Claire lay in bed, her head nestled against Desmond's shoulder, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a steady presence beneath her. The warmth of his arm wrapped around her was grounding, a reminder that despite all the chaos, they had found a small piece of solace together. For the first time in what felt like years, she had managed to sleep without being haunted by nightmares, comforted by the quiet intimacy they had found in each other's company. She traced absent patterns over the fabric of his shirt, her mind still churning with thoughts about everything that had come to light between them.
But the peace was fragile, and the tension from the confrontation with Lucy lingered like a shadow in the back of her mind. She could still feel the cold press of the gun's barrel against her forehead, the way Lucy's eyes had seemed both frantic and resolute. That moment had shaken her, not just because of the immediate danger but because it had opened a wound she thought she'd buried deep—memories of Abstergo and everything she had endured there. She pressed her eyes shut, trying to banish the thought, but it clung to her, stubborn and sharp.
She felt Desmond stir beside her, and she shifted, careful not to disturb him too much as she slipped out of bed. But just as her feet touched the cold floor, a soft knock echoed through the quiet of the warehouse, a sound that immediately set her on edge. Desmond lifted his head, blinking against the dim light filtering through the windows. "You okay?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.
Claire nodded, even though her chest tightened with unease. "Yeah, I'll see who it is." She pulled on a sweatshirt, the fabric a familiar comfort, and padded out of the small sleeping area they shared, her heart beating a little faster as she moved through the shadowed halls of the warehouse.
When she reached the main space, she found Lucy waiting there, her expression strained, a tightness around her eyes that Claire had rarely seen. It gave her pause, but she forced herself to stand tall, her arms crossed over her chest, keeping her distance.
Lucy's gaze flicked to the ground for a moment, and then she raised her hands, palms open in a gesture of surrender. "I... I want to apologize, Claire. For what happened yesterday... and for everything that came before that," she said, her voice wavering slightly. Claire's eyes narrowed, but she didn't interrupt, letting Lucy struggle with the words.
"I never should have pulled a gun on you. It was... unforgivable, and I don't expect you to forgive me for it," Lucy continued, taking a small step forward. Her movements were careful, like she was afraid of shattering whatever fragile truce they might have. "But it's not just about that. It's about Abstergo... and how long you were stuck there because of me."
The admission made Claire flinch, memories clawing at the edges of her mind, but she kept her face impassive, refusing to let the emotions show. "Go on," she said, her voice tight, barely trusting herself to speak.
Lucy took a shaky breath, glancing toward the gun she had placed on the table—far from reach, a deliberate choice. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she met Claire's gaze head-on. "I... I should have gotten you out sooner, Claire. I knew what was happening to you, and I stayed silent. I told myself I was playing the long game, that I was waiting for the right moment. But that's not an excuse. I let you suffer. I let Clay suffer. And I never... I never made it right."
Claire's throat tightened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. The mention of Clay—Subject Sixteen—sent a pang of grief through her. She had watched him unravel, had been a witness to his suffering, and she had always blamed herself for not being able to save him. But now, hearing Lucy's admission, the anger she had buried for so long flared up, hot and searing.
"You left us there," Claire said, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "You knew what they were doing, and you let it happen. And now you think one apology is going to make up for that?"
Lucy flinched at the accusation, the guilt raw in her expression. "No, I don't think that. I don't know if I can ever make up for it. But I'm trying, Claire. I got you out when I could, and I'm trying to make things right now, even if it's too late."
"Why?" Claire's voice cracked, her chest heaving with the weight of everything she had kept bottled up. "Why did you let it go on for so long? Why didn't you do anything sooner?"
Lucy swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she lowered them to her sides. "Because I was scared. Because I was afraid of losing everything—of losing my place with the Assassins, of losing my life. And because I thought... I thought if I played my part, I could keep you safe. But I was wrong. I failed you."
Claire's eyes stung with unshed tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. She wanted to believe Lucy, wanted to find some sense of closure in her words, but the hurt ran too deep. Her thoughts raced, tangled up in memories of isolation, of nights spent alone in that sterile cell, of the times she had begged to be heard, to be helped.
Desmond's presence in the doorway was a quiet reassurance, a reminder that she wasn't facing this alone. He stood just out of view, his arms folded as he watched them with a furrowed brow, but he made no move to intervene. Nearby, Shaun and Rebecca exchanged a glance, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and wariness as they continued their work, but it was clear they were listening intently.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Then Lucy took a step back, her hands falling to her sides as she offered a tired, almost desperate smile. "I know you don't trust me, Claire. And I know I've done things that make it impossible for you to see me as anything but... an enemy. But I don't want to be that anymore. I want to earn back your trust, if that's even possible."
Claire stared at her, her mind spinning with conflicted thoughts. The sincerity in Lucy's voice was undeniable, but the scars of the past were not so easily forgotten. She glanced toward Desmond, meeting his gaze, and saw the quiet encouragement in his eyes. He wanted her to make this choice for herself, to decide what felt right.
Finally, Claire let out a shuddering breath, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. "You say you want to make things right, Lucy. But you've got a lot to prove before I'll believe that. I don't know if I can forgive you, not yet. But... I'll hear you out."
Lucy's shoulders sagged with relief, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you, Claire. That's... more than I deserve. And I promise, I won't waste this chance."
Without another word, Claire turned away, her mind still buzzing with uncertainty. She felt Desmond's hand on her arm, his thumb brushing against her skin in a comforting gesture as he guided her back toward their shared space. She leaned into his touch, letting him anchor her amidst the swirling emotions. As they left Lucy behind, Claire couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice—if the woman she had known at Abstergo was still hiding behind those apologies, or if there was truly something more to her than the scars she had left behind.
As Claire adjusted the strands of the brunette wig in the mirror, she couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort. The dark hair framed her face in unfamiliar ways, a sharp contrast to the blonde she had grown accustomed to. She tugged at the wig's edge, making sure it sat properly, then reached for a pair of sunglasses to complete her disguise. The cap came next, pulling it low over her eyes until she barely recognized herself in the reflection.
Behind her, Desmond's voice broke the silence. "You know, I think it suits you." She glanced over her shoulder to find him leaning against the doorframe, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.
Claire arched a brow, a playful smirk tugging at her own mouth despite the anxiety twisting in her chest. "Really? You like it?" she asked, turning slightly to give him a better view.
He took a step closer, his expression growing more earnest. "Yeah. I do. But... I still prefer the real you underneath." He reached out, brushing a few loose strands of the wig behind her ear. The gesture was gentle, almost intimate, and Claire found herself holding her breath as his fingers lingered near her jawline.
She let out a soft, shaky laugh, trying to downplay the flutter in her chest. "Well, it's not like I have a choice right now. Can't exactly go out looking like myself, can I?"
Desmond's smile turned wistful, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that she couldn't ignore. "I know. Just... be careful out there, okay?" His hand dropped from her face, but not before he leaned in, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to her cheek. The contact sent a rush of warmth through Claire, and she fought to keep her expression steady as he pulled back.
She reached up to touch the spot where his lips had brushed her skin, trying to ignore the way her heart picked up speed. "Yeah... I will," she replied softly, struggling to find her voice. She cleared her throat, turning away from him to gather the rest of her things, feeling like she needed to put some distance between them before her emotions betrayed her.
As she shouldered her bag, she glanced back at him, catching the way his gaze lingered on her with a mix of concern and something else—something deeper that she couldn't quite name. It stirred something inside her, a longing she wasn't sure how to handle. But there wasn't time to unpack it now.
"I'll be back before you know it," she promised, her voice firmer now, though the weight of their unspoken connection hung between them like a fragile thread.
Desmond gave a small nod, the faintest hint of a smile still playing at his lips. "I'll hold you to that."
With one last look, she turned and headed for the door, knowing he was watching her until she disappeared into the hallway. As she made her way to meet Rebecca, the warmth of his kiss lingered on her cheek, a reminder that even amidst the chaos, there was still something worth holding on to.
Claire adjusted the brim of her cap as she stepped outside with Rebecca, the cool morning air biting against her skin. She kept her head slightly down, letting the sunglasses and wig obscure her features, while Rebecca cast a casual glance around the street. The brunette hair felt heavy and foreign against her neck, but she tried to focus on the task ahead instead of the discomfort it brought.
Rebecca walked beside her, keeping an easy pace. She shot Claire a sideways look, the hint of a smile on her lips. "So, Desmond seemed a little... attached when we left. Should I be worried?"
Claire huffed out a laugh, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through her chest at the mention of Desmond. "He's just... being Desmond. Always looking out for me." She reached up to adjust the wig again, feeling self-conscious under Rebecca's knowing gaze. "Besides, you know he worries too much."
"Maybe," Rebecca replied with a teasing lilt. "But it's kind of sweet, don't you think? The way he looks at you like you're the most important thing in the world?"
Claire shot her a skeptical look, but there was no real bite behind it. "You're reading too much into it, Rebecca. We're just... figuring things out. It's not like we've known each other long."
Rebecca tilted her head, considering Claire's words, but there was a gentle understanding in her eyes. "Yeah, but sometimes, you don't need a long time to know when something's right. You just need the right person."
Claire's steps faltered for a moment, her heart squeezing at the implication. She glanced down at the ground, a rush of thoughts and emotions swirling inside her, too tangled to make sense of. It was hard to deny the truth in Rebecca's words, even if the fear of hoping for too much made her want to push them away.
She swallowed hard, forcing a small, wry smile onto her face. "We'll see. Right now, I just want to get through this grocery run without any surprises."
Rebecca grinned, nudging her lightly as they crossed the street. "Fair enough. But you know I'm rooting for you two, right? Even if things are... complicated."
Claire offered a faint, grateful smile in return, the knot in her chest loosening just a little. "Thanks, Rebecca. I appreciate it."
They fell into a companionable silence after that, the noise of the city filling the air around them as they walked. And for a moment, amidst the uncertainty and the fear, Claire allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be a future worth fighting for.
As they stepped back into the dimly lit warehouse, Claire let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. The grocery bags cut into her fingers, a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had plagued her during the walk back. She glanced around, her eyes adjusting to the muted lighting, taking in the familiar clutter of their makeshift home.
Desmond's voice broke through the quiet as he approached, a warm smile tugging at his lips. "Hey, you made it back in one piece." He reached out, his fingers brushing against the brim of her hat before slipping beneath it. In a single smooth motion, he pulled the cap from her head, then gently tugged the brunette wig off, revealing her real hair beneath. The blonde locks tumbled free, falling messily around her shoulders.
Desmond ruffled her hair playfully, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary. "Much better," he murmured, his tone softer now, the warmth of his breath grazing her ear.
Claire managed a small, genuine smile, her heart giving a treacherous little flutter at his easy affection. There was something grounding in the way he touched her, as if he could pull her back from the edge of her spiraling thoughts with just a simple gesture. "Yeah, well... it's nice to be me again, even if it's just for a little while," she replied, her voice wavering between casual and something deeper that she couldn't quite define.
Desmond's gaze lingered on her, a shadow of concern passing over his features. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but Shaun's voice cut through the air, drawing both of their attention.
"Claire," Shaun called from across the room, his brow furrowed as he stepped closer. He shot Desmond a brief, knowing look before focusing on her, his expression softening. "How's your ear? After, you know... yesterday's little incident?" He kept his tone casual, but there was a genuine worry beneath it, the kind he rarely let show.
Claire shifted uncomfortably, her hand unconsciously moving to the side of her head where the lingering ache resided. The ringing had dulled, but the pressure still lingered, like a reminder that wouldn't let her forget. She shrugged, trying to downplay the concern she saw in Shaun's eyes. "It's... manageable. I think I got lucky. Could've been a lot worse."
Desmond's expression tightened, a flash of anger passing through his features before he masked it. He crossed his arms, leaning against the nearby counter as he watched her with a mixture of frustration and tenderness. "Lucky doesn't really cut it, Claire. She could have—"
"I know," Claire interrupted gently, her voice barely more than a whisper. She glanced between him and Shaun, trying to convey with her eyes that she understood their worry, even if she couldn't bring herself to dwell on it. "But I'm still standing. That's what matters."
Shaun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he exchanged a look with Desmond. "Well, you're a tougher one than most, I'll give you that," he said, a hint of admiration sneaking into his tone despite the seriousness of the moment. "But if you need anything, you let us know, yeah? No point in suffering in silence."
Claire nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat at the unexpected warmth in Shaun's words. For a man who often hid behind sarcasm and wit, his concern was a rare thing, and it touched her more than she expected. "Thanks, Shaun," she said softly, offering him a small, grateful smile.
Desmond reached out then, placing a hand on her shoulder, the weight of his touch grounding her once more. "He's right, you know. If it gets worse, you need to tell us. No trying to tough it out alone." His voice was gentle but firm, a plea masked as a request.
She met his gaze, feeling the sincerity behind his words, and for a moment, the walls she had built around herself wavered. She managed a half-hearted smirk, trying to lighten the mood despite the turmoil swirling in her chest. "I'll try not to be too stubborn. No promises, though."
Desmond's lips quirked into a crooked smile, and he squeezed her shoulder before letting his hand fall back to his side. "That's all I ask."
Claire's heart ached with the quiet sincerity of the moment, and she found herself fighting back the urge to lean into his touch, to let herself be vulnerable, even if just for a little while. But she held back, keeping the distance between them, knowing that she wasn't ready to let all of her guard down just yet. Not when there were still so many uncertainties—about Lucy, about their pasts, about whatever lay ahead.
She glanced around the room then, taking in the sight of Rebecca tinkering at her workstation, trying to seem absorbed in her work but clearly listening to their conversation with a concerned frown. Shaun lingered nearby, his expression thoughtful as he watched Claire, a new respect shining in his eyes.
Desmond's hand lingered on Claire's shoulder for a moment longer before he stepped back, his brows knitting together as he studied her face with that searching, almost too-perceptive gaze of his. His concern was palpable, and it made something in her chest tighten, a mixture of gratitude and discomfort. She wasn't used to people caring this much—especially not about her.
He cleared his throat, leaning against the edge of the counter, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that made the muscles of his forearms subtly flex. "You, uh, getting enough sleep?" he asked, his tone casual, but she could see the deeper concern behind his question.
Claire offered him a small, lopsided smile, running a hand through her hair, which was still tousled from where the wig had been. "I'm getting by," she replied, trying for nonchalance but knowing it didn't quite reach her eyes. She could feel the dark circles under them, the lingering exhaustion that clung to her bones like a stubborn shadow. "You know how it is—hard to switch off the brain when there's a million things to worry about."
Desmond's frown deepened, and he pushed off the counter, taking a step closer to her. His hand brushed against her arm, a brief touch, but one that sent a jolt through her—like a tether keeping her from drifting too far. "That's not really an answer, Claire," he said softly, his voice dropping lower, making the words feel more intimate. "You need rest, especially after... after everything that happened with Lucy."
Her jaw tightened at the mention of Lucy's name, a flicker of unease passing through her. The memory of the gun pressed against her skin, of the words they had exchanged, was still raw in her mind. But she pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the concern in Desmond's eyes instead. "I'll be fine," she insisted, her tone firmer than she felt. "It's just... taking a little time to adjust, that's all."
Desmond didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded slowly, his fingers trailing down her arm before dropping to his side. His eyes held hers for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them. "You know," he said, his voice taking on a teasing edge, "I can think of a few ways to help you sleep better."
His words hung in the air between them, thickening the tension, and Claire felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks, the implication in his tone causing a flush of warmth to pool low in her belly. Desmond's smirk was lazy, a half-grin that sent her mind racing. She couldn't help the small, breathless laugh that escaped her, even as she tried to steady her racing heart.
"Oh, really?" she countered, lifting an eyebrow, though her voice wavered slightly. "And just what did you have in mind, Desmond?"
His smirk widened a fraction, and he leaned closer, just enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "I don't think I'll tell you just yet," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "Maybe I'll show you instead."
Her breath caught, the proximity of him, the low rumble of his voice making her pulse quicken. She could almost imagine the heat of his touch, the feel of his hands against her skin, and it was enough to make her mind go blank for a second. Desmond's eyes held hers, dark and intense, as if daring her to take that step, to close the distance between them.
But before either of them could take it any further, the moment shattered.
"Hey, lovebirds!" Shaun's voice cut through the air, loud and sardonic, breaking the spell. They both jerked back slightly, and Claire spun around to see Shaun standing in the doorway, a smug grin on his face. Rebecca was right behind him, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"It's time to get back to work. You know, save the world, defeat the Templars, all that fun stuff. We need you both in the Animus room, stat," Shaun added, making an overly dramatic gesture toward the hallway.
Rebecca rolled her eyes, smacking Shaun lightly on the arm. "Honestly, Shaun, could you be any more of a mood killer?"
Desmond sighed, running a hand through his hair, though there was still a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shot Claire a look, something almost playful in his eyes. "Guess that's our cue."
Claire let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, a mix of frustration and relief flooding through her as the tension slowly ebbed. She shot him a rueful smile, feeling the flush still lingering on her cheeks. "Saved by the bell," she murmured, though a part of her couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if they'd been left alone just a little longer.