A/N: Forgive me. I'm just screwing with Hershel's brain in the only way I know how. I hope you enjoy.
His intuition was never wrong, yet he had assumed that this time it was chalking everything up to his desperately hopeful, wishful thinking. Claire…was…gone, her sister's uncanny similarities notwithstanding.
But all of the signs he had chosen to ignore seemed to return with a vengeance, with an intensity he couldn't before recall. The way her hair framed her face, her sparkling eyes…even her smell…how could he have misplaced even that? It was undoubtedly Claire. Unquestionably. Absolutely.
Why she had taken up a hastily-constructed alter ego he didn't know. It didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was her. And she was alive and she was breathing and she was so warm…
And she was just as soft, just as beautiful as she had been ten years prior. Nothing had even changed. Was she really even there? Was he only dreaming this?
He couldn't be. No dream was ever this cruel. She told him what he already knew, but had been afraid to conclude himself—despite her standing there—beautiful and alive—she still had to go. Something about molecular instability that at the moment his mind could only embarrassingly fumble with…but he could figure this out! This was just another puzzle! By God, every puzzle had an answer!
Every puzzle had an answer.
"I'm sorry, Hershel."
Every puzzle had an answer.
"Do you remember the dreams we used to have?"
Every puzzle had an answer. He had said that to Luke over and over.
"I remember mine." She smiled. His breath caught.
Every puzzle…
"This wasn't what we were planning for—"
…had…
She smiled again, "But I'm glad I got to see you again. I know it's been a lifetime for you, but—"
…an…
"—you look exactly as you did when I left you that morning. If Dimitri hadn't filled me in, I would've surely thought—"
This one didn't.
"Though that hardly matters now," she was still talking as he was feverishly trying to come up with something—anything!—to keep her in this time, morally questionable or not. So many other people had died in that explosion. Bill Hawks had barely escaped with his life. He knew it would not have been fair if she were given this second chance…but God, it hurt so much. There had to be something they—What did you say? You can't really mean—
"And I know what you're thinking, Hershel." The sound of his name spoken by her completely interrupted his thought process. He met her eyes and she smiled such a terribly sad, beautiful smile, he thought his heart would burst. "There isn't a way out of this. Look." She lifted one of her arms and he watched in morbid fascination as it shimmered in the dim glow of the streetlamp that hung overhead, like she was some kind of ethereal angel—and he could see that her substance was disappearing before his very eyes. It was very subtle, but unmistakable. Unstoppable. Unrelenting. It was ironic the process had to be so resplendent. Her very essence…dissolving in light. No, the irony of that was not lost on him either.
"C—Couldn't—" he couldn't even get the words out. Claire sighed, closing her eyes. "Dimitri tried everything to reassemble the molecular structure, but it was already deteriorating when he found me. And every unsuccessful attempt we made only hastened the disintegration. There's nothing we can…"
"No! No, there must be—!" The words felt ripped out of him, like he wasn't even the one forming the words. They sounded as though they were coming out of a dying man.
"There's nothing," Claire whispered. "There's only…" she broke off, stepped close to him and embraced him. And then he finally understood. There was only their love—the one thing that would not disappear as a result of her disappearing, that would continue to hold fast even if she was gone. After all, it had been ten years and if he still loved her now…
…he surely would tomorrow as well.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
