After the conversation with Desmond, Claire had managed to catch a few more moments of sleep, wrapped in a strange mixture of exhaustion and the faint, lingering comfort of his presence beside her. But when she woke again, the pangs of hunger were impossible to ignore. Her stomach growled loudly, and it seemed like the weight of everything was pressing down on her, making her limbs feel heavy and sluggish.
Shaun and Rebecca were quick to step in, setting out a simple meal on the small table in the corner of the room. Shaun, ever the sarcastic one, offered a half-smirk as he set down a plate of sandwiches. "Not exactly fine dining, but it should keep you from keeling over."
Rebecca, more earnest, gave Claire a small, encouraging smile. "You need to keep your strength up, Claire. The Animus... well, it takes a lot out of you. Especially after everything you've been through."
Claire nodded, murmuring her thanks as she picked up a sandwich. The first bite was almost surreal, the taste of real food a sharp contrast to the haze of memories that still clung to her. She focused on eating, letting the mundane act anchor her to the present. Across the room, Desmond did the same, occasionally glancing over at her with a faint, reassuring smile that made her heart squeeze just a little.
After they finished eating, Rebecca nudged her toward the bathroom. "Go on, get yourself cleaned up. You'll feel better."
Claire managed a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Rebecca. I think I could use that."
The shower was hot and almost scalding against her skin, and she let the water wash over her, hoping it would rinse away the tension coiled inside her chest. As the steam filled the small space, she pressed her palms against the cool tile, her head bowed, letting the heat ease the ache in her muscles. But no amount of hot water could soothe the deeper aches, the ones that came from the memories pressing against the edges of her mind—Amelia's memories, her voice whispering like a ghost in the back of Claire's thoughts.
She sighed, shutting off the water and stepping out of the shower. She dried off quickly, wrapping a towel around herself before turning to face the mirror above the sink. She froze, her breath catching in her throat.
Staring back at her wasn't her own reflection. It was Amelia—Amelia's face, her dark eyes full of an unspoken sadness, the cut on her arm still fresh as if time hadn't healed it. Claire's pulse quickened, a cold sweat breaking out along her skin.
This isn't real. This isn't real, she chanted silently, trying to steady her breathing. But Amelia's reflection moved, her expression shifting, almost as if she was trying to reach out, trying to tell Claire something. Panic spiked through her, sharp and sudden, and she lashed out instinctively, her fist connecting with the glass with a shattering crack.
The mirror splintered under the impact, shards falling into the sink with a metallic clatter. Pain shot up her arm, bringing her back to reality with a jolt. Claire gasped, cradling her bleeding hand against her chest, the ache in her knuckles grounding her in a way that the broken reflection hadn't.
She stumbled back, pressing herself against the cold tile wall as she tried to catch her breath. Amelia's presence was gone, but the image lingered in her mind, vivid and unsettling. Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, she couldn't tell where Amelia's fear ended and hers began.
After a few shaky breaths, she forced herself to focus on the pain in her hand, on the sting of the cuts as she inspected the damage. Blood seeped from the fresh wounds, trickling down her fingers, and she winced, feeling the warmth mixing with the cool air of the bathroom.
"Claire? Are you alright in there?" It was Rebecca's voice, a note of concern threading through the door.
"I'm—" Claire's voice came out unsteady, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. "I'm okay. I just... slipped. I'm coming out."
She hurriedly wrapped her hand in a towel, pressing down to stem the bleeding before pushing the door open. Rebecca's eyes went wide at the sight of the blood, and even Shaun, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened with a frown.
As Claire stepped out of the bathroom, her hand wrapped in a hastily applied towel to stem the bleeding, she nearly bumped into Desmond. He must have heard the commotion and come to investigate, his brow furrowed with concern as he looked her over.
"Claire, what happened?" he asked, his gaze dropping to the towel clutched around her hand, the red stains already seeping through. His worry was plain, mingling with something else—an understanding, like he knew too well what she might be going through.
"I... It's nothing, really," she tried to brush it off, but the crack in her voice betrayed her. "Just... the Bleeding Effect acting up again. I got spooked and, well..." She gestured vaguely toward the bathroom, where the broken shards of the mirror lay scattered in the sink.
Desmond's expression softened as he glanced toward the mess, then back to her. He stepped closer, gently prying the towel from her hand. "Here, let me take a look," he said, his tone gentler than she was used to from him. "I've patched myself up enough times; I think I can handle a few cuts."
Claire hesitated, the vulnerability of the moment pressing in on her, but she nodded slowly, letting him lead her back toward a chair in the main room. She sat down, cradling her injured hand against her chest as Desmond rummaged through the first aid kit they kept nearby.
Rebecca and Shaun exchanged a quick glance, the concern still etched into their expressions, before stepping back to give them a bit of space. As Shaun moved to sweep up the shards in the bathroom, Lucy wandered into the room, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to an exasperated eye roll as she took in the scene.
"Great. Another delay," she muttered under her breath, but not so quietly that it went unnoticed. "Just try not to break any more mirrors, okay?"
Desmond shot her a pointed look, his jaw tightening. "Can you give us a minute, Lucy?" he asked, his voice steely but controlled. For a moment, Lucy looked like she might argue, but then she just sighed, throwing her hands up before walking away with an annoyed huff.
Once she was gone, Desmond turned his focus back to Claire. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the cuts on her knuckles, dabbing antiseptic onto the wounds with practiced care. Claire flinched slightly at the sting, but she stayed still, watching his hands move with a focus that was almost calming.
"You don't have to do this," she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You're dealing with enough already."
Desmond glanced up, meeting her eyes with a faint, reassuring smile. "Yeah, well... So are you," he replied, his tone softening. "And besides, I've got some time before I'm back in that chair, right? Might as well make myself useful."
She tried to smile back, but it wavered, and she felt the sting of unshed tears at the corners of her eyes. She hadn't realized just how tightly she'd been holding everything in until now, the fear, the exhaustion, the weight of everything that had happened to her. But there was something grounding about Desmond's presence, about the way he didn't push her to talk, just stayed with her, his hands steady as he wrapped her injuries.
After a moment, she let herself lean forward, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, seeking that warmth and comfort she so desperately needed. Desmond stilled, surprise flickering in his eyes, but then he softened, his arm coming up to rest gently around her back, careful not to touch her bandaged hand.
They stayed like that for a few long moments, the tension in Claire's chest loosening just a bit as she let herself lean into the quiet reassurance of his presence. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of his breathing, on the steady rhythm that seemed to echo her own.
"Thanks, Desmond," she murmured after a while, her voice barely audible. "For... being here."
He gave her a light squeeze, his voice a little rougher than before when he replied. "You're not alone, I've got you back." She nodded against his shoulder, letting his words settle into the spaces that still ached with loss and fear.
As the tension in the air finally eased between them, Desmond seemed to get an idea. He pulled back slightly, looking at Claire with a small, mischievous glint in his eye. "How about we get out of here for a bit? Clear our heads?"
Claire raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "In case you haven't noticed, there's not a lot of room for escape in this place. Where exactly did you have in mind?"
He nodded toward the garage where the vehicles were kept. "Your bike, Claire. Let's take it out for a spin. Just the two of us, no Animus, no expectations—just... the road."
She hesitated, glancing down at her still-bandaged hand. The idea of getting out sounded tempting—more than tempting. It sounded like freedom, like the promise of fresh air after being trapped in the stale tension of their hideout for so long. She bit her lip, considering, before a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "And how do you plan on getting past the watchdogs?"
Desmond's grin widened as he leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Leave that to me."
Minutes later, they were in the garage, where Rebecca was working late, surrounded by screens and wires. She looked up, catching sight of Desmond and Claire as they made their way over to the bike, her eyebrows raising in curiosity. Desmond flashed her his best pleading look. "Rebecca, we're just going for a drive. A quick one. You don't have to tell the others."
Rebecca's lips curled into a knowing smile as she glanced between them. "A midnight joyride, huh? You realize Lucy will have my head if she finds out, right?"
Claire rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Come on, Rebecca. We'll be back before sunrise. You won't even miss us."
Rebecca sighed, throwing up her hands in mock exasperation. "Fine. But you two better keep it quiet, and you owe me. Big time."
Desmond shot her a grateful smile, giving her a quick salute. "Deal. Thanks, Rebecca."
Rebecca waved them off with a smirk, turning back to her screens. "Yeah, yeah, just get out of here before I change my mind."
Desmond straddled Claire's bike, sliding back to make room for her in front of him. He patted the seat with a confident grin, before pulling his helmet on. "Hop on. I'll drive."
Claire hesitated only for a moment before sliding onto the bike in front of him. Desmond wrapped an arm around her waist, gently steadying her as he settled in behind her. His warmth seeped through her jacket, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her back.
As they rolled the bike out of the garage, Claire caught Rebecca's amused look one last time before the door closed behind them. Desmond revved the engine, and they shot forward into the night, the cool air rushing past them as they left the hideout behind.
The city at night was a blur of empty streets and neon lights, the world around them quiet and almost peaceful in the hours before dawn. Desmond navigated the bike expertly, leaning into the curves of the road with an ease that made Claire feel like they could go anywhere—like they could keep riding forever.
Claire closed her eyes for a moment, letting the wind whip through her hair, feeling the hum of the engine beneath her. Despite everything, despite the pain in her hand and the ache in her chest, there was something exhilarating about this—the freedom of the open road, the stolen moments away from everything else.
After a while, Desmond slowed the bike to a stop at the edge of a cliff that overlooked the sleeping city below. He turned off the engine, the sudden silence settling around them like a blanket. Claire climbed off the bike, wincing slightly as she landed on the ground, her body still sore from the events of the past days. She took her helmet off, shaking out her blonde hair.
Desmond slid off after her, removing his helmet and taking in the view of the city lights below. "How's the hand?" he asked quietly, his voice carrying over the night air.
She flexed her fingers, testing the bandages. "Better. Doesn't hurt as much," she replied, though she could still feel the dull throb beneath the wrappings. She glanced sideways at him, a soft smile playing at her lips. "I didn't know you were such a good rider."
He chuckled, leaning against the bike with a casual ease. "You learn a few things living on the run. Figured you could use a change of scenery."
Claire looked out over the city, the quiet stretching between them, comfortable and easy. "Yeah, I think I did. Thanks, Desmond."
Desmond's expression softened as he studied her in the moonlight, the tension of the last few days seeming to fade away as they stood there, side by side. "You know... I get why you're struggling. With everything. But you're tougher than you think, Claire."
She glanced down, feeling the burn of emotion behind her eyes as she fought to keep her composure. "I don't feel that tough sometimes," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It's like... everything is slipping away, and I don't know if I can hold on to what's real anymore."
Desmond stepped closer, his hand finding hers, squeezing gently. Claire looked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes hitting her harder than she'd expected. She felt a rush of warmth in her chest, a flicker of hope that she hadn't realized she'd needed. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder as the cool night air wrapped around them. For just a little while, they stood there in the quiet, stealing a moment of peace before the chaos returned.