeth before shifting; pulling the soft looking sweater she'd changed into a bit tighter around her. The oatmeal cashmere set well against the lighter, soft denim of her pants. And even though it hung off her shoulders and pooled around her knuckles he could still see she was toned and lithe . . . but still curvaceous enough to appear feminine; almost innocent as she glanced away from him, cheeks flushing.

Ada could definitely learn a trick or two from this one.

“I'm preparing my Forensic Psychology Thesis . . . and I have to proof read my Viral Pathology. I've already been awarded my Forensic Pathology but I wanted the secondary specialization. With all of the biochemical warfare at play today one can never be too safe. Or prepared.”

He blinked, honestly impressed. She was intelligent . . . and not just in a passing or occupational standard. To obtain such a credential while already working as another was admirable. He nodded, turning to look back at the lake as he took a larger drink of his scotch.

“Impressive. Are you currently employed? Or are you waiting to obtain all of your degrees before trying to procure a position?”

She laughed, shaking her head as she smiled to him. And he decided that he quite liked the way she laughed. Even if she was laughing at him.

“That's an odd way to ask about work, Captain Wesker. But yes I am employed. I'm helping the Coroner's Office in Raccoon City a few days a week. And the rest of the time I'm up here trying to finish. I still have a few months but why procrastinate? What about you? You seem to be slightly over educated for your position.”

He shrugged, turning to her with a raised brow.

“And what is wrong with an educated officer?”

She drained the rest of her glass before smiling at him, shaking her head. And she stood to walk by him back into the house he almost didn't hear her answer.

“Not a damn thing . . . Actually it just makes you more interesting.”

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