AN: As always, a big thank you to my beta, shelter.

Researching a past life in another world turned out to be even more frustratingly fruitless than Irene had imagined. An internet search for "Claymore" only brought up the sword and the explosive. Similarly, "the Organization" was so vague that she felt stupid even typing it out. There seemed to be no evidence of their kind at all in this world. The only female warriors she could find were Amazons from Greek myth or similar legends. Nothing like her and her comrades. No stories of women ripped open and sewn back together.

She tried every variation she could think of, but her searches turned up nothing. In desperation, she ventured to the library, but the woman who helped her there was also at a loss.

Over the next couple of weeks, she tried different book stores, collectors, historians, anyone she could think of to see if they had any information that sounded even remotely like her past life.

During that time, Teresa kept to her promise and did not call, though she texted every couple of days to see if Irene was still all right. Irene's answers were short. She was not ready to figure out whatever was going on between her and Teresa. In this world, she had been so sure, so completely in love, so willing to commit. But her life here was no longer the only factor. She had to remember what had happened between them before.

Before, when they were top ranked warriors, Teresa had ended things abruptly, giving Irene little to no explanation. Just like that, it was over, and they did not see each other again until the day Teresa died. Irene had always wondered why. Now was her opportunity to ask.

Still, she could not bring herself to have that discussion just yet with Teresa.

Instead, she threw herself into her research, taking time off work. How could she look at briefs and attend meetings when her world had shifted so violently? It was already all she could do to try and convince her brother that she was fine, that she had overreacted at Christmas. She also managed to convince her psychiatrist to let her wean off her medication. She knew there was no need for it now, though she supposed it had worked valiantly for years against an impossible foe.

Part of her wanted a dramatic episode where she flushed her pills triumphantly down the toilet, but instead, she sat at her table and meticulously cut them in half to be taken in smaller and smaller doses. They were not the enemy. They had tried to help. She had taken them, or some variation of them, for over half her life. She tried not to dwell too much on the fact that Teresa had known and had said nothing even as Irene increased her dosage again and again. If she thought about it for too long, she wanted to hit something.

Really, what could Teresa have done? What could she have said? The logical part of Irene knew that Teresa had been given limited choices, that there had been no good choice, no right or wrong choice. But the illogical, emotional part of her was still enraged. All those wasted years, all that wasted time, wasted medication, wasted pain. If she had remembered years ago, what could have been different?

In her past life, Irene had learned to try and let go of 'what ifs' What if she had refused to go after Teresa? What if Priscilla had passed her initiation just a few months later? What if Teresa had never found Clare? What if She had never killed bandits? What if Teresa had killed Priscilla when she had the chance?

What if she had never met Teresa in the first place?

So she chose to try and press her anger to the side as much as possible. For her own sanity.

After weeks of failed research attempts, Irene got a surprising call from one of the collectors she had approached.

"Ms. Winters? This is Renee from the Randall Auction House. We spoke earlier this week."

"Oh, yes, of course." Irene frowned. Renee had told her they dealt mostly in art, not artifacts.

"Well, after we spoke, I couldn't stop thinking about what you described. I did some more digging, and I think I have something for you."

"Really?"

"Yes. There's a gallery uptown that carries a few paintings whose subjects are very close to what you described to me."

"That's good news," Irene said, a thrill of exhilaration tingling her spine. "Thank you."

Renee gave her the address to the gallery. "Ms. Winters...If you find anything, can you let me know?"

Irene paused, considering the implications of the girl's words. "Yes, of course."

The gallery wasn't far from Teresa's apartment, and Irene debated whether or not she should call. She knew Teresa had so many questions for her, questions about Clare. Irene could not imagine what it must have been like for Teresa to regain her memories and think that Clare had died at Priscilla's hands, to look at her child and know the horrors she had seen.

The horrors Teresa knew of were barely the surface, and Irene hated that she was the only one who knew the rest of Clare's story. She and Teresa had a lifetime of things to discuss, and she did not know where to start. It was easier to brush off Teresa's texts.

This, however, was something she could not do alone. And she wanted to tell Teresa about Renee. A possible warrior neither of them knew.

Steeling herself, she dialed Teresa's number and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Irene? Is everything okay?"

"I found something."

"What?"

"I found something that might be about us. I don't know yet."

"You've been on the case for what, two weeks? And you've already gotten farther than I did in years."

Irene hated the amused affection in Teresa's voice. "Well, I'm not content to remain ignorant," she snipped, already irritated.

"Maybe I didn't want to know. I have a good life here," Teresa said, defensive. "Better than my old one."

"Oh, I see."

"Don't, Irene. Don't make that about you. Before Clare, you were the only good thing in my life."

"And yet you left. You just dropped me, no explanation, no warning. Nothing."

"I had to, Irene! They found out."

Cold shock washed over her. "What?"

"They found out about us. Orsay told me. He gave me a chance to end it, to save us. He said they were reluctant to scrap such 'valuable assets,' but that they couldn't tolerate such insubordination for long."

Irene felt a rage like she had never known course through her veins, the kind of rage that could bring an awakening, and her fingers tightened around her phone. Had she still been a warrior, the device would have shattered in her hand. Already, the glass screen groaned under the pressure.

"You lied," she hissed, barely able to form the words. "You said you didn't have time, that it was too much work! You fucking lied to me!"

Teresa's voice was hard, as well. "I did what I had to. They were going to kill us, and at the time, I would have stood for my execution. You would have, too."

"You could have told me." She felt like a sword had been thrust under her lungs, cutting her with each ragged breath. "God, Teresa, why didn't you tell me!"

"Because it was hard enough to face you again. If you'd said we should still risk it, I would have agreed! I couldn't have said no to you. It was better if you hated me, blamed me."

"You didn't get to make that decision for me." It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from throwing her phone against the wall. All this time, she had thought she had done something wrong, that she hadn't been enough.

"It kept you alive, and I can't regret that."

Thoughts of inviting Teresa to come with her to the gallery vanished, and Irene hung up, unable to continue the conversation. She wanted her sword. She wanted her sword so badly. Using the Quicksword had been one of the best ways to calm herself, giving her something else to focus on, a way to control her emotions. Without it, she was stuck with this anger festering in her gut and no way to release it.

Her phone rang, Teresa's name on the screen, but she had no intention of answering. She let it go to voicemail. The message was long, but she did not listen. She deleted it immediately.

A few minutes later, the texts started coming.

-Irene, please call me back. Let me explain.-

-It wasn't fair to you, I know, but I didn't know what else to do.-

-I just wanted to keep you safe-

Another call. Irene contemplated turning off her phone.

-Please, pick up! I'm sorry, I should have told you.-

-Don't shut me out. We need to talk about this-

Irene changed into her running clothes and grabbed her keys, resolutely leaving her phone on the table.

She ran for hours.

This world wasn't hers, wasn't where her heart belonged. But Teresa was right. The lives they had here were infinitely better. There was no comparison. The trauma she'd suffered here was nothing compared to what she'd endured as a warrior. Here she lost her mother to cancer, not her entire family to a youma attack. Here, she'd gotten the psychological help she had so desperately needed. There, she had been forced to shut down her emotions in order to survive. No matter what hardships she had faced in this world, she was still so much better off.

But that could not change the fact that Teresa's actions had dictated the trauma she'd faced in the old world. If Teresa had just been honest, Irene would have been reasonable. She would have figured something out.

And she never would have gone for Teresa's head. Priscilla never would have awakened. She wouldn't have lost her arm, and Teresa would have survived. Clare would not have become a warrior.

So much pain could have been avoided.

She had agreed to lead Teresa's execution team based on false information, and she did not know if she could ever forgive Teresa for that, for letting her be in that position.

When she could run no farther, after miles and miles, she started the trek back to her house. Now that she had context, she realized she was still much stronger than a true human. She had always been the fastest on her track team, easily beating any challenger. She excelled at all sports, though she had little interest in them. And she healed at a rate that disturbed her doctors.

She snorted. She had been the very best fencer in her school, better even than the instructor, better by far. So good that he had wanted her to pursue it full time, to try for the Olympics. But the foil never quite felt right, always too thin, too frail. Her hand craved something more substantial.

Irene held her arm up, studying her skin, the purple veins visible beneath the surface. Did she have yoki here? Or something like it? Something that made her not quite human? Was that why her ears were still pointed?

These questions circled her, but she had no answers. Not yet.

When she returned home, Teresa had left her three more voicemails and dozens of texts. Irene sighed and decided she would at least listen to the messages.

"Irene, I know you're upset. You have every right to be. I wish I could properly explain what I was thinking at the time. I was so scared for you. I didn't want to burden you, and I just...I did what I thought was right at the time. Please call me back when you can. I love you. I did then, and I do now."

Irene set her jaw, but didn't erase it. She moved on to the next one.

"Irene?" She started. It was Clare's voice. "I took my mom's phone cause I don't have your number. I heard her talking to you. She says you're just not feeling well, but it's been weeks. Did you guys break up? I don't want you to break up. I didn't get to show you my Christmas presents, and we were supposed to go to the MOMA together. Oh, shoot, my mom's coming. I miss you!"

Irene stared at the phone, heart seizing painfully. Clare was just a kid in this world. She couldn't understand what was going on. Hell, an adult wouldn't be able to understand, either. This Clare was not the girl she knew, the one full of rage and vengeance. This Clare was innocent, happy and well-adjusted. This Clare liked art and reading and pop music. This Clare deserved more than for Irene to drop out of her life during a dramatic Christmas scene.

The last message was Teresa again.

"Shit, Irene, I'm sorry Clare called you. I didn't realize she knew my passcode. I've changed it, so she shouldn't bother you anymore. Again, I'm sorry."

Angrily, Irene wiped the tears from her face. The worst part was, she missed Clare, as well. She missed Clare, and God, she missed Teresa. The years and years of aching longing had returned.

She remembered being drawn out of hiding by a familiar yoki aura deep in the forest. She remembered the bitter disappointment when she realized the yoki was not, somehow, miraculously Teresa. She remembered sitting around a fire with a warrior Clare, talking about Teresa. She remembered how much she wished she'd had the same courage to keep fighting, keep living.

Here she had another chance, but she was too angry, too hurt, to take it.

The fatigue she had managed to acquire on her run was already starting to fade. How had she never noticed before how quickly her body recovered from physical exertion? Unfortunately, she did still sweat, and she took a shower in hopes that it would bring her clarity.

Clarity did not come, but she did have a course of action.

Once she was dried off and dressed, Irene found herself dialing her assistant's number.

"Ms. Winters? Is everything all right?" Flora was rightly surprised. It was the weekend after all, and Irene was still on her leave of absence.

"Yes. I'm fine. I…" She had to swallow the embarrassment that she had no friends to call, only an employee. "Are you busy?"

"Oh, well…" There was a voice in the background, a female voice, asking who it was. Flora hushed them. "What can I do for you?"

Irene explained wanting to go to the gallery, but not wanting to go alone. Flora had enough sense not to ask about Teresa. The gossip columns were already noticing that they weren't being seen together anymore. Irene had missed the Golden Globes, and Teresa had cancelled her scheduled interviews. Irene hadn't watched the show, but she knew Teresa had won. The Oscars were soon, and she doubted now that she would be going to those, either.

A few hours later, she met Flora outside the gallery. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course, Ms. Winters." Flora offered her a small smile. "I've missed seeing you at work."

Irene did not know what to do with that, so she cleared her throat and nodded to the building. "Let's go up."

Standing in the elevator with Flora made Irene second guess her decision to invite her assistant. When they were not talking about work, she realized they probably did not have much in common. In fact, Irene knew very little about the woman next to her. Flora was polite and professional, and that had always been enough.

"I hope I didn't take you from something important," she said as the elevator settled at their floor.

"Oh, nothing much," Flora said. "My girlfriend is in town for a fashion show, but she's booked this afternoon anyway."

Irene stored this information, surprised to hear Flora liked women. "Is she a designer?"

"No, she's a model. You may have heard of her. Galatea Rook."

Irene had a vague recollection of the name, though she could not place a face. "I see." She glanced at Flora. "If you were busy, you could have told me. This isn't for work. I wouldn't have taken it personally."

"I know, Ms. Winters. I wanted to come."

They entered the gallery, and Irene started scanning the walls, looking for the pieces Renee had mentioned. If she could find the artist, then maybe it would be a start.

"Ms. Winters," Flora called from across the room.

Irene turned and froze when she saw the painting. It was a Claymore, no doubt in her mind. The young woman had white-blond hair, silver eyes, a sword strapped to her back. Her uniform was one of the old styles, before Irene's time. But the symbol, she recognized.

"Octavia."

Flora looked at her sharply. "Yes, that's what the plaque says. How did you read it from there?"

"I...I've seen it before," she said as she approached. She had never seen Octavia in person. She had awakened before Irene was even born in the old world. But as a single digit warrior, Irene had access to many of the Organization's records, and she knew the symbols of most of the warriors of her generation and the generations before hers.

Flora did not look convinced, but she pointed down the wall. "There's another down there."

This one she knew from her time as a trainee, and now she could see the resemblance to Rafaela.

"Luciela."

She went in search of the gallery director, cornering him. "Who is the artist who did the paintings of the warrior women?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Those were found in a private collection. We haven't been able to verify the artist."

"Do you know how old they are?"

"We estimate they're early twentieth century."

Irene pursed her lips. That was well before she had been born in this world. Were warriors appearing in the world according to their generations? No, that couldn't be it. Luciela was not that much older than Irene and Teresa.

"Can you tell me where you acquired them?"

"I can't give out that personal information."

Irene pulled out her checkbook. "I will take them both. I want to know if there are more. Any information you give me would be helpful."

The director looked at the check, at all the zeroes, and swallowed. "This is twice what they're worth."

"Not to me."

He seemed to mull over his decision for a few more moments, then relented, writing down a name and address for her. "You didn't get this from me. We have to maintain a good relationship with our collectors."

"Of course." She turned to her assistant. "Flora, when is the Trustee Dinner for the firm?"

"Late May, Ms. Winters."

"Good. We'll book this space for it." She looked back to the director. "If you have any new artists you'd like to showcase, we will have dozens of the city's wealthiest in one room."

"Thank you, Ms. Winters," he said. "We will have these pieces delivered."

When they finished up and were back in the elevator, Irene looked up the information he had given her. She half expected the collector to be one of them, a warrior, but while the name seemed familiar, it was not the name of any warrior she knew. There was no number listed, which meant she would have to try to go in person.

She was deep in thought when Flora gently cleared her throat.

"Ms. Winters?"

"Hmm, yes?"

"Can I ask you something that might seem strange?"

Irene looked up from her phone, studying Flora. "All right."

"Did you recognize the women in those paintings?"

The question caught her off guard, and she scrambled for a response. "No. No, I did not recognize them."

"Oh. I had hoped…" Flora glanced away. "There was something so familiar about them. I wondered if you felt the same way."

Irene's lips parted as she considered what to say. Flora was tall, as tall as Irene, and athletic. Irene had seen her easily carrying boxes of copy paper that would have caused a grown man to struggle. Could she be one of them, a warrior? All this time, just sitting right under Irene's nose?

"I don't recognize the subjects," Irene said slowly. "But I did feel drawn to the paintings."

This seemed to disappoint Flora, and Irene felt a pang of sympathy. If the girl was a warrior, Irene knew what she was going through. Still, what could she say? Anything of truth would sound unbelievable, outrageous. Could Teresa have said anything to her about their past lives without either sounding inane or disturbingly perceptive?

Irene closed her eyes briefly. How could she be so upset with Teresa for hiding this from her? What should she have done instead? It was an impossible situation, and Irene felt her anger at Teresa beginning to fade.

The best she could do for her assistant, however, was be present.

"Flora, do you have time to grab a coffee?"

"I do, Ms. Winters," she said with a soft smile.

Together they made their way to a cafe near the gallery. Irene needed to determine if Flora really was one of them, then figure out how to help the girl remember her past life.

But should she subject the girl to that? She knew that if Flora was one of them, her past life could not have been easy. Still, Irene knew that as difficult as it was for her to try and piece together her two lives, it was better than feeling like she was insane. It was better than nightmares and hallucinations and uncertainty. If Flora was experiencing that, Irene felt a duty to help.

She paid for both their coffees, and they sat by the window with Flora watching Irene expectantly.

"You may be wondering why I asked you to come with me today," Irene began.

"I didn't want to pry."

"Teresa and I have had a falling out of sorts." It sounded ludicrous to put it in such mundane terms. "But it is something I believe we will work through."

Because, really, it would never be anyone but Teresa. Not now. Even through her anger and betrayal, she knew she would come back to Teresa. She would not make the same mistake again.

"Oh, well I'm glad to hear that. Since you met her, you've seemed really happy."

"I have been," Irene said softly, honestly. "But right now, it's difficult. I appreciate you coming with me. I am wary of going places alone at the moment. The gossip columns are starting to stir. If I'm seen with my assistant, it's not quite as big of a deal as if I'm alone."

Flora nodded. "I'm happy to help. Truly."

"When you mentioned your girlfriend, I realized that I don't know much about you. You've been with me, what, three years?"

"Yes. It will be four this summer."

"You're very capable, Flora. You could have easily found a better position. Yet you've stayed."

Flora blushed. "I enjoy working for you," she said, but it lacked her usual sincerity, and Irene frowned.

"You know that if you ever want to move on, I will help however I can."

"I'm fine where I am," Flora said firmly. "But thank you."

Irene contemplated her tone. It would take more work than a single conversation over coffee to encourage Flora to open up with her. She had to approach the situation carefully or risk spooking the girl.

"All right. Just know that I believe you have great potential."

"That means a lot to me, Ms. Winters. I've always wanted to emulate you," Flora said, looking down at her coffee instead of at Irene.

"If you're interested in shadowing me, we can work something out."

"I will think about it." Her voice had hardened, and Irene let the subject drop.

She let the conversation steer more to Flora's personal life, her girlfriend, her taste in music, her childhood. She could see parallels to her own life, to Teresa's. The more they talked, the more she was convinced Flora was one of them. She just had to decide what to do about it.

When she returned home, she swallowed her pride and her anger and called Teresa.

"Irene, I didn't think I would hear from you." The relief in her voice was palpable.

"I hadn't planned on it. Not for a while, at least."

"I know you're upset-"

"I'm much more than upset, Teresa," Irene said, working hard to keep her cool. "I don't know what would have happened if you'd told me the truth about leaving me, but I do know that I would never have agreed to come after you if I'd known. Or I would have at least given you a chance to explain. That's why I'm so angry. For years, I tried to justify to myself my decision to actively participate in your execution. And now, I've found out everything I thought I knew was a lie."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't have known how things would play out. I just knew that I had to keep you safe."

"You should have told me."

"I know. I'm sorry, Irene. I'm sorry for what you went through because of me."

Irene pressed a hand to her mouth as she fought back her emotions. "I missed you so much," she whispered, voice breaking over the words.

She thought she heard Teresa's breath hitch. "Oh, Irene. Can I come to you?"

Irene nodded, then forced herself to speak. "Yes."

"I'll be there soon. Let me call a sitter for Clare, and I'll head your way."

"All right."

She hung up and put on a pot of tea while she waited. This would be the first time she and Teresa would see each other since she had regained her memories. It would be hard, emotional, to see her again, but they had to start somewhere.

It was almost an hour later when Teresa finally arrived. Irene silently opened the door to let her in. They stood there, staring at each other.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here," Teresa eventually said. She was looking at Irene like it had been a lifetime since they'd seen each other. Irene supposed in a way it had. "It took awhile for the babysitter to get there on such short notice."

"It's okay."

"Should we sit?"

"Yes." She led Teresa to the living room and sat in the same chair as when they had discussed Teresa's failed marriage.

Teresa sat across from her and leaned over, elbows resting on her knees. "I don't know how to make this up to you. I've been wracking my mind, but nothing seems good enough."

"You can't fix something like this. It's too much."

Teresa closed her eyes. "Too much?" Her voice wavered. "Is there no hope?"

Irene flexed the fingers on her left hand. "There's hope," she said softly. "I'm angry, but I don't want to lose you."

"You won't. I will wait as long as it takes."

"You still love me?"

"So much. More than I did then." When Irene frowned, she continued. "My capacity to love is greater here. I grew up with a loving family with parents who have a good, healthy marriage. My emotional growth was never stunted. I know how to show affection, how to be with someone. I couldn't do that before. All I knew how to do was fight."

Irene accepted this. "When I was in hiding, after you...died, I longed for you. But I don't know how much of it was love and how much of it was just a need to fill a void in my heart."

"We have another chance, Irene. To do it better this time."

"If I had never remembered, would you have ever told me our past?"

Teresa folded her hands together and pressed them to her chin. "I don't know. I struggled with it every day. I could tell you were remembering, but I didn't know how to help. I didn't know what to do, or if telling you would make it worse. I just tried to be there for you. I felt guilty, like I was taking advantage of you. But I just couldn't let you go."

"You knew I had hallucinations, that I was on medication, that I had to keep increasing my dosage. You knew this, and you still said nothing."

Teresa's throat worked, and she looked away. "I didn't know what to do. I was scared that I would make it worse. So I did nothing. Maybe that was the wrong choice, but I did my best."

Irene did not know if she would have done anything differently had she been in Teresa's position. "Are we human?"

"I don't know. I age, but I don't think I age as they do. I heal quickly, and I'm so strong."

"But we don't have the scar. I don't feel any yoki energy."

"What I told you before was true, Irene. I didn't want to look for answers. I live in a world now where I don't have to fight like that, where Clare will never lose her family to such violence, will never have to go through so much trauma. I just...accepted it."

"I can't. There are more of us here, and I need to know why."

Irene told Teresa about the gallery, the paintings, the woman who sent her that way, her suspicions about Flora. It was a relief to tell someone about it, but that did not erase her anger. She was still upset, but she decided that she needed help more than she needed her anger.

And she needed Teresa.

They would go to the collector together and see what they could find. They would try to move forward. They would try to work things out.

When Irene ran out of things to say, Teresa bit her bottom lip, like she wanted to ask something.

"You want to know about Clare's time as a warrior," Irene surmised.

"Yes. Please."

Irene leaned back and took a deep breath. "I'll tell you what I know."

AN: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! I do love reviews!