Claire hadn't been sure what to expect when she suggested that she and Desmond spar. They had both spent months in the Animus, training under the shadows of their ancestors—warriors with skills honed over lifetimes. But this was the first time they would truly put those skills to the test together, outside of the simulated world. As she made her way down to the warehouse's main floor, she felt a mixture of anticipation and anxiety churning in her chest.
She had chosen her attire with practicality in mind: a fitted black tank top that allowed her full range of motion, paired with worn, loose cargo pants that cinched at the ankles. The outfit, while simple, allowed her to move with ease, the fabric whispering against her skin with each step. She had pulled her hair back into a tight braid to keep it out of her face, but a few loose strands clung to her temples, damp with the nervous energy that coursed through her.
Desmond was already waiting in the center of the room, stretching out in the dim, cool air. He wore a simple gray T-shirt that clung to his shoulders, emphasizing the muscle he'd built since they first met. His sweatpants were similarly practical, hanging low on his hips as he moved through his stretches, the fabric swishing softly. He looked every bit like the man he had become—stronger, more confident—but there was still a certain uncertainty in the way he glanced up at her as she approached, like he was trying to gauge just how this would play out.
She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders as she crossed the space between them, each footstep echoing faintly in the cavernous warehouse. "So, you ready for this, Desmond?" she asked, injecting a note of challenge into her voice. It was easier to lean on teasing than to admit just how much she'd been looking forward to this.
Desmond straightened, giving her a crooked smile that made her pulse skip. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess. Though, I have a feeling you're going to wipe the floor with me."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Claire's lips, and she crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head as she studied him. "Well, I do have a bit of a head start," she replied, the faintest hint of pride creeping into her tone. "Ten-plus years of experience tends to give you an edge."
His eyebrows shot up, and he let out a low whistle. "Okay, so I'm definitely at a disadvantage. But I've picked up a few tricks of my own. Don't go easy on me."
She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, though there was a nervous edge to it. "I don't plan to, Desmond. Just try to keep up."
They squared off, each taking a ready stance, and Claire felt the weight of the moment settle over her. It had been so long since she'd sparred with anyone outside of the Animus—so long since she'd faced a real opponent, flesh and blood instead of simulated memories. But as she met Desmond's gaze, she could see the same flicker of uncertainty there, mixed with determination, and it reassured her that maybe they were on more even ground than she thought.
She moved first, darting in with a swift jab toward his midsection, testing his reflexes. He sidestepped, the motion surprisingly fluid, but she followed up with a quick feint, forcing him to adjust. Desmond was fast—faster than she had expected—but his movements lacked the precision that came with years of training. She could see the way he second-guessed himself, hesitating just long enough for her to slip past his guard and tap the side of his ribs with her fist.
He grunted, stumbling back a step, and she saw a flicker of frustration in his expression. But there was a grin there too, one that made her heart do a strange little flip. "Not bad, but you've got to do better than that," she teased, trying to ignore the heat that flushed through her as she circled him.
Desmond shot her a look that was half-amused, half-challenging. "Oh, don't worry, I'm just getting warmed up."
He lunged forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat, and for a moment, she found herself taken aback by the sudden intensity in his movements. He caught her arm, twisting it behind her in a move that Ezio might have been proud of, but she had spent too many years fighting to let herself be caught that easily. With a twist of her own, she broke free, slipping beneath his arm and reversing the hold, pinning him to her chest for a brief second.
She could feel the heat radiating from his back, the rapid thud of his pulse against her skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them—breathless, tangled together. Claire's heart pounded wildly, her grip tightening instinctively before she let go, pushing him away.
Desmond turned to face her, his breathing heavy, a flush high on his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Okay, I'll admit, that was a little embarrassing."
Claire's smirk softened, and she stepped back, giving him space. But she couldn't quite ignore the way her skin tingled where he had touched her, the way her heart seemed to stutter in her chest. "You're getting better," she said, her voice a little rougher than she intended. "But you've still got a long way to go."
He laughed, the sound rich and warm, but she could see the way his gaze lingered on her, the unspoken thoughts that hung heavy in the air between them. "I'll take that as a compliment."
She tried to steady her breathing, to keep her focus on the sparring, but it was harder than she'd expected. Desmond's presence had a way of making her feel like she was standing too close to a flame—intense and overwhelming, but impossible to pull away from. It was a feeling she hadn't let herself feel in years, and it left her off-balance, uncertain.
When he lunged again, she caught his arm, twisting it to throw him off-balance, but he rolled with the movement, managing to catch her around the waist. For a heartbeat, they froze like that—her hand against his chest, his arm wrapped around her middle, their faces inches apart. She could see the pulse at his throat, could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, and it sent a shiver racing through her.
Desmond's eyes darkened, his grip tightening fractionally, and she wondered if he could hear the way her breath hitched. "You're not making this easy, Claire," he murmured, his voice low and rough.
She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat that coiled low in her belly, the way every nerve seemed to be straining toward him. "Wasn't planning to," she replied, though the words came out softer than she intended.
There was a beat of silence between them, a moment that stretched out longer than it should have, and she found herself wondering what would happen if she just leaned in, just let herself cross the line she had been so careful to keep in place. She could feel the pull of it—like gravity drawing her closer, like the past and present blurring together until she couldn't tell where her emotions ended and Amelia's began.
But then, Desmond released her, stepping back with a shaky breath, his expression caught somewhere between a smile and something deeper, something more vulnerable. "Let's... let's take a break," he said, his voice rough around the edges.
She nodded, her heart still racing as she backed away, giving herself space to breathe. "Yeah... good idea."
As they moved apart, she turned away, trying to steady her hands as she unwrapped the tape around her wrists. She couldn't quite shake the feeling of his arms around her, the way his gaze had seemed to see right through her defenses. It left her feeling raw, exposed, like he could see all the doubts and fears she tried so hard to keep hidden.
Desmond watched her from across the room, his expression shadowed with thoughts she couldn't quite read. But when their eyes met again, she thought she saw a flicker of something that made her heart squeeze—something that looked a little too much like hope.
They took their time catching their breath, but the tension between them lingered, thick and unspoken, weaving through the air like a thread that pulled them closer even when they tried to hold back. Claire knew she should be careful, knew that whatever this was, it wasn't simple. But for now, she was willing to let the moment stretch out, willing to see where it might lead, even if it meant risking everything.
Claire stood in the center of the warehouse, still catching her breath as she exchanged a glance with Desmond. His eyes lingered on her, that unspoken tension crackling in the air between them like a live wire. But before either of them could say another word, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the dimly lit space, dragging them back to reality.
Rebecca and Shaun emerged from one of the adjoining rooms, their expressions curious as they took in the scene. Shaun arched a brow, his mouth already curling into a wry smirk. "Well, well, what do we have here? Did we interrupt a little private training session?" he quipped, adjusting his glasses with a knowing look.
Claire rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Just trying to keep Desmond on his toes," she replied, her voice light, though her mind was still tangled with the lingering heat of the spar. "He could use the practice."
Desmond let out a huff of mock indignation, but before he could retort, a colder voice cut through the air.
"Practice is important, but so is knowing your limits," Lucy said as she entered the room, her tone carrying a thin edge. Her gaze swept over Claire with a faint air of disapproval, lingering for a beat too long on the proximity between her and Desmond. "And not getting in over your head."
Claire felt her spine stiffen, a surge of irritation flashing through her. She met Lucy's gaze head-on, her jaw tightening. It was always like this with Lucy—always this subtle, simmering tension beneath every word, every glance. "Thanks for the concern, Lucy, but I can handle myself just fine," she shot back, forcing her tone to stay even.
Lucy folded her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Maybe so, but you've been through a lot, Claire. Pushing yourself too hard isn't going to help anyone. Especially not Desmond."
The implication in her words, the way she glanced toward Desmond as if he needed protecting from her—it struck a nerve. Claire's hands curled into fists at her sides, the ache in her chest flaring into something sharper. "I think Desmond can decide for himself what he needs," she said, her voice growing colder. "He doesn't need you speaking for him."
Lucy's eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer, her posture rigid. "I'm just looking out for everyone here. We don't need more complications than we already have. Maybe you should think about that before—"
Claire's patience snapped. She took a step forward, her shoulders squaring as she faced Lucy. "Before what, Lucy? Before I become a problem for you? Or before I get in the way of whatever plan you've got in that calculating little head of yours?"
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, the tension between them thickened, the air crackling with the unspoken grievances that had festered between them for so long. Rebecca's eyes widened, glancing nervously between the two women, while Shaun muttered something under his breath, clearly not eager to get involved.
Desmond shifted beside her, reaching out as if to put a hand on her arm, but Claire pulled away, her focus entirely on Lucy. The simmering resentment that she had tried to keep buried for months bubbled up, raw and unfiltered. Lucy might have had her reasons—reasons she kept hidden behind that cool, composed mask—but Claire was done playing along. She was done pretending that she hadn't noticed the way Lucy looked at her, the way she questioned her every move.
"Maybe if you spent less time trying to control everything, you'd actually see what's happening around you," Claire continued, her voice rising. "But you're so damn focused on your own agenda that you can't even see when someone's trying to help."
Lucy's expression hardened, and she took another step forward, the distance between them shrinking to a sliver. "You think I don't know what's happening, Claire? I see everything perfectly clearly. I see the way you're always on edge, the way you refuse to let anyone get close. And I see the way you're clinging to Desmond like he's your last lifeline. But he's got enough to deal with without—"
"Enough!" Claire's voice snapped like a whip, and before she knew what she was doing, she lunged forward, her hands shoving against Lucy's shoulders. The other woman stumbled back, her surprise giving way to anger, and then she lunged in return, her fists coming up in a defensive stance.
The first punch came fast, a sharp jab aimed at Claire's ribs, but she deflected it with a twist of her arm, her training snapping into place with a deadly precision. She countered with a quick, fierce hook toward Lucy's jaw, her frustration pouring into every movement. Lucy blocked, the force of the impact sending a jolt through her arm, but Claire pressed forward, the red-hot anger in her chest driving her beyond restraint.
Their bodies clashed and twisted, each strike and counterstrike carrying the weight of everything they hadn't said. Claire barely registered Rebecca's startled gasp, or Shaun's half-hearted attempt to intervene. All she could see was the fierce determination in Lucy's eyes, the way she refused to back down, the way she seemed to embody every obstacle, every frustration that had ever stood in Claire's path.
Lucy's foot swept out, aiming to unbalance her, but Claire dodged, pivoting to the side and landing a blow to Lucy's shoulder that sent her stumbling back. But Lucy recovered quickly, her expression tight with concentration, and she came back at Claire with a speed that took her by surprise, driving a fist into Claire's side.
Pain flared, bright and sharp, but Claire welcomed it, used it to fuel the next strike. She surged forward, slamming into Lucy with enough force to send them both crashing to the ground. They grappled there, each trying to gain the upper hand, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
But the longer the fight dragged on, the more Claire realized that it wasn't just about the anger anymore. It was about everything she had been carrying inside—every fear, every doubt, every moment she had spent wondering if she had a place in this fractured, uncertain world. And as she locked eyes with Lucy, she saw something reflected back—something that looked an awful lot like her own struggles, her own desperation to hold on to whatever control she could find.
In that instant of clarity, the fight shifted. Claire's grip on Lucy's collar loosened, the raw edge of her anger beginning to fray, but before she could fully register the change, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, dragging her back. Desmond's voice cut through the haze of her fury, rough and urgent. "Claire, stop! That's enough!"
Claire struggled for a moment, still caught up in the heat of the fight, but the sound of Desmond's voice—his hands steadying her, anchoring her—pulled her back from the edge. She sucked in a sharp breath, her body trembling with the effort of reining in the wild energy that had overtaken her.
She looked up, meeting Desmond's gaze, and the concern she saw there cut through the last of her anger like a knife. His grip on her arms was firm but gentle, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that left her feeling exposed, vulnerable. And beneath the concern, there was something else—something that spoke of a quiet understanding, a recognition of the battle she was fighting inside.
Lucy pushed herself up from the ground, breathing hard, her face flushed with anger and bruised pride. For a moment, the three of them stood there, the tension crackling in the air, and then Lucy turned away sharply, brushing off Rebecca's attempts to check on her. "I'm fine," she muttered, her voice tight. "Just... give me some space."
She stalked off toward the back of the warehouse, her shoulders rigid, and Claire watched her go, a sour taste settling in her mouth. The adrenaline from the fight still buzzed in her veins, but now it was tempered with a deep sense of regret, the realization of just how far she had let herself go.
As Claire stood there, breathing hard in the aftermath of the fight, the tension in the air only seemed to thicken. Desmond's hands remained on her shoulders, his touch steadying her, but she could still feel the wild energy thrumming through her veins, her heart racing with the heat of anger and frustration. Her mind was a chaotic swirl of emotions, but before she could speak, Lucy's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Get away from her, Desmond."
Claire's eyes snapped up, narrowing at the sight of Lucy, who had pulled a gun from her jacket. The muzzle gleamed in the dim light of the warehouse, and it was aimed directly at Claire's head.
Desmond froze, his grip tightening on Claire's arms as if he could shield her from the threat. "Lucy, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice edged with panic. Behind them, Rebecca and Shaun went still, their expressions transforming from confusion to outright shock as they registered the danger in Lucy's stance.
Lucy's hand was steady, her eyes cold as they locked onto Claire's. "This has been a long time coming," she said, her voice icy, laced with a bitterness that Claire recognized all too well. "You think you can just waltz in here and act like you belong, like you're one of us? After everything?"
Desmond started to move in front of Claire, but she held him back with a single, tense gesture, her own expression hardening. A strange calm settled over her, a cold clarity that pushed the lingering tremor of fear aside. Without taking her eyes off Lucy, she stepped forward, closer to the gun. Desmond's hand slipped away, but she barely noticed, her focus solely on the woman in front of her.
"Claire, don't—" Desmond's warning fell on deaf ears as she took another step closer to Lucy, closing the distance until the barrel of the gun pressed against her forehead. The metal was cold, biting into her skin, but she welcomed the chill. Her gaze bored into Lucy's, unflinching, and her voice dropped to a low, mocking whisper that only Lucy could hear.
"I dare you," she said, her lips curling into a mirthless smile. "Go on, put me out of my misery. I know you've always hated me, Lucy. Hated that I was the favorite back at Abstergo. Is that why you're so desperate to see me gone? Or is it because you're still working for them?"
For a heartbeat, Lucy's expression flickered, something dark and twisted passing through her eyes, but her grip on the gun remained steady. Her face twisted with something close to fury as she hissed back, her voice venomous, "You don't know what you're talking about."
But Claire just leaned into the pressure of the gun against her skin, her voice dropping even lower, a taunting whisper. "Oh, but I do. I see you, Lucy. I know what you are. You think I don't know about the whispers, the secrets you keep? Who do you think you're fooling?"
The tension stretched taut between them, the silence stretching until it felt like the whole world held its breath. For a moment, Claire thought Lucy might actually pull the trigger. And then—
BANG!
The shot rang out, impossibly loud in the enclosed space, and the world seemed to shatter around them. Claire felt the air sear past her head, her ears ringing with the force of it. The bullet struck the wall behind her, sending a spray of debris into the air. The deafening sound left her momentarily disoriented, her hearing replaced with a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else.
Desmond lunged forward, catching her before she could stumble back, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus through the haze in her vision, the world swaying dangerously. Rebecca and Shaun's voices broke through the muffled ringing in her ears, but she couldn't make out the words—only the shock and panic in their faces.
Lucy stood there, her chest heaving, the gun still clutched in her hand. But as she met Desmond's stunned, accusing gaze, something seemed to crumble in her expression. Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and stalked out of the warehouse, the sound of her footsteps echoing in Claire's damaged ears like distant thunder.
For a moment, all Claire could do was cling to Desmond's arm, her head spinning with the aftermath of the confrontation. He was saying something, his lips moving urgently, but she could only catch fragments through the ringing in her ears. "...okay? Claire, can you hear me?"
She blinked, trying to focus on his face, on the worry etched in his features. Slowly, the high-pitched whine began to fade, replaced by the steady thud of her own heartbeat. She let out a shaky breath, nodding once, though her head still swam.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice coming out rough, raw from the tension. She tried to pull herself together, forcing the panic down as she met Desmond's worried gaze. "I'm fine, just... my hearing's a little shot, that's all."
Claire sat on the cold concrete floor of the warehouse, leaning heavily against the rough wall. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her knees, the ringing in her ears from the gunshot still loud and jarring. Desmond knelt in front of her, his expression torn between worry and frustration, his hands hovering near her shoulders as if he wanted to help but didn't quite know how.
"Claire... what the hell was that?" His voice was rough, tinged with disbelief, and the familiar lightheartedness that usually colored his tone was nowhere to be found. Behind him, Rebecca and Shaun stood in stunned silence, their faces painted with the same mixture of confusion and shock that twisted inside Claire's chest.
Rebecca, always so composed, looked like she had just witnessed a car crash, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to hold herself together. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. Shaun, who usually had some sarcastic remark for any situation, was at a loss. His expression was uncharacteristically serious, his brows knitted as he kept adjusting his glasses, his gaze darting to the warehouse door where Lucy had vanished.
Claire drew in a shaky breath, trying to anchor herself, but her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. The ache in her chest pulsed with each heartbeat, a painful reminder of the years spent in that Abstergo facility, of the faces she had lost along the way. She wanted to keep the past buried, but now, with everything that had just unfolded, it clawed its way back to the surface. And the questions in Desmond's eyes demanded answers she wasn't sure she could give.
"I... I don't know, Desmond," she began, her voice barely more than a whisper. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could block out the memories threatening to overwhelm her. "Lucy and I... we go back. She was there at Abstergo before you were brought in. It's... complicated."
Rebecca took a cautious step forward, her voice gentler than usual. "Complicated how, Claire? Why would she pull a gun on you?"
Claire let out a bitter, hollow laugh, the sound catching in her throat. She scrubbed her hands over her face, trying to dispel the exhaustion that clung to her like a shadow. "We didn't exactly get along back then, Rebecca. She was the one everyone trusted, the golden child of Abstergo. But she helped me escape. She got me out of there, a year after..." Her voice faltered, and she clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to mention Clay's name, not to let that wound reopen.
Desmond's hands settled on hers, his touch warm against her cold skin, grounding her. "Claire, are you saying she might still be working for them?" There was a rough edge to his voice, a hint of betrayal that cut through the air, and Claire's chest tightened further.
She shook her head, the motion small and jerky, her hair falling into her face. "I don't know. She got me out before you even came into the picture. But I keep wondering... why? Was it because she was trying to break away from them, or was it part of something else? And now, seeing her like that, seeing how she looked at me..." She broke off, pressing her hands against her temples as the doubts swirled inside her.
Shaun's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and he crossed his arms, a frown pulling at his lips. "So, what, you think she's playing both sides? Leading us along while keeping a foot in Abstergo's door?" His skepticism was thick, but there was fear beneath it—fear that mirrored her own.
Claire let out a shuddering breath, running her fingers through her hair, her nails grazing against her scalp. "I don't know what I think, Shaun. It's hard to see someone who used to be your ally turn a gun on you. She's kept secrets before, and I never knew what side she was truly on. But now... now I can't stop wondering."
Desmond's grip on her hands tightened, the warmth of his touch a small comfort amidst the cold knot of uncertainty inside her. "We'll figure it out, Claire," he said, his voice rough but sincere, the determination in his eyes cutting through some of the darkness in her mind.
Rebecca crouched beside them, her expression softening as she reached out to rest a hand on Claire's arm. "Whatever happens with Lucy, we'll deal with it together," she said gently, offering a small, tentative smile. "But you need to rest, Claire. That shot was too damn close."
Claire managed a nod, though the doubts still gnawed at her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Yeah... okay." She tried to take a deep breath, tried to steady herself as Desmond's presence remained close beside her, his touch a grounding anchor in the storm of her thoughts. But even as she tried to focus on the here and now, the echoes of the past refused to be silenced, and she knew that whatever lay ahead, it wouldn't be simple. Not for any of them.