Claire stirred awake, the heavy weight of exhaustion still pressing down on her limbs as her mind drifted back into awareness. The room was dimly lit, the light filtering through the half-drawn curtains casting soft shadows on the walls. She could hear hushed voices coming from the other side of the room, their tones tense and clipped. She kept her eyes closed, listening, trying to piece together what was happening.
"...She's not ready, Lucy," Shaun's voice cut through the quiet, a low hiss of frustration that Claire had come to recognize. "You saw her when she got out. She needs more time to recover—her mind's barely holding on."
"She doesn't have more time," Lucy countered sharply, her voice lacking the warmth that Claire sometimes caught in her more private moments with Desmond. "Neither of them do. The Templars aren't going to wait for us to take a holiday, Shaun. You know what's at stake.
Rebecca chimed in, sounding more concerned than angry. "Lucy, she's barely hanging on to reality as it is. She needs at least a day, maybe more, before we even think about putting her back in there. And you can't keep pushing Desmond either—he's just as worn out."
At the mention of Desmond, Claire's awareness sharpened. She shifted slightly, feeling the warmth beside her, and realized that Desmond was lying next to her on the narrow bed. She kept her breathing steady, pretending to be asleep, but she could feel the tension in the way he lay still, the way he was listening just as intently as she was. Their shoulders brushed, a reminder of his presence, and she took a small comfort in knowing she wasn't alone in this moment.
Lucy's voice softened slightly, but there was still an edge to it. "We don't have the luxury of waiting, Rebecca. If she can't handle it, then Desmond will have to carry the weight for now. But he's closer to accessing the memories we need. The sooner he's back in the Animus, the better."
Shaun's frustration boiled over. "She's not a bloody machine, Lucy! She was—they were—used as test subjects by Abstergo for God's sake! You've read her file, you know what they did to her. If we keep pushing like this, we'll just break her. And then what? She's been through enough already."
Lucy's silence in response was heavy, but when she finally spoke, her voice was unyielding. "This isn't just about what *she's* been through, Shaun. We need those memories. The Templars are closing in, and if we don't find the answers before they do, we're all as good as dead. Desmond, too."
Claire's heart twisted at the sound of Desmond's name, a knot of guilt and concern tangling with the fear that had settled deep in her bones. She knew they were right—*all* of them. She knew the urgency, the pressure they were all under. But that didn't make the reality of it any easier. The memories of her time in Abstergo's clutches still haunted her, the way they'd forced her into the Animus for hours on end, driving her deeper into the lives of long-dead ancestors until she couldn't tell where they ended and she began.
She felt Desmond shift beside her, his breath catching slightly, and she risked opening her eyes just a fraction, enough to see the tension in his jaw, the worry etched across his face. He looked like he wanted to speak up, to argue on her behalf, but he stayed silent, his hand resting just inches from hers on the bed.
Rebecca's voice grew more insistent, pushing back against Lucy's resolve. "You're asking too much of her. You're asking too much of *both* of them. If you push Claire too far, we could lose her to the Bleeding Effect entirely, and I don't think I need to remind you what happened to Subject Sixteen."
Claire's breath hitched at the mention of her old friend, the memory of his fractured mind, the desperation in his eyes as he'd slipped away. She'd seen him break, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the echoes of the past that had consumed him. The thought of ending up like him sent a shiver through her, and she unconsciously pressed closer to Desmond, seeking the reassurance of his warmth, his solidity beside her.
Lucy's reply came after a long pause, her tone colder than before. "We don't have a choice, Rebecca. If we lose this race, none of it will matter. Not Claire, not Desmond, not the memories, not the Brotherhood. We either move forward, or we lose everything."
The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, and Claire couldn't help the bitterness that twisted in her chest. She knew the stakes—she *understood* the stakes. But it was hard to accept that the only way forward was to keep pushing herself to the edge, risking everything she had left.
Desmond shifted again, turning his head slightly toward her, as if sensing her turmoil even without looking at her. His fingers brushed hers, a small, comforting touch that made her heart ache with a bittersweet warmth. She closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath, trying to steady herself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
"Tomorrow, then," Shaun muttered, his voice resigned but still tinged with anger. "But at least give her until tomorrow, Lucy. She deserves that much."
Lucy's response was clipped, but she didn't argue further. "Fine. But that's all we can afford."
Rebecca let out a relieved sigh, and Claire heard her footsteps as she moved away, likely to check on the Animus systems or prepare for the next session. Shaun lingered a moment longer, and Claire could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he knew she was listening, knew the toll this was taking on her.
Finally, he left, the door clicking shut behind him, and the room fell into a heavy silence. Claire opened her eyes fully, turning her head to look at Desmond beside her. He met her gaze, his expression softer now, concern evident in the way he watched her.
"You heard all that, didn't you?" he asked quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
She nodded, unable to find the words to express the tangled mess of fear, exhaustion, and determination that roiled within her. "Yeah... I heard."
The silence between Claire and Desmond lingered in the dim room, each lost in their thoughts, the weight of their shared burdens pressing down on them. Claire could feel her composure slipping, the tight grip she had on her emotions loosening with each breath. The memories of her time at Abstergo surfaced, unbidden and raw, like old wounds reopening. The endless days strapped into the Animus, the cold sterility of the lab, the pressure of their questions... the helplessness.
Desmond seemed to sense her shift, his gaze softening as he watched her struggle to keep herself together. He adjusted himself slightly, turning more fully toward her, his expression uncharacteristically open, almost vulnerable. "You don't have to carry it alone, you know," he said quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand in slow, soothing circles. "What they did to you... it wasn't right. None of it was."
Claire managed a shaky breath, her vision blurring as she blinked back tears. "I know that, logically, but... it's hard to let go of the feeling that maybe I'll never be free of it. Of them." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated how weak she sounded, how exposed. "They pushed me so far, Desmond. Hours on end in the Animus, no breaks, no... no sense of what was real and what wasn't. And when Subject Sixteen—when he started to lose it, they just... used me as their next experiment."
Desmond's grip on her hand tightened slightly, a subtle reassurance, though she could see the flicker of anger in his eyes. "They did the same to me, Claire. When they brought me in, they made it sound like I was just another tool. Vidic, Abstergo, they didn't care about what the Animus did to us. But at least I had my dad on the outside, trying to get me back, even if we had our issues... I can't imagine going through all that without knowing someone out there was fighting for you."
Claire's breath caught, her chest aching with the shared pain of their experiences. "I know what that's like," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Sixteen... he was my friend. My only friend in that place. And when he started breaking down, when he couldn't separate the past from the present, I tried to help him, but... I wasn't enough. They just let him slip away, and I could do nothing but watch."
The tears she'd been holding back spilled over, and her shoulders shook with the force of her emotions. Without thinking, she turned toward Desmond, curling up against him, seeking comfort in the warmth and solidity of his presence. He didn't hesitate, wrapping his arms around her gently, one hand cradling the back of her head as she buried her face against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, grounding her, pulling her back from the edge of her despair.
"It wasn't your fault, Claire," he murmured against her hair, his breath warm against her temple. "What happened to him... what Abstergo did... that's on them, not you. You survived, and you got out. And you're here now, with me. We're in this together."
Claire clung to his words, letting the quiet strength in his voice seep into the cracks in her resolve. She let herself lean into the comfort he offered, into the warmth of his arms around her. It was more than just physical proximity—it was the feeling of being understood, of having someone who knew what it was like to be used, to be broken, and to still be trying to piece yourself back together.
She drew in a shuddering breath, her tears soaking into his shirt as she spoke, her voice raw and unguarded. "Sometimes, I still hear him, you know? Sixteen. I see his face, hear him calling my name. I'm afraid... I'm afraid I'm going to end up like him. Lost in the memories, forgetting who I am. And I don't... I don't want to lose myself, Desmond."
Desmond's arms tightened around her, and she felt him press his forehead gently to hers, a gesture that sent a rush of warmth through her chest. "You're not going to lose yourself, Claire. Not if I have anything to say about it. You're stronger than you think, and you've already survived more than most people could handle. You'll get through this, and I'll be right here with you, every step of the way."
His words were a balm to her aching heart, a lifeline in the darkness that had threatened to swallow her whole. Claire closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the safety of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his breathing matching her own as they sat together in the quiet room.
For a long time, neither of them spoke, content to simply exist in that moment of shared understanding, of unspoken promises and fragile hope. And for the first time in a long time, Claire allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way forward—together.