The first thing she is aware of when she wakes up, if even brief, is that there's a swift motion under her, and what feels like thunder drumming in her ears. Blinding white lights in flashes, and she maybe wonders if she hasn't finally died to bioterrorism.
But she rations 'not' with a hazy mind, because the pain in her ribs is throbbing and she feels like utter shit.
Then there's Barry, the concerned man that just wants his daughter back, and as her heart threatens to burst out of her chest in a few million glass pieces, never to be repaired, she's already blinked out of consciousness and her eyes are rolling back into her head as they burst through doors.
Her last thought, is that she's guiltily relieved when she blacks out again.
Because in her nightmares, everyone is still alive, and her mate is not yet broken.
xXxXx
When she wakes again, she recognizes the sterile white walls of what can only be a quarantine ward room.
The smell of antiseptic burns her nose, but it is preferable to rotting flesh and her own blood.
At least that is what she thinks at first.
Soon it will only add to her own personal mental hell.
She is stuck in the room for a few weeks she assumes. She's been in the same process before.
Her mind travels back to Steve, and guilt washes over her in a curtain.
How many have sacrificed or died for Claire Redfield?
Sickness bubbles as bile in her throat.
Regardless of any number- too many.
She wonders if it was worth it.
She doubts it.
xXxXx
Week one passed with rest and the uncomfortable itch of scratchy linens against sensitive, still raw flesh. It is nothing compared to what she's personally seen- personally inflicted, but it keeps her rooted and anxious as the adrenaline fades from her recovering system.
Bruised ribs- bruised everything, and how many little tiny cuts and scratches unrelated to being mauled by undead.
Oh, and a concussion.
She's gained a few more bite-shaped scars.
She does not think of Moira.
That's what she tells herself.
But when she drifts off, troubled but exhausted and no longer able to ignore the burn of her eyes, the one person that's always concurrent- always there, seems to be the younger girl brandishing her crowbar and flashlight.
She misses her.
She is not sure she can make that claim.
Because Barry misses her too.
And does she truly have a reason to miss her? An appropriate one?
She does, but she does not have the heart to think of it now.
xXxXx
In week two she realizes she is afraid to talk to Barry.
Petrified actually.
Because she promised to protect Moira, and look what fucking happened.
Death must hang over her with a twisted, sick pleasure- watching, waiting to see who to take next.
She wonders if it's a Redfield curse.
She can't face him- won't be able to. The guilt eats at her while she personally refuses to.
She wishes she died on that island.
Because if she traded places with Moira-
She tries not to dwell on it.
xXxXx
Week three of quarantine is the final week, but she suspects she will be held over for other things in another ward.
Psychoanalysis.
She knows they've monitored her. Suicide Watch, due to the instability of her own mind at present. And two, because she's rarely eaten, and when she has it's been scraps to keep herself alive and nothing more.
And the hallucinations- she tries to remember those.
She has not looked in the mirror- she does not have one.
So she doesn't break it and try to kill herself with the shards.
She guesses that it's common.
She is grateful.
Because she's sure she's lost weight and looks like utter shit.
She imagines Moira telling her that she looks like shit too. A snarky comment or two, and then Moira's gone in the puff of debris of Claire's mental state as it crashes down on top of her.
Ironic.
Really.
xXxXx
Her first visitor out of quarantine is Chris.
He brings Jill.
She is tired, exhausted, speaks, but is not aware of much other than the need for autopilot to respond to the other two in her room.
Chris smiles occasionally.
Jill tries to.
It does not reach either of their eyes.
He mentions Claire is starting therapy in the next week- that Leon gives his regards as well.
Claire offers no response.
xXxXx
Barry visits her next.
She just about vomits when she sees him.
But there's little in her stomach.
He does not ask about Moira.
She is far from relieved.
She wants to tell him everything.
But she's afraid her voice is lost.
Somewhere on that island, it's fluttering like a bird locked in a cage- but the cage is made of rubble, and the bird inside is surely dead.
xXxXx
Therapy is draining- taxing- she hates it.
They start by asking about how she felt.
She tells them.
That is not the problem.
However, she is far from immediately compliant.
She's been trapped in shitholes like that before, and although anxiety washes over her in a familiar blanket, it was nothing she hadn't done before.
The therapist- some woman in her forties maybe, jots down notes.
She's blonde- that sickening blonde of Alex Wesker, and as the woman finishes, she is glad to leave.
She exits- swift in her retreat.
Because homicidal thoughts have rushed to the surface and she wants to bring Alex back from whatever layer of hell she's trapped on just so she can send her back in a bloody pulp.
She thinks Moira would have liked to help.
xXxXx
The second day of therapy, and she asks about coworkers- relationships.
Claire took it the wrong way.
She snaps, raving on about how Neil was a backstabbing dick, and everyone died because of him.
Everyone but one.
Because she feels a personal responsibility.
And then Claire breaks down- breaks a stupid vase that's on the coffee table between them.
It's fragments fall similar to how she feels she has.
The therapist holds her hands up to the guards with sedatives.
They set themselves back into place.
A minute of silent staring and Claire is reduced to near sobs and finally speaks.
She does not cry.
She cannot.
Her voice cracks, but she mentions killing Pedro's mutated, disgusting form.
Putting him out of his misery like a dog.
Gina is dead before she can even help her.
Gabe dies in the helicopter crash.
She hopes he did not mutate too.
And then there's Neil...
The woman hides her disgust well, Claire muses later.
Because she goes into vivid, gruesome detail about Uroboros.
And how she enjoyed, with a murderous lust, gutting him like the fucking worm that he was for nearly killing Moira the first time.
The woman writes something down. She believes she knows what it is without asking.
xXxXx
She is informed that Barry and Chris are being slowly educated with everything she confesses.
She does not care.
She signed off on papers long ago for her brother to be privy of such information regarding her health.
Likewise his health to her.
She knows Barry does not have direct access to her files-
That Chris is likely leaking information to him though, is another story.
She does not care.
She just wishes she could tell him herself.
She's faced so many horrors- yet she does not think she has the guts.
She can't admit what Moira meant- especially not to him.
xXxXx
The woman eases her nerves as best as any therapist really can.
At least instead of the jagged edges of herself cutting into her flesh, she is finally numb about the ordeal, and possibly even recovering.
Until Moira is brought up.
She cracks again, one piece in particular stabbing her heart and she just about gasps when the crack is felt rippling through her torso.
The woman presses.
Claire grinds her teeth and bites her lip until she taste's blood.
She watches the other woman's eye track something, her eyes lowering until it stops on the tickling sensation at her chin.
She wipes the blood from her face before it drips, staining the sleeve of a white uniform.
One more push...
And Claire confesses everything regarding Moira within the hours prior to being crushed under a heap of rubble.
Claire protected her, and in turn, the girl watched her back as best as she could.
She mentioned once that Moira reminded her of herself when she was nineteen and had to deal with finding her brother.
Except she never wanted for Moira to be dragged into anything like that.
Help Terrasave? Yes.
Get killed? No.
The woman says they'll finish tomorrow.
Claire realizes her exhaustion- how long she rambled on about what happened, and when she's taken back to her room, she falls asleep without dreams or nightmares.
She is dimly aware of being upset by that.
xXxXx
A weird question. She wonders what to say to it- because Barry will see the report, and she's not sure she wants to admit to it quite yet and further break his trust.
The woman writes down that she is anxious when her relationship with 'Moira Burton' is questioned.
A shaky breath. White knuckles holding onto the dark oak of the chair she's sat in for two weeks worth of sessions.
She asks for clarification on the woman's meaning behind "Relationship".
The woman speaks.
"What was it to the two of you?"
She swallows, her throat dry, and clears her throat.
"I-.. we.." She stops, tries again, stronger this time, and is aware that Barry might as well kill Claire Redfield himself.
She wouldn't put up a fight.
"Some... things happened. In that hell hole. We'd find little areas that were defendable. Running water and everything that wasn't contaminated. Food. Canned or old, but it was edible and we survived."
A pause.
"That leaves much to elaborate on, Ms. Redfield. I'd appreciate if you would continue."
Her nails dig into what is likely dark oak- she believes expensive and tries to ease the pressure before she damages the chair.
She begins. Her knee bobbing with nerves.
She mentions finding a room once- surprised by the sight of a couch and so grateful for the chance to rest.
Moira is happy, in an exhausted way, and they take the small victory they can afford.
Claire is skeptic at first, but Moira persuades her to rest with her, and they sit on opposite ends of the small furniture piece and just... recharge.
It is silent, until Moira is at her side, nudging her hip with a guilty, hard look in her eyes.
"Claire?"
She turns, opening the eyes she wasn't aware had fallen shut, and momentarily forgets their place.
"Yeah?"
She is unaware of how it happens, but Moira is suddenly closer and kissing her then, soft and slow, and the sliding of her lips against Claire's own leave her dazed and confused, and she doesn't dare push her away as her heartbeat is lulled into a relaxed rhythm.
"We could die here... but I.." She stops.
Claire lets her think.
"I know I'm younger- but... I care about you- a lot." Her eyes have drifted down to where she's gripped the older woman's hand, and Claire offers her a squeeze to finish. Inviting her to speak.
Moira does not, but as her honey eyes raise to look into Claire own blue-grey irises, desperately searching...
The meaning is clear.
She accepts.
She does not feel guilt, only about as blissful as she can in the current situation, anxiety clawing her suddenly as she realizes that she needs to get Moira home for someone other than just Barry.
If they make it out alive, she will explain. She will show how much Moira means to her. She will prove she'll take care of her, and hope, that Barry will understand.
Even now- Claire Redfield does not regret the few hours spent in Moira's arms, and is certain, Moira would not regret them either.
She does not know how she feels about Chris relaying this to Barry.
She accepts that he will find out, and feels indifferent.
xXxXx
In the last therapy session, the woman questions what happened at the end.
Claire has practically shown this woman her soul over the entirety of a month in the form of broken, bloody pieces.
She tries to put them back together.
But there is nothing to make them stick.
Claire tells her anyway.
Her gaze darkens- nails digging into her arms as she hisses.
"We found Alex. She killed herself. The building went into a self-destruct- and we scaled the side of the fucking building. "
The woman waits before she jots anything down.
"We nearly fell off once- maybe twice. Who cares- we almost got out of the damn place, and part of the upper floor collapsed."
Claire fidgets, voice raising in volume until she's barking out words.
"The pieces- they'd have FUCKING CRUSHED ME. They SHOULD have crushed ME. But no, Moira she- she fucking saw it as it fell- she looked up and I was too busy staring at the damn hole in the wall we could get out from."
Her words turn to snarls and venom, and it's obvious to anyone that self-hatred and rage is running through Claire's veins in boiling pulses.
She is surprised her skin does not bubble from the heat.
"So she pushed me out of the way. I hit my head- got disoriented, and was across a ledge that even if I tried harder, I wouldn't have made it back. She sacrificed herself for me- and I don't even DESERVE it."
Her gaze locks eye contact with the other woman's, and it remains there so that she understands completely.
"I made sure her sacrifice wasn't in vain. But if I could change anything? I'd make sure I was trapped in the rubble. I'd rather die, over and over and over, so long as she could live."
Claire Redfield sits down, opens the cage in her chest, and is unsurprised when the bird inside cannot fly with broken wings.
She remains indifferent.
xXxXx
After a month, she is released from evaluations. Medications prescribed- and the order for two weeks off work.
She crumples the paper- goes back to work immediately, and upon realizing she's the new boss of the local Terrasave office, throws herself into work.
She doesn't hear from Barry or Chris for two weeks until short calls are left in her voicemail.
Mostly Chris, a few Barry, and two from Jill.
She rarely receives them. She doesn't understand them.
She's losing herself back on that island- and hands come to choke the crippled bird in her chest.
xXxXx
The fourth month proves drastic- she believes she's healing, but one mention of a memorial for those killed in the "incident" by a higher-up leaves her breathless and choking on her own blood as her heart breaks again and cuts her with every inhale.
At least it feels that way.
So she drowns herself in the half-bottle of whiskey in her apartment. She's not often one to drink- never really was.
She only even has it for when Chris and friends visit.
A drunken mistake- and she's listening to the voice mails piling in her inbox while sitting on her bathroom rug.
Chris mentions the medicine she never picked up- it's an old message. Really old.
Followed by inquiries on her personal health that never got answered.
Jill is the follow-up, asking if Claire is alright because she hasn't responded to Chris and they're progressively getting more and more worried.
She threatens to drop in, but who fucking knows how old that message is too.
Besides, they never did.
She doesn't bother to look at the date- and it scrolls to the next, the one Barry sent, and her stomach plummets.
It says he wants to talk- to understand what happened- he wants answers and clues and to search for Moira.
When he says, "It's not your fault." the whiskey comes back up burning and fighting and she can only just manage to lean over the toilet rim to hurl liquid fire from her stomach in time.
She clings there for a moment- two- three- grounding herself before heavy foot falls meet her ears and she manages to look up through bleary eye-sight to find her brother's silhouette. Jill is likely with him, as usual.
She forgets how to breathe when Barry is suddenly visible, and she's almost too aware that she passes out afterwards, hating herself all the while.
xXxXx
She's back to the dull white walls of the hospital again.
Examined and almost treated for possible alcohol poisoning.
She's just a lightweight, that's why she never tries to drink.
She stirs, tries to get comfortable, and her eyes burn when she blinks them open to find Chris tucked away in the corner, trying to sleep in the most uncomfortable chair imaginable.
Her stomach knots, and she sinks back in to the stiff mattress.
She pulls the covers to her chin, enveloping herself in the familiar itchiness.
And finally cries.
It is silent at first, before it's punctuated by little hiccups. Her eyes squeeze shut as she hisses for breath between quiet gasps and she's genuinely startled when a hand is placed on the top of her head.
As she starts to choke, she knows it's Barry, so when she's gathered into a hug and he murmurs something she can't quite hear, she can only sob harder and cling to him in silent apology.
Because he's just as cracked as she is.
xXxXx
She tells him everything.
He listens, nods, and she can see him planning.
He confesses that he's been looking for Moira since they two of them were reported missing.
She agrees to help.
xXxXx
Month five passes by in a haze. Claire devotes part of Terrasave to finding Moira, and other resources to smaller incidents.
She and Barry use every free minute to search for the island.
She does not expect to find Moira alive- but she would be at peace if she could properly lay her to rest.
Make sure she hasn't mutated.
And take care of her if she has.
She owes her that much at least.
xXxXx
Two weeks in and Barry disappears.
She waits for his signal.
xXxXx
One week passes- Barry radios in.
Co-ordinates are given.
Claire readies the 'cavalry'.
xXxXx
At about month six, Claire finds herself in a helicopter above unfamiliar seas.
They close in on the target- and for once she is glad for her timing.
She grabs her sniper, zooms in on the specks running to the cliff edge, and upon realizing that one of them is Barry, that girl from before, and Moira, the bird in her chest goes wild at the potential to feel its mate again.
Her heart hammers, and the screech of Alex Wesker threatens to burst her ear drums.
The sight of Moira and recoil of her sniper rifle lulls her into an automatic rhythm that she is more than familiar with.
xXxXx
When they are finally on the helicopter, Claire can only then sigh in a sort of relief, finally allowing hope to flourish beneath her breast as her bird flies wild and free and finally content.
Moira tries to hide it, but she holds Claire's hand out of sight of her father.
Claire should tell her he knows, but she's too overwhelmed by the fact that Moira is actually there, and she has the chance to spend a lifetime with her if she wishes.
She is beyond bliss.
The cage loosens.
xXxXx
Her bird's mate flutters in to greet her, and when Moira is finally out of quarantine with her, she allows the two of them to finally kiss again, and she is grateful it is not the last.
Barry spots them from a distance, Natalia riding on his shoulders as he means to take her home as the new familial addition.
Claire finally cries joyful tears, and when Moira stops to ask her what's wrong, she only has one response to offer her.
"The cage is gone."
Moira gives her a funny look, placing her hand on her forehead to check for fever. Claire just smiles, leaning in to kiss her again.
"You'll understand soon enough."
And for now, Claire contents herself with that.
Because the cage is finally gone, and her bird belts its song just for Moira.