Claire's eyes fluttered open, the pale glow of the Animus room blurring around her. Her head felt heavy, and a dull ache pounded behind her temples—a familiar sensation after spending too long in the Animus. She took a deep, shaky breath, grounding herself in the present, and as the memory of the last moments in Ezio's world settled, she made a decision.
She lifted her hand from the armrest of the Animus chair and slowly detached the interface. The room felt colder than she remembered, a stark contrast to the heat of Venice's sun. She looked over to where Desmond lay in the other chair, still locked in his dreamlike state, reliving Ezio's memories. She knew he needed to stay in there, to see what came next, but for now, she needed a break. Their ancestors had gone their separate ways, and she was glad for the break.
Her legs wobbled slightly as she rose from the chair. The weight of the hours spent immersed in another life clung to her bones, making each step feel like she was walking through water. She managed to reach the nearby bed and practically collapsed onto it, her body sinking into the thin mattress as a sigh escaped her lips.
Rebecca noticed her first, concern etching across her face. She hurried over, her footsteps quick and light. "Hey, hey, take it easy, Claire. You're out already? Is everything okay?"
Claire nodded, but the movement was sluggish, and she closed her eyes, the effort to keep them open proving too much. "Yeah… just needed… some air. Desmond can handle the rest. I'll be fine."
Shaun followed a moment later, adjusting his glasses as he leaned over her, his usual sarcastic edge softened by worry. "You look like you've been through the wringer. Seriously, Claire, you shouldn't push yourself like this."
She let out a small, dry laugh, though it was tinged with exhaustion. "I'm okay. I just need a break. Beauty of being in control. I can take breaks."
Shaun frowned, but there was a trace of admiration in his eyes. He exchanged a quick look with Rebecca before nodding, stepping back to give her some space. "Just… try to actually get some rest, alright? We don't need you collapsing on us."
As she settled into the bed, Claire turned her head slightly, catching sight of Lucy lingering in the doorway. Lucy's expression was inscrutable, though a trace of frustration shadowed her features. She stepped forward, arms crossed, her voice firm but edged with curiosity. "Why'd you come out, Claire? You know how important this is—Desmond needs you in there. We all do."
Claire rolled onto her side, her back to Lucy, burying her face into the pillow. She couldn't muster the energy to explain, not now. She just wanted a moment of peace, away from the memories and the weight of everything they were chasing. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Lucy's question, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Not now, Lucy. Just... not now."
Lucy's lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked like she wanted to argue, but Rebecca caught her arm, shaking her head slightly. "Let her rest, Lucy. She's been through enough."
Reluctantly, Lucy backed down, her expression still tight with frustration as she left the room, leaving Claire to the quiet hum of the Animus machinery and the gentle murmur of Desmond's breathing nearby. As the door clicked shut behind them, Claire allowed herself to let go. She drifted into sleep, the pull of exhaustion finally taking over, her body sinking into the welcome darkness. For the first time in days, she was free from the weight of both her own memories and those of a life long past.
Claire awoke slowly, the haze of sleep clinging to her as she blinked against the dim light of the Animus room. The hum of the machines filled the silence, steady and rhythmic, a stark contrast to the swirling chaos of memories that had haunted her dreams. Her head ached less than before, but her body still felt heavy, like the echoes of Ezio's world had left a physical weight on her shoulders.
She pushed herself upright, her muscles protesting after so many hours of rest. When she looked across the room, she saw Desmond still locked in the Animus, his body tense, his expression pinched as if he was struggling against something unseen. Worry coiled tight in her chest, and without thinking, she crossed the room to his side.
"Desmond?" she whispered, though she knew he couldn't hear her. Her fingers found his hand, cool against hers, and she squeezed gently, trying to reassure herself that he was still there, still tethered to this world. She pressed two fingers against the pulse point on his wrist, her own breath catching when she felt the rapid, unsteady beat beneath her fingertips.
Rebecca noticed Claire's concern from across the room and hurried over, offering a gentle smile. "Hey, he's okay. His vitals are steady, just... you know, living through a lot right now. It's normal."
Claire looked up, her expression tight with worry. "He's been in there a long time. His pulse is racing—are you sure this is safe?"
Rebecca placed a hand on her shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. "I promise, Claire. We've got him monitored. If there was anything to be worried about, I'd pull him out myself. He's tougher than he looks."
Still, Claire lingered, her thumb absently brushing over the back of Desmond's hand as if that small gesture could anchor him. She felt the pull of memories, the unrelenting bond forged through shared experiences. It was a strange feeling—watching him endure alone when they'd always faced the trials together. It made her chest ache with a hollow kind of loneliness.
Shaun, who had been observing from a distance, cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. "Oi, Claire, enough standing around like a tragic heroine. You need to eat. Come on, I've got some soup for you, and I'm not above spoon-feeding you if that's what it takes."
Claire shot him an annoyed glance, but the hint of humor in his tone eased some of the tension knotted in her shoulders. She released Desmond's hand reluctantly, turning away to follow Shaun to the small table where he had set out some food.
"Don't push your luck, Shaun. I'm eating," she muttered, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Shaun smirked, sliding the bowl toward her. "You know, you're a lot more bearable when you've got some food in you."
She rolled her eyes and took the spoon, but as she brought the soup to her lips, the door swung open, and Lucy strode in, her face a mask of impatience. "Claire, we need to talk. Now."
Claire set down the spoon, a hint of irritation flashing in her eyes. "Not now, Lucy. I'm just trying to—"
"Not now?" Lucy cut her off, her tone sharp. "You think you can just waltz out of the Animus whenever you feel like it? Desmond's still in there, doing what he needs to do. We don't have time for you to—"
Something in Claire snapped. She pushed back from the table, her chair scraping harshly against the floor as she stood, facing Lucy head-on. "Don't you dare lecture me about time, Lucy. You have no idea what I've been through—what it's like to have your mind split between two worlds, two lives."
Lucy's eyes narrowed, but she didn't back down. "You think I don't understand the stakes here? We're running out of time, Claire. Desmond's making progress, but he needs you in there with him. You're part of this team, and we need you to act like it."
Claire's hands balled into fists at her sides, her breath coming faster as the frustration and exhaustion boiled over. Without warning, she closed the distance between them, shoving Lucy back against the wall, the sound of the impact echoing through the room.
"You think I don't know that? You think I don't know what's at stake?" Claire's voice was low, trembling with barely controlled anger. "I was their prisoner, Lucy. Abstergo's lab rat, just like Desmond. And now I'm supposed to just jump back in whenever you say so, without a second thought for what it's doing to my mind? You're acting like you still work for them!"
Lucy's expression shifted, surprise and a flicker of fear crossing her features as she felt the force behind Claire's words. But she quickly masked it with defiance, meeting Claire's glare with a cold stare of her own. "You're not the only one who's been through hell, Claire."
Rebecca stepped in, placing herself between them, her voice firm. "That's enough, both of you. Claire, let her go."
Claire's grip loosened, and she took a shaky step back, her chest heaving with the effort to keep her emotions in check. She felt the weight of Rebecca's steadying hand on her arm, grounding her in the moment. She turned away, taking a deep breath as she tried to calm the storm raging inside her.
Shaun, who had watched the whole exchange with wide eyes, cleared his throat again, but this time there was no humor in his tone. "You both need to remember what's at stake here. If we fall apart, we've already lost."
"I'm going to get some air." She muttered.
Claire stormed out of the main room, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to shake off the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The warehouse's dim lighting cast long shadows over the rows of crates and equipment, but she barely noticed them as she moved deeper into the space, her fists clenching and unclenching. Her skin still prickled with the memory of her confrontation with Lucy, the frustration gnawing at her insides.
She found an old punching bag suspended from a rusted chain and took her anger out on it, throwing punch after punch until her knuckles stung. Each strike was a release, a way to push back the fear and uncertainty that seemed to claw at her every moment since leaving the Animus. She tried to focus on the rhythm, to lose herself in the physicality of the motion, but the nagging sense of helplessness only seemed to grow.
"Feeling better yet, tesoro?" A familiar voice echoed through the empty space, but it wasn't one that should have been there. Claire froze mid-swing, her breath catching in her chest as she glanced around wildly.
"Amelia?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. She spun, scanning the shadows, expecting to find someone else lurking nearby. But there was no one. Just the stillness of the warehouse and the flicker of her own mind playing tricks on her.
But then, from the corner of her vision, she saw her. Amelia stood there, leaning casually against one of the crates, like a ghost, arms crossed over her chest and a knowing smirk on her lips. It was impossible—Claire knew that. And yet, there she was, just as vivid as if she'd stepped out of the Animus herself.
"How... How is this happening?" Claire asked, her voice shaking with a mix of wonder and fear. She took a hesitant step closer, her mind struggling to make sense of the bleeding effect's power.
Amelia raised a brow, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "You tell me, Claire. I'm just as surprised as you are. But it seems the boundaries between our worlds aren't as solid as they used to be."
Claire swallowed, pressing a trembling hand to her temple. "You shouldn't be here. This... this isn't real."
Amelia's expression softened, and she tilted her head slightly, studying Claire with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Maybe not. But you've got a lot of questions, and it looks like you've been carrying them alone for too long."
Claire let out a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. She leaned back against the nearest crate, sliding down to sit on the cool concrete floor. "Yeah... I guess you're right about that."
They sat in silence for a moment, the surreal nature of the situation pressing down on Claire like a weight. She half-expected Amelia to disappear like smoke, to leave her alone in the darkness again. But she remained, steady and solid, like some strange echo from the past.
"It's been... hard," Claire admitted finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Harder than I thought it would be. Everything's so... confusing. And every time I think I have a handle on it, it slips away."
Amelia nodded, her expression understanding. "I know what that feels like. To feel like you're caught between two lives, two worlds. But you're stronger than you think, Claire. You've proven that time and again."
Claire looked down at her hands, the same hands that had reached for Desmond's pulse just hours before. The memory of his heartbeat under her touch felt like a lifeline, even as everything else threatened to pull her under. "It's different now. Desmond... he's the only one who understands what it's like, but even he doesn't know everything. He barely knows me."
Amelia's voice softened, almost gentle. "You care for him."
Claire's lips twitched into a faint, bittersweet smile. "Yeah. I do. But it's complicated. Everything's complicated. And I'm just... so tired."
Amelia's presence seemed to dim for a moment, her edges blurring as if fading back into the shadows. But before she could disappear completely, she offered one last, enigmatic smile. "You'll find your way through it, Claire. Just remember—you're not as alone as you think."
And then, she was gone, leaving Claire alone with the lingering echoes of their conversation. Claire pressed her hands to her face, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself. The warehouse felt emptier without Amelia's presence, but some of the tension had eased from her chest. She felt lighter, even if just by a fraction.
After taking a few moments to collect herself, she made her way back upstairs, where the sound of voices met her. Desmond had come out of the Animus while she'd been gone, and he stood in the middle of the room, facing Lucy and the others. Lucy's expression was stormy, and Claire could hear the frustration in her tone as she gestured toward the Animus.
"She left Desmond in there without a word, and now she's—"
Desmond's voice cut through Lucy's tirade, sharper than Claire had heard it in a while. "Enough, Lucy. She has her reasons, and we don't know the whole story. Stop pushing her like this."
Lucy looked taken aback, her mouth opening to argue, but Desmond's glare silenced her. He crossed his arms, standing firm, and Claire couldn't help but feel a flicker of gratitude for his unexpected defense. But she didn't stop to acknowledge it. She simply walked past them all, ignoring the concerned glances from Rebecca and Shaun, and headed straight for the small bathroom at the end of the hall.
She closed the door behind her with a shaky sigh, turning on the shower to drown out the sound of her ragged breathing. The hot water pounded against her skin, steam filling the space until it was thick and suffocating. She pressed her forehead against the cool tiles, letting the heat wash over her, but it did little to soothe the ache inside her chest.
All the emotions she'd been holding back for weeks crashed over her like a wave—grief, exhaustion, fear, and a yearning for a sense of normalcy she couldn't even remember. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to muffle the sound.
For a moment, she wished desperately that Amelia's voice would come back, even if it was just an illusion. But the silence pressed in on her, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the weight of everything she'd endured. She stayed under the water until it ran cold, until the ache in her chest had dulled to a hollow throb. And when she finally turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, she stared at her reflection in the shattered mirror, seeing the rawness in her own eyes.
Claire lingered in the doorway of the bathroom, steam billowing out behind her like a veil as she adjusted the towel around her shoulders. Her hair dripped onto the cold floor, droplets echoing softly in the quiet space. She caught sight of Desmond lying on the bed, his form half-draped in shadow, his eyes closed but not fully asleep. He shifted slightly at the sound of her footsteps, cracking one eye open to look at her, and she caught the small, weary smile that touched his lips.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. "You alright?"
She hesitated, glancing down at the fresh clothes she clutched in one hand—a simple t-shirt and sweats that Rebecca had found for her. "Yeah... I think so." But they both knew it wasn't the whole truth. Her body still felt like it had been wrung out, her nerves raw, but there was a thread of calm that had settled over her after the shower—a fragile sense of clarity.
Desmond shifted on the bed, moving closer to the edge, and gestured to the space beside him. "Do you want to... you know, stay here? It's a little warmer, at least."
Claire nodded slowly, offering him a small, tentative smile before she turned back into the bathroom to get dressed. The mundane act of pulling on the clean clothes felt grounding, something solid in a world that had been filled with too many shadows and phantoms. Once dressed, she ran a hand through her damp hair and took a steadying breath.
She stepped back into the room and made her way to the bed, where Desmond was waiting. The mattress dipped under her weight, and she let herself relax against the pillows, though her shoulders remained tense.
They lay in silence for a while, the quiet hum of the warehouse filtering through the walls. Desmond glanced sideways at her, his brow furrowed slightly as if he was searching for the right words. Claire felt the tension between them, a thread of shared experiences that connected them, even if the details of those experiences remained unspoken. But tonight, she didn't want them to stay hidden anymore.
She took a shaky breath, her fingers toying with the edge of the blanket. "Desmond... can I tell you something? About... about before, when we were at Abstergo?"
He turned his head toward her, his gaze steady despite the tired lines etched into his face. "Yeah, of course. I'm here, Claire."
She let out a slow exhale, her mind racing back to memories she had buried deep, trying to piece together the words. "I had a younger brother—Callum. He's... he's my whole world. But his father... his father killed our mother." Her voice wavered, and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. "It was to keep her out of the Templars' hands. But they found me anyway, that same day. They took me."
Desmond shifted closer, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently, offering a silent encouragement to keep going. Claire glanced at their hands, the warmth of his touch grounding her, reminding her that she wasn't alone anymore. She took a deep breath and pressed on.
"They took me to the same facility you were at. I didn't even know where I was for a while. They kept me locked up, studying me. I was just... fifteen. I remember being so scared. And then, the experiments started." Her voice grew quieter, tinged with a haunted edge. "From fifteen to twenty-two, they put me in the Animus. They were obsessed with finding every ancestor that had a connection to the Brotherhood. They didn't care what it did to me."
She paused, feeling her pulse quicken as the memories came rushing back, sharp and vivid. Desmond remained silent, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly, as if trying to anchor her in the present. She took comfort in that small pressure, focusing on it as she continued.
"I fought back, at first. Refused to get into the Animus whenever I could. But... they had ways of making me compliant. The resistance would trigger seizures, paralysis. It was always temporary, but the terror..." Her voice broke, and she closed her eyes tightly, willing herself not to crumble. "I thought I'd never walk again more times than I can count."
Desmond's thumb brushed over the back of her hand, a small gesture, but it gave her the strength to go on. "There were guards, too. Some of them were... cruel. They'd taunt me, remind me that I was nothing more than a tool to them. One night... one of them came into my room, and..." Her breath hitched, the words choking her, but she forced them out. "He did things... horrible things. I... I thought I'd die that night."
Desmond's face went pale, his expression hardening with a fierce anger that she had never seen in him before. But he didn't interrupt, letting her tell her story at her own pace.
"It was different when Subject Sixteen showed up. He was... he was my friend. The only one I had there. They let us talk through a window between our cells, and we became... close. He was kind to me when no one else was. He helped me keep my sanity, helped me believe there might be a way out."
She squeezed her eyes shut, the memory of Sixteen's voice echoing in her mind. "But then... he started to change. The things they did to him, the time he spent in the Animus—it broke something inside him. I had to watch him unravel, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the person I'd known. They kept him in the Black Room - you now the space that you go into before they load in the memories. They kept him there isolated and alone. And I... I tried to bring him back. I volunteered to go in, to reach him before he was too far gone."
She opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling as tears burned at the corners of her vision. "But I couldn't do it, Desmond. I couldn't save him. I watched him slip away, and there was nothing I could do."
Desmond shifted, his hand releasing hers only to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Claire allowed herself to lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. She pressed her face into his chest, the tension she'd held onto for so long finally breaking.
"I'm so sorry, Claire," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You didn't deserve any of that. None of it."
She nodded against him, her breath hitching with the effort to keep her tears at bay. But the comfort he offered, the steady strength of his embrace, made it impossible to hold back. She broke down then, letting the sobs come, and Desmond held her through it, his grip never wavering.
Once her sobs had subsided, Claire pulled away to blow her nose and chuckle a little.
"I fucking hate crying. I always end up choking on my own snot because I can't breathe." She explained. Desmond gave her a disgusted look but he chuckled, watching as she cleaned up her face. Coming back to the bed, she settled back against the pillows, the lingering warmth from being in his arms had faded but she didn't want to take advantage of his kindness.
The memories she'd shared with Desmond clung to her, but there was a comfort now, too—his steady presence beside her, his arms still loosely wrapped around her. She hadn't realized how much she needed that, the sense that someone was there to catch her before she fell too far.
As they lay there in the quiet, Desmond's hand moved to brush a stray tear from her cheek, his touch gentle. "You mentioned your brother before, Callum. Is he...?"
Claire nodded, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. "He's alive. And he's safe. Rebecca... she helps me keep tabs on him, lets me know if anything changes. He's been building a life for himself, far away from all of this." Her voice softened, the ache in her chest twisting a little tighter. "I just haven't spoken to him in years. I'm too scared that if I try, I'll end up dragging him back into this mess."
Desmond's expression softened, a look of understanding passing through his eyes. "That must be hard... Knowing he's out there, but keeping your distance."
"It is," she admitted, her fingers idly tracing a crease in the blanket. "I miss him so much, but I can't risk it. I can't put him in danger just because I want to hear his voice again." Her throat tightened, and she blinked against the sudden sting of tears. "He deserves a chance to have a normal life. He deserves more than the nightmare I went through."
Desmond's grip on her shoulder tightened slightly, a wordless gesture of reassurance. "It sounds like you're doing everything you can to protect him. Even if it means being apart."
Claire managed a small, grateful smile, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Yeah... I just hope he knows that. I hope he knows why I stayed away."
Desmond's hand slid down to take hers again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "When this is all over... maybe you'll get a chance to tell him yourself. Maybe you'll finally get to have that normal life, too."
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the hope he offered seemed almost possible. "I doubt it honestly. I am neck deep in this stuff. I think the only way out for me now will be death." she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. The thought was morbid and she could feel Desmond stiffen next to her. She glanced over at him and saw the sad look on his face. She reached up and patted his cheek. "Don't worry, that is something I came to terms with a LONG time ago. I will fight tooth and nail to the end. I will take as many Templars down with me as I can."