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“I’m sorry I can’t stay.” Her voice wavers— remorseful but clear— as she clutches the front of his shirt.
Resting his hands on her shoulders, Hershel draws her against him.
The two of them embrace; reunited after a long decade for him but mere days for her. Despite that infinite passage of time, they still fit together perfectly. Like lost puzzle pieces, reassembled.
She shifts first, looking up into his eyes and lifting a hand to his cheek.
Then she kisses his lips and he closes his eyes, even though he knows she might vanish in the next second—
Claire lets go. Hershel’s eyes fly open and he holds on to her.
“No,” he gasps— all composure crumbling at the fear of losing her again. “Please, Claire! Please, wait…!”
There must be a solution to her molecular instability. There must be something they can do!
Dimitri’s machine might have failed— time travel is out of the question— but there may be other alternatives.
Like a garden of healing, or a device that revives the dead, or another Azran relic.
If Claire can just endure another day— hours, even— they could find a way to save her.
Perhaps they could seal her in ice. Perhaps they could preserve her memories. Perhaps they could build her a temporary body…
They could contact Bruno, or Descole, or Bronev, or…
Hershel realises, as Claire peers at him with shock, how much of a hypocrite he is.
He realises he has become the very disguise Dimitri fabricated— his obsessive, ruthless ‘Future Self’ (so much like his brother and his birth father)…
He realises that Luke and Flora are watching with wide eyes, but he can’t set a better example for them right now. Not now, when Claire is about to be torn away from him once more. Forever.
But Claire Foley isn’t like Melina Whistler, or Rachel Bronev, or Lady Viola. Claire is still here, alive, in his arms.
He can feel her pounding heart as he pulls her against him again.
“Hershel—“ Claire’s breath hitches.
(She must be wondering what has possessed him— what has become of him in the past ten years?)
He wraps his arms around her as if he can shield her from time itself. “You can’t go…!”
Why shouldn’t Claire be offered the chance to survive? Why must she be thrown back to the moment of the blast— alone and terrified? Why is she so willing to accept this fate— this unjust punishment— while the likes of Bill Hawks gets to walk away freely?
Why must Hershel stand back and let that happen? How can he let that happen, to the one he loves? He refuses to let that happen again!
“I don’t want to say goodbye again!”
(His birth family. His school friends. Claire. Emmy. Aurora. His brother. Soon, the Tritons.
Claire, again.
Again. And again. And again.)
Resigned, Claire nestles her head into his chest. “We had so many… plans…”
He feels her tears on his shirtfront… and then, he feels warmth.
Her body begins to glow— it’s almost blinding beneath him.
Still, he hangs on to her.
“We didn’t get to s-spend our lives together,” Claire splutters. “It’s not fair… but I’m glad you still lived, Hershel.” She smiles up at him through her tears. “I know it’s been hard— but you’re still here, aren’t you?”
Hershel barely manages a nod. “I tried—“
“And you’ll keep trying,” she assures him. “You’ll stay strong. After all—“
“—That’s what a gentleman does,” he whispers, at the same time as her.
Finally, she returns his hug, clinging to him as every fibre of her is ripped away. Her light shines brighter. “Goodbye, Hershel,” she breathes, “I—“
Her body fades out of his arms. There’s a gasp from Luke.
Frantically, futilely, Hershel reaches for her. “ Claire…!”
She’s gone.
(Claire hadn’t wanted them to see her disappear. Even in her final moments, she was thinking of others.)
Hershel’s hands drop to his sides. His jaw clenches, but a strangled sob still escapes him.
He bows his head as tears trail down face.
Despite his promise, despite the scene he’s causing in public, he can’t bring himself to stop.
He looks up to the sky as white flakes fall around him. Snow, perhaps… or ash from the fires.
For once, Hershel can’t spare a thought for anyone else. All he can see is Claire, caught in the explosion.
He removes his top hat, holding on to it. If only he could have done the same for her…
After a few moments, he registers the sound of footsteps in the alleyway.
Then, he feels two pairs of arms enveloping him. Luke on one side and Flora on the other. His young companions— far too young to be comforting him…
Of course, they’re still here. Still with him.
Maybe it is snow, after all. He hadn’t realised how cold he is…
He needs to stay strong for them (for Claire), but Hershel leans into them both.
He lets them lead him home.
I’m glad you still lived, Hershel.
He’ll keep living, just as she hoped he would. And he’ll keep trying, no matter how lost he feels right now.