Connor tried not to watch as once more he and Richard brought Clara back to the Tower, one of the same memories that had been haunting him since it occurred. In his effort, he missed Clara collapse beside him, but he felt her hand pull from his. He felt a cold flash of horror as she fell to the ground, cradling her head in his hands. Frantic, he knelt beside her.
"Clara, what's wrong?" He tentatively placed his hand against her back, peering into her face.
Her expression morphed into one of agony as she met his eyes. Tears streaked down her face as she spoke, voice breaking. "I don't know." A shudder worked through her, and she curled in on herself, crying out. "It's too much! Stop! Please, Connor! Make it stop!"
Connor broke the connection, opening his eyes to find himself standing across from her underneath the willow tree. She pulled away from him, stumbling backward as tears continued to stream from her eyes.
"Clara?" He reached his hand out to her as she sunk to the ground still cradling her head. "Are you alright?"
She said nothing, not seeming to hear him as her breathing went ragged and her heartrate grew rapid. Connor watched in alarm as thirium began to seep from her right eye, staining the sclera a deep blue. She shook her head disoriented, raising her hand to her face, brushing away the blue blood, then her features twisted in horror and confusion as she stared at her stained fingers.
"What's happening to me?" Her voice slurred as she spoke, then violent tremors started to course through her. She coughed hard, and a trickle of thirium bleeding from the corner of her mouth as well.
Connor surged forward, catching her as she began to seize, and her body stiffened, going rigid and convulsing.
"No no no no no." Connor brushed her hair out of her face, analyzing her. "Clara!" Panic flooded him as he looked her over, not knowing what to do.
He could see the outlines of wires and thirium veins highlighted beneath her skin, running from her prosthetic into her shoulder and up her neck. As he traced the wires up her face, he noticed for the first time that her right eye was artificial. Closer inspection revealed places where some of the veins appeared to have ruptured, allowing thirium to bleed into her body. The nanodroids moved quickly, clustering in those places as they worked on repairs, and gradually, her body relaxed again, though she still moaned occasionally, eyes moving rapidly behind their lids as if in restless sleep.
Connor carefully lifted her into his arms, looking around as he tried to determine the best move. They couldn't stay out here, so it was either get her back underground or risk going to the main house. The house was closer, but there was a chance it was under surveillance by either police forces, Cyberlife, or both, but he'd risk running into who knows how many people trying to get her back underground, and seeing her in this state would only cause a panic.
She squirmed in his arms, crying out, voice pained. The sound pierced into Connor, and he flinched, then looked around again, coming to a decision. The house was closer. He'd just need to stay alert. He took off down the trail, climbing carefully over the low stone wall to walk quickly down the wooded path. Periodically, Clara would thrash again, moaning, and once he nearly dropped her, but he caught her before she fell, holding her close and tight against his chest.
As he walked, he reached out to Eli, letting him know what had happened and where they were going. The man sent back a short reply, informing Connor that he was on his way up through the fireplace entrance.
Connor closed his connection to Eli's phone, and through the break in the trees, he could see Clara's house. He made his way toward it, staying alert to any signs that the house was being watched. Once he was sure it was safe, he walked carefully across the back lawn to the rear house entrance. He tried the door but found it was locked. Briefly, he considered breaking one of the small panes in the door to reach the lock, but before he could, he saw a flicker of motion. Eli approached, then pulled the door open.
His face twisted in concern as he caught sight of Clara. "What happened?" His eyes held a glint of anger.
"Help me get her settled first." Connor pushed past him into the small sitting room in a part of the house he was unfamiliar with.
"Follow me." Eli led him through a hallway toward a set of stairs.
Connor followed closely behind, and they made their way up to Clara's bedroom. Eli opened the door, and Connor noticed the room almost exactly as he'd last seen it. The blankets on the bed were still disheveled, the air heavy and stagnant. Connor moved forward and placed the writhing Clara on the bed, then moved to the window, pulling the curtains open to let the natural light in. He cracked the window slightly to allow a stream of fresh air through, hoping it would displace some of the stagnation.
A creak sounded behind him, and he turned to see Eli standing in the doorway, frowning.
"Are you going to tell me what happened now?" His voice was low and dark.
Connor sighed, looking back at the woman on the bed. "I...interfaced with her."
"What?!" Disbelief flashed across Eli's face. "Is that even possible?"
Connor half shrugged. "I don't know how, but yes." He dropped down into the chair by Clara's bed, watching as she continued tossing and turning, as if caught in the throes of a nightmare. He felt a swell of guilt watching her. This was his fault.
"Okay, and what happened?" The man's voice held a note of frustration.
"I showed her some of my memories, and she just collapsed. She said it was too much, so I broke the connection." The image of her pulling away from him, bleeding blue, flashed across his mind again. "I think her implants couldn't process all the information, so they started breaking down."
Eli's face grew dark and hard. "Damn you androids!" He growled the words, voice low and dangers, and he stalked toward Connor, rage flickering behind his eyes, then he grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up and slamming him against the wall. "Damn you all to hell!"
Connor didn't resist as Eli shoved him again. He stayed silent, weathering the anger.
Eli stared at him, eyes hard, then released him, taking a step back as he shouted. "How could you have been so stupid?! She's human, Connor. Human! She's not one of you. Her mind doesn't work the same way as yours! Of course it was too much!" He ran his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth. Then he let out a frustrated scream, punching the wall. "Damn it! First Simon pulls his little stunt, and now this!"
Connor stepped forward hesitantly, then he watched as Eli leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. After a moment, he turned back to Connor, still angry, but calmer.
"She's delicate, Connor. Human minds break easily. It's a miracle she was even sane after everything she went through." He glanced at Clara, eyes softening. "And now who knows what she'll be like when she wakes up."
Guilt stabbed deep into his chest. "I'm sorry." Connor whispered the words, voice pleading. "I just—I thought we could get her memories back. I thought it would help."
"I think you've done enough helping." Eli glared at him. "Just...stay with her, and don't do any more stupid things. I need to get back to damage control downstairs. Thanks to Simon's help, people are finding out about her memory loss. If I'm lucky, I can get the rumors under control before the council finds out."
Connor felt another cold splash of guilt settle deep inside him as he watched Eli stalk from the room. Clara moaned again, drawing his attention. He moved forward, kneeling by her side as he analyzed her again. To his relief, he saw that the nanodroids had made efficient work of the repairs, and they'd stopped the thirium from seeping too far into her body where it would cause more damage. But still, despite the repaired damage to her implants, she was wracked with tremors and convulsions, sweat breaking out on her pale skin as she continued to squirm, as if in pain. Her scars and the deep bruises beneath her eyes stood out starkly against her clammy face, and several strands of hair had escaped her braid and lay plastered to her skin.
Tentatively, Connor reached out, carefully brushing the strands of hair away and tucking them behind her ear. As he did so, she jerked violently, lashing out and catching him around the wrist with her prosthetic hand. Connor felt a sharp push, like a knife against his mind, and suddenly he was assaulted with a flurry of intense pain and emotion. Every sensor in his body ignited, setting him alight as everything Clara was experiencing crashed over him in an crushing wave. He jerked away, stumbling back as several warnings flashed across his vision alerting him to malfunctioning biocomponents and elevated stress levels.
Connor's thirium pump beat erratically, chest heaving as his body tried to correct itself, leaving him dizzy and unstable before, gradually, his systems came back under control. He looked at Clara, baffled. She'd only touched him for a second, if that, but it had been long enough. It was almost as if she'd probed him. It was that same invasive feel, but rather than getting into his head, it was more like she'd pulled him into hers, and for a moment, he'd experienced everything she was currently experiencing.
As he watched her, he could still feel the memory of the pain, a dull ache in his body, and a tangled mess of emotions that he couldn't even begin to unravel.
Clara cried out, tears beginning to seep again from her eyes. The sound once more pierced Connor, leaving him breathless. He moved toward her again, reaching out with a shaking hand. He knew Eli would tell him not to. The man would be furious if he even suggested it. But...he wanted to try again. He couldn't just watch and do nothing. She was hurting so much right now, and Connor knew what he'd experienced in that brief touch was only a fraction of it. If it was inside her head rather than his, maybe it wouldn't damage her implants. Maybe he could help her bear whatever it was that hurt her, help her weather the storm and come out okay on the other side.
Or maybe it would break him. The memory of pain flared again. That and the overwhelming emotions terrified him. He pulled his hand back, not knowing what to do. It would be a risk either way. If he didn't do anything, she might break under the strain, if he did, she might break him instead.
I think you've done enough helping. Eli's words were fresh in his mind, a warning not to meddle again.
Maybe Eli was right. Connor watched her, memory replaying what had happened after the connection broke in the back of his mind. He could still see the residual streaks of thirium on her face, evidence of the damage he'd done. But what if she couldn't do it alone? The memory of pain flared again. How could she bear it? How could he bear it if he did try?
Moment of truth, Connor. What are you going to do? Hank's voice echoed in Connor's head.
Then a memory of Clara surfaced: when Eli had confronted her about getting injured to protect Simon. So what if I got hurt? I can deal with it if it means that he'll be okay.
Her voice echoed again in his head. I just can't sit back and watch the people I care about get hurt. Not again. Never again.
And neither could Connor. Not anymore. He wouldn't let her face it alone. I will not go gentle.
He stepped forward, kneeling again by Clara as he took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he reached out, gently taking her hand again. As soon as his fingers made contact with hers, she grabbed on hard, and he was pulled in, assaulted by a violent onslaught of pain and emotions. The flood caused his body to seize for a moment, stopping his thirium pump as his chest constricted. A slew of warnings came through alerting him to malfunctioning biocomponents and elevated stress levels, but as he focused, controlling his panic, gradually he got it under control, and he could breathe again.
At first he tried to force it to leave, to shove his way through the storm desperate to find her, but the harder he fought, the more it consumed him until he was locked in place, restrained by hosts of vines that had wrapped around him with pricking thorns, pinning his arms, his legs, creeping up his neck toward his face.
They were protecting her, he realized. At that moment, her mind saw him as a threat and had done its best to prevent him from reaching her.
Don't fight it.
Connor closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay calm as he surrendered himself to the chaos of her mind. Gradually, as he stopped trying to force them away, the vines loosened, creeping back down his body before eventually releasing him completely. He opened his eyes and waded through the swirling fog, taking in the host of information that swirled around him. Sounds, smells, images, and even tastes and physical sensations moved in an incoherent jumble. Connor ignored them, instead focusing on finding Clara through the turbulent storm around him. As he listened, one sound began to rise above the rest: a quiet sobbing.
Connor moved toward the sound, and through the swirling masses around him, he could see the flickering form of a narrow, slatted door. There! He surged toward it, pushed through the thick fog. As if sensing his intent, more fragments of Clara's memories wrapped around him like thorny vines, nearly holding him in place again. He broke through each one, fighting to reach the door as his desperate need to reach her grew. As the door drew closer, he reached out, brushing his fingers against it. The sobbing grew louder, spurring him to fight harder. Connor pulled the door open, then abruptly, the memories released him, and he fell through the narrow doorway, landing heavily on his hands and knees. The door swung shut behind him, locking him in.
Connor breathed heavily, exhausted from the exertion of fighting through Clara's mind, and looked around to see himself inside what appeared to be a small closet. Clothes hung from racks above him, and a plush carpet lay underfoot, littered with more clothing. The only light came from between the slats in the door, and beyond, he could still hear the howling storm outside. He turned away, instead looking around the small room, desperate to locate the source of the crying.
A pile of clothing lay in the corner, stacked high against the wall. As he looked closer, Connor could see a pair of bright eyes peeking out at him from within the folds. A person? Too small to be Clara, but whoever it was clearly needed help.
"It's alright," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He knelt down, reaching a hand out. Gradually, the cries quieted, too soft to be heard over the noise beyond the door. For a moment, he thought whoever it was would never come out. But then, a small form surged out of the pile and crashed against him. He felt thin arms wrap tight around his neck, nearly strangling him. Connor resisted his initial urge to push the child away as he felt a flare of panic, choosing instead to hold her close.
"Shhh." He spoke softly. "You're alright. I've got you."
As he embraced her, she began to calm down, and the storm outside quieted. Soon the small closet grew silent aside from the quiet sobs of the trembling child.
"Papa said he'd find me when it's safe." Her tiny voice trembled as she spoke, muffled slightly as she tucked her head against his chest. "But he didn't come."
Connor carefully shifted to sit on the floor, and the child curled up against him. "I'm sorry," he said, voice still soft. "But you're safe now. I promise."
The child held on a moment longer, then pulled away, scrubbing the tears from her face. As the light hit her, Connor startled, realizing he recognized her. It was Clara, just not the version he knew. This was a very young version of her, likely age three or four by Connor's estimate.
"Who are you?" Little Clara's face twisted in confusion.
Connor felt himself at a loss for words, unsure how to approach this version of her. He wasn't sure what she remembered yet, and he didn't want to risk stirring up the storm again by upsetting her. "I'm...a friend. My name is Connor."
"Oh." Little Clara seemed to accept that answer without too much thought. "Why are you here?"
"I'm looking for someone. A woman." Connor glanced back toward the door, but nothing moved beyond the slats. He turned back to the child. "She looks a little like you, actually."
"There were lots of people outside." Little Clara pointed toward the door. "That's why I hid like my papa said." She shrugged. "Maybe she's out there."
"Maybe." Connor glanced again. He knew he needed to find Clara, but he couldn't do it alone. And as he looked back at this version of her, he knew she'd be able to help. But he'd need to get her out of her hiding place first. "Is there any other way out of here?" he asked.
Little Clara shook her head. "Closets only have one door."
"Oh." He considered the information. "Then we'll just have to go back that way."
Fear flashed across little Clara's face, and she shook her head. "I don't want to go back out there. It's too scary."
"Hey." Connor reached out, taking her tiny hand in his. He gave her a small smile and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's okay. I'm scared too."
She surged forward, wrapping her arms around him again, saying nothing. But as Connor wrapped his arms around her again, he could feel her body still trembling.
He held her a moment longer, making soothing noises as he gently stroked the space between her shoulder blades. "It's alright. I'm here. I'll stay right beside you. Nothing will happen to you while I'm here." As she calmed again, he pulled back, looking into her teary blue eyes. "But we can't stay here. Do you think we can go out there and be brave together?"
She looked toward the door, uncertain. "I don't think I know how."
Connor tugged her hand, causing her to turn back toward him. "Hey, it's okay. This woman I'm looking for, she's the bravest person I know." He smiled again, leaning close. "And I think you're a lot like her."
Little Clara's face broke into a bright grin. "Really?" she whispered.
"Really." Connor gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Now let's try, okay?"
"Okay." Little Clara squared her shoulders, face taking on a look of determination, and in that moment, Connor saw her as the woman he knew she'd become. He felt a tightness in his chest as he watched her.
Shrugging aside the emotions, Connor pulled to his feet, then offered little Clara his hand. She took it, and then Connor pushed the door open, and they stepped out into a white void, empty of the chaos that had dominated before.
He felt little Clara move closer, half hiding behind his leg as they moved forward. Their footsteps echoed in the void, and as he looked around, he noticed swirling white fog rise in a puff with every step before settling back down. Each billow carried a different sensation: a smell, a taste, an image, a voice. And Connor realized they were pieces of memory.
"It's too bright." Little Clara looked around, confused. "It shouldn't be like this." She turned her face up to him as fear flickered behind her eyes. "Connor, this is all wrong." Her breathing grew erratic again as began to panic. "Everything's gone! It shouldn't be like this!"
Connor knelt beside her as she began to breathe quickly, hyperventilating. As he did so, he felt a sharp stab near his ankle. He turned his head to see a white thorny vine begin to creep up his leg. Clouds began to form above them, a dark, menacing storm, and the fog swirled more violently, the different sensations burrowing their way into him.
Little Clara began to cry in earnest, tucking her face into her hands. And as she grew more hysterical, the storm grew harsher. Connor crouched down and pulled little Clara into his arms, tucking her protectively against him to weather the storm. Her sobs grew louder, matching the intensity of the turbulent memories.
Wait! That was it! A thought struck Connor. The memories were responding to little Clara. As she grew upset, they became more violent. And when he'd calmed her in the closet, the storm outside likewise calmed. So if he could just get her to calm down again, then maybe they could figure out where to go.
He pulled her into his lap, ignoring the pain from the vines still creeping up his body as he tucked is head down to speak in her ear. "It's alright, Clara." He kept his tone soft and soothing. "These are your memories. They won't hurt you. We can fix it. I just need you to breathe, alright?"
"I can't do it, Connor." Each of her words was punctuated with a wracking sob. "I can't do it."
"Shhh." He wiped away the tears streaking down her face, hiding a grimace as a thorn dug deep into his leg. "You can, Clara. I know you can. Please, you have to try."
A memory surfaced in his mind, a breathing exercise he'd seen Clara do once, when she was anxious before her presentation. Maybe that could work.
"Here. Look at me." He gently pushed her chin up so their eyes would meet. "It's alright. Just breathe with me, Clara."
She just stared for a moment, unsure, then nodded.
Connor took her hand and placed it against his chest and covering it with his own. "Feel my breathing then do it with me, okay?"
"Okay." Her voice was nearly too soft to be heard over the storm.
Connor closed his eyes, measuring his breathing. 1. 2. 3. 4. He held his breath. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. Then slowly, he released. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.
He opened his eyes, nodding for little Clara to do it with him. She nodded back, then slowly, she breathed in with him. They held together, then released. As they did so, the storm gradually softened, the fog of memories ebbing away, the vines slowly loosening and then dropping off completely. The two continued breathing in that careful, measured way until everything was calm again. Little Clara pulled away from him, mustering a small smile.
"Are you okay now?" He wiped away a stray tear, analyzing her face.
She nodded, sniffling.
"Alright." He stood again and looked around. The storm had fully dissipated, leaving them back in the void.
"You said we can fix it." Little Clara looked up at him, unsure.
"Yes." Connor thought for a moment. There had to be a way.
You know, memories are a funny thing. Humans can't replay their memories in a perfect recall of what they've seen and experienced. Something Clara said a lifetime ago echoed in his head as he watched the low swirling fog. For us, it's more like a room full of puzzle boxes. With every memory, all the pieces are there, but every time we recall something, we need to reassemble it from scratch.
The fog, it was the puzzle pieces. And maybe...
He looked at the little Clara still clinging to him as she looked around, face holding a flicker of unease. Maybe she could use them.
"Clara." He dropped his hand gently on top of her head in a comforting way.
She looked up at him.
He crouched down in front of her, still holding her gaze. "You don't remember it yet, but you once told me memories are like puzzles and that you have to find the pieces and reassemble them." He gestured to the fog around them. "That's what this is. Puzzle pieces."
"I—" She looked around, confusion flashing in her eyes. "I don't know how."
"Hey, it's alright." He grabbed her hand. "I'll help. Brave together, remember?"
She still looked unsure, but then nodded. "Brave together."
"Alright." He thought back, trying to remember what Clara would say. The questioned she'd asked in the lab surfaced, the one's she'd used to gauge emotional states. Those could work. "I need you to close your eyes, Clara."
She nodded, then her eyes flickered shut.
"Now picture a time when you felt happy." He lowered his voice, speaking in a gentle tone. "What did you see? What did you feel? What did you hear? Find the pieces and put them together."
Her little face took on an expression of concentration, brows furrowing as she squeezed her eyes shut. Connor watched as the fog swirled up around them, obscuring everything in harmless billows before coalescing to form a room around them. Shelves of books lined the walls, and a small table lay in the center between a set of couches and chairs. A man sat frozen on the couch, his face blurred out, and another small version of Clara sat in his lap. More fog swirled, forming a chess board on the table.
"My little girl can do anything she sets her mind to." The man's voice echoed around them, and his form moved, pressing a kiss to the little Clara's forehead. "Now, do you want to keep going? I'll show you how to beat the gambit."
"Okay!" The little Clara in the memory giggled, then jumped from her father's lap, moving to the other side of the chess board.
Connor watched as the man walked her through a set of moves, and she stared intently, absorbing the information with a voracious glint in her eye. Then the memory fragmented, fading away back into fog.
Little Clara opened her eyes. "Did I do it?" Her voice was small and tentative.
"Yes." Connor smiled at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "You're doing so well."
Her face broke into a bright grin.
"Do you want to try another one?"
She nodded, seeming more confident now.
"Alright. Close your eyes again." He waited until she did. "Now think of a time you felt sadness."
She opened her eyes, face falling. "Do I have to do that one?"
"I'll be right here. It'll be okay." He held both her hands in his. "You can do anything, remember?"
She sighed. "Okay." Her eyes fluttered shut again, then the fog billowed around them once more.
This time, it formed a familiar place. The Hayes family cemetery. Connor saw a young teenage Clara dressed in black flanked by a tall woman and a young Eli on either side. Clara held a bouquet of deep red roses, face blank as she set them at the foot of a statue, the one depicting her parents. As she stood back up, her face crumpled, and she turned, wrapping her arms around the tall woman as trembling cries wracked her body. Eli turned away, hiding his own tears while the woman held Clara close, and the memory broke apart again.
Little Clara looked at him, eyes holding an immeasurable sorrow. Connor's throat tightened as the emotion flooded him, filling him to the brim, nearly causing his chest to burst. He felt something hot streak down his face, dropping onto the ground and sending out a ripple into the void. He was crying, he realized, responding to the anguish in Clara's soul as she recalled one of the most tragic moments in her life. Without thinking, he pulled the little Clara close, tucking her against his chest. She didn't resist, allowing him to comfort her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. He gently stroked her hair in a soothing way, not sure if it was for his own sake or hers, but gradually the flood of emotion receded.
"I'm ready for the next one." Little Clara pulled away, face brave as she closed her eyes again.
"Alright." Connor held on to her hand, not wanting to let go. "Think of a time when you felt regret."
Immediately, the fog swarmed, more violent this time as it whipped around them, coalescing into a scene. Another young teenage version of Clara stood in a room, face twisted in anger as she shouted silently at a man with a blurred face. He shouted back, matching her anger, and the Clara threw her hands up then stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The scene shifted, showing Clara in an empty classroom talking to a faceless boy. Frustration marred her face as she told him something. Then the fog shifted again as a heat built around them, nearly searing them as a house sprang up behind them, a blazing inferno of billowing smoke and flames.
Connor shielded his eyes, choking on the cloying scorched air. He felt little Clara's grip on his hand grow tighter, and she opened her eyes, watching in horror as the house burned. Another flicker of motion caught Connor's eyes. He turned, to see a team of firefighters, desperately working to put out the flames, but it was a vain effort. The teenage Clara ran to the scene, sprinting toward the house as tears streamed down her face, her mouth open as she shouted soundlessly. One of the men caught her around the arms, keeping her from running into the fire. She struggled against him, fighting to get away as she continued to scream. The roof of the house collapsed, sending a flurry of sparks and smoke into the air, and the teenage Clara collapsed with it, catching herself on her hands and knees as her desperate, disbelieving eyes reflected the flames.
"I don't want to watch this anymore." Little Clara's trembling voice shattered the memory. "I—I don't like this one."
Connor found himself back in the white void, but he could still feel himself choking on the burning air and smoke as he tried to understand what he'd just seen.
"Connor."
He felt a tug on his hand and looked up to see little Clara standing in front of him, eyes soft and teary.
"We need to do another one." She turned, pointing into the void. "See? It's working!"
Connor followed her gaze and realized she was right. Through the gently swirling fog, he could see the ghostly outlines of indistinct shapes. He turned back to little Clara, pushing away the residual emotions from the fire. He needed to focus.
"Alright." He took a deep breath then walked her through another and another and another.
He lost track of how many memories formed around him, each one joining the others to fill the void. Little Clara stayed so strong, so brave, refusing to flinch away from even the most difficult moments as she pieced them together. And the more she remembered, the easier it was for her to create each one, as if each successive memory helped to unlock the rest. Some of them were soft, the emotions washing over Connor in a gentle wave, while others were harsh, violent storms that tore his breath away with a choking grip. He weathered each one, focusing on protecting the little girl at his side. As he did so, he stayed alert, gleaning bits of information about the woman who'd been such an enigma at first, and he was struck by how beautifully, achingly human she was. She hid it so well beneath her layers of confidence and control, but inside, she was just as broken and regretful as he was, just as hurt and confused.
The fog swirled once more, forming into a familiar clearing. Little Clara stood in front of him beneath the willow tree, warmed by the calm sun.
She sighed softly, bowing her head. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were soft and sad. "You should go now." Her voice was quiet and calm. "I can do the rest by myself."
Her words created a tightness in Connor's chest. As he held her tiny hands in his, he realized that he wasn't ready yet. He didn't want to let her go, to let her face everything alone again, not when they'd made it this far together. And she was so small, so sad, so fragile in this state. What if something happened to her? What if she couldn't control the memories? What if—
"Connor." She spoke softly, moving to take his face in her hands. "I'll be okay. I'm not scared anymore."
But I am. He wanted to say the words, but he choked on them, unable to speak.
"Brave together, remember?" Her face broke into a soft grin.
Tears pricked at his eyes as he slowly nodded. "Brave together." The words fell from his lips, barely audible.
"The woman you're looking for, she'll wake up soon. I promise. Wait for her out there." Little Clara pulled away, settling into a dip in the roots beneath the tree before meeting his gaze again.
The look in her eyes took his breath away.
"Thank your for keeping me safe." She mustered one last smile, then Connor felt himself detach as she pushed him gently from her head, and the last image he saw was the little girl beneath the tree, eyes closed as she bowed her head and settled into a calm trance.
When Connor opened his eyes, he was back in Clara's bedroom. A strange, heavy ache settled into his chest as he watched her sleep, her face finally filled with a soft serenity as her body rested. Connor still held onto her hand, not wanting to let go, knowing he'd never let her go again.