Claymore - Oneshot - The Second Always Follows
Title: The Second Always Follows
Fandom: Claymore
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama, Angst, General
Wordcount: 2255
Character/Pairing(s): Hints of Clare/Raki, Clare+Raki, Clare+Teresa
Author's Note: This was written for Lenainverse's birthday request of 'something Claymore, maybe focused on how Clare's relationship with Raki parallels/is affected by her relationship with Teresa.' I hope she likes it ^_^
Kindly beta'd by empath_eia
The Second Always Follows
She was used to walking. Her foot naturally slid forward, positioned without care on the shifting sand beneath it. The second always followed, equally unconcerned as long as it fell on stable ground and brought her yet another step along her chosen path. It was a skill she had perfected, this mindless ability to move and keep on moving beyond all reason and endurance.
It had brought her good fortune, once.
Now, Clare found herself hesitating as she planned each step through the rocky desert terrain. She calculated, choosing the easiest path, the least hazardous course. She left signs of her passing; her foot sank into the dirt, and the toe of her boot dug up the sand as she lifted it.
Had Teresa done this for her when Clare first embarked on her journey? Had Teresa taken care to mark her path? She wasn’t sure anymore, having analyzed it often. Teresa had not chosen the easiest path, but she had walked slower, walked instead of sprinting ahead as she should have to outdistance the girl who dared to follow. She could have easily left Clare behind.
She was grateful for whatever conscious or unconscious choice Teresa had made. For their brief moments together, Clare had treasured them, welcomed them, and still remembered them in vivid detail. It had been the tainted bright spot in her dreams as she fought the pain and instinct of her transformation. It had been her drive and motivation, although she lacked those traits when it mattered most.
Teresa had died, and Clare remained among the living.
Was it the memory of that time which prevented her from picking up her pace? Kept her from looking forward rather then back at the past, at the boy who seemed determined to keep on walking as she had once done?
Bending her back against the rising wind, Clare found herself worrying, a tiny ripple in the still waters of her mind. She was unused to thinking of others. She had spent hours single-mindedly honing her skill to detect and read the flow of energy around her, pouring off her enemies. She had fostered the knowledge to read those currents beyond simple sensing, and gave up much to bring that talent to fruition. It had been Teresa’s most valued skill, and it was often the only thing that saved Clare’s life when she was confronted by Yoma; she was incapable of killing with brute strength and agility.
Clare was not as graceful as Teresa and she had wept, often without tears, at the poor copy she made of Teresa’s flesh. Clare lived for revenge, nothing more. But now, there was a boy out there, silently pleading for her to stop and notice him.
She would never know for certain when the decision to turn back had been made, physically or mentally. She had known the moment he fell and was half buried beneath the bruising winds and coarse sand. She knew the moment he lost consciousness right after crying out for help. She could pinpoint the moment she connected this boy lying face first in the dunes with her past self, lying at the bottom of a cliff. But the moment she decided he was worth saving was lost just as surely as she had been lost in her memories. Clare instinctively turned around and walked back the way she had come. She could not leave him to die.
Clare carried him, putting one step in front of the other as her thoughts traveled down the path of recollection. She knew she would end up leaving him some day. It was inevitable. She knew what despair would await him at the end of his journey if he stayed with her regardless of that certainty.
So why did she find it so difficult to let go of his warm body? Why did she cradle him in her arms, using her yoma half to sustain the weight until she reached her destination? She tried to avoid those thoughts as she walked through the storm, sheltering his fragile body.
When she arrived at the city, she went straight to the nearest inn, negotiating the streets easily despite the sand obstructing her vision. Raki was beginning to suffer from the wind despite her best efforts to shield him with her body. Propping him up against the wall, Clare pounded on the door. When it opened several minutes later, the man on the other side gawked at her. Uncaring of the stare, she shouldered her way inside. “A room for the boy,” she calmly said as though it was the most normal thing in the world to have a Claymore and a human seeking asylum. It was not so unfamiliar to her although it had been years since she had last witnessed a similar scene, and never from the viewpoint she now held.
“Uh, of course,” he said, gesturing for her to follow.
Laying her cargo on the bed, Clare let her hand linger on his warmth for only a second before turning her attention fully on the innkeeper. Digging underneath her cloak, she unearthed a rarely used money pouch and poured out a small number of silver sticks, enough for a week’s worth of lodging and food. “He’s with me so he’s not a Yoma. Please take care of him until he recovers.”
She held his eyes while he weighed the money in his hand, calculating the length of the boy’s stay. A week of steady income was not such a bad thing. Pocketing the sticks, he nodded. “Of course. I can’t refuse a Claymore after all. Just tell me we don’t have a problem here in this town.”
Clare blinked and a ghost of a smile stretched across her lips. “Don’t worry. I’m just passing through and happened to find a boy collapsed on the road.”
Turning, she left the inn, content with the verbal promise. It was all she could do to walk away and keep her silver eyes from shedding a tear while Teresa wept within her.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Clare could feel the energy coursing through her: seductive and tempting, drugging her senses with a beckoning promise. It was spiraling through her body, seeping into every crevice of sinew and bone, working its way up her spine. She could feel power rising within her, constricting each muscle in painful counterpoint to the wounds covering her body.
She was lucky to be alive, and her instinct was delighting in the freedom such pain granted. It was seductive, the whispers it hissed in her ears and the visions it showed. All she had to do was leave everything behind, cross over the bridge leading from humanity to basic instinct. She longed for it, but something kept holding her back. A child clung to her. It was a boy who refused to let her cross the divide or die before she could step into the unknown.
Why was he clinging to her? Why was he insisting life without her would be empty? Did he know emptiness? Did he know the feeling of true despair?
She shook off the tangled weave of her thoughts as she fought against the rising urge to sprint into the beckoning wilderness. She had known despair, once. She had known the desolation of living without hope and bereft of voice because no one would understand or cared to try. She had known what it was to lose everything in a single moment and somehow managed to live. And then Teresa had walked past her, and she had known that, at last, there was someone who could understand.
But Teresa had been taken away from her, leaving nothing but blood to stain Clare’s hands.
Clare felt a tear seep down her face as Raki clung to her, screaming words she had been too weak to say once upon a long time ago. Why did he insist on dying with her rather than living without her? He was young and full of vitality. He could make it in this world if she wasn’t holding him back. Couldn’t he?
He was stronger then she had ever been.
Gripping the hilt of her sword tightly, she gritted her teeth and held onto the memory of those last moments. There was purpose. There was sorrow and guilt to rival the deepest wound. Her voice had been stolen from her with a single swipe of Priscilla’s claws. She had yet to find that voice again. She couldn’t leave Raki alone with the knowledge that she had given up. Fighting against her instincts, she cried soundlessly as a flash of light consumed her body.
She wasn’t ready to die yet. She had something to live for, a new voice to find. She wasn’t just Clare. She was Teresa’s flesh and blood, and somehow, she had become this boy’s world as Teresa once had been and continued to be hers.
Pain ripped through her body a second time as silver light flowed down her skin, smothering the yoki within. As her breath slowed, she could almost hear Teresa’s silent laughter and the gentle touch of her hand on her head.
For a moment, Clare felt peace.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Faster. She needed to become faster, stronger. She couldn’t let that monster take him. She had not felt the need to protect since she took on Teresa’s flesh. She had only known the desire to hone her skills, to take revenge when the opportunity presented itself. There was no one but Teresa and the thing that killed her in her head when she cared to remember, when she dared to dream.
But now there was him, a boy so like herself it made her heart ache with memories and wishes and a thousand nameless desires. She would not let Raki die for her. She would not let him do another foolish thing. He did not have the skill to face Ophelia alone. She couldn’t ask him to do that when she herself was too weak to save him.
She nearly sobbed when she felt the battle behind her end, the awakened one fading into a hundred pieces of scattered flesh and tattered dregs of fading energy. She had not traveled far enough. Alighting on the ground, she gently pried Raki’s face from her bosom, denying herself the need to hold him in her arms a few minutes longer. She did not have minutes to spare.
“Raki,” she said, her voice breaking the helpless terror that had engulfed him the minute she had picked him up and started running. “We have to split up, Raki.”
Raki gazed at her incredulously; she had to stifle the broken smile that threatened to break her resolve and concentration. She needed to stay focused on Ophelia’s energy. She needed to make sure he understood that this was the only way she could possibly save them both.
“From here, I’ll head northeast. You will head northwest.”
She was prepared for his protests, but she had never expected him to vehemently deny his right to life. The last barriers melted as she finally understood his drive. He didn’t want life without her. He would rather die then see her die. There was nothing else within him than a need to be with her always.
He reminded her too much of her past self. She had once held onto Teresa and cried her tears of protest. Clare had once allowed Teresa to walk away from her, and it had brought ruin on them both. She had once thought she would gladly dare anything to help Teresa, and she had failed to cry the simplest warning. She would not let Raki have the chance to doubt his resolve. He had already proven everything in her eyes. He was stronger then her. He would be able to live without her, for a little while. She could only rise to meet his challenge.
Swooping down, she captured his lips in her own, stifling his vehement declarations. She could taste the dried blood on his lip from the wounds Ophelia had given him, and his shock as she licked his lip. It was all she could give him, for now.
Breaking the contact, she looked at this boy who had stolen into her life with all the optimism of youth. “I promise you, I won’t die,” Clare said, cupping his cheek in her right hand. “I swear I’ll come looking for you. So, stay alive!”
Clare watched, unblinking, as Raki struggled with the desire to stay and the need to trust. She held back the dread she felt building in her throat as he at last turned away from her to run to the northwest. She wasted precious minutes in prayer as he weaved between the forest trees. It was the first time she had prayed and she desperately hoped she would never have to do so again.
Tearing her eyes away from his back, she took off to the northeast. She had only moments to go before Ophelia caught up with her. She had to be ready, because this was not going to be her day to die. She couldn’t die because if she did, then Teresa would have died for nothing and Raki would live an empty life, completely alone.
She had a promise to keep, to him and to Teresa. Clare had a promise to keep, to herself.
Back to Fic Archive
Fandom: Claymore
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama, Angst, General
Wordcount: 2255
Character/Pairing(s): Hints of Clare/Raki, Clare+Raki, Clare+Teresa
Author's Note: This was written for Lenainverse's birthday request of 'something Claymore, maybe focused on how Clare's relationship with Raki parallels/is affected by her relationship with Teresa.' I hope she likes it ^_^
Kindly beta'd by empath_eia
The Second Always Follows
She was used to walking. Her foot naturally slid forward, positioned without care on the shifting sand beneath it. The second always followed, equally unconcerned as long as it fell on stable ground and brought her yet another step along her chosen path. It was a skill she had perfected, this mindless ability to move and keep on moving beyond all reason and endurance.
It had brought her good fortune, once.
Now, Clare found herself hesitating as she planned each step through the rocky desert terrain. She calculated, choosing the easiest path, the least hazardous course. She left signs of her passing; her foot sank into the dirt, and the toe of her boot dug up the sand as she lifted it.
Had Teresa done this for her when Clare first embarked on her journey? Had Teresa taken care to mark her path? She wasn’t sure anymore, having analyzed it often. Teresa had not chosen the easiest path, but she had walked slower, walked instead of sprinting ahead as she should have to outdistance the girl who dared to follow. She could have easily left Clare behind.
She was grateful for whatever conscious or unconscious choice Teresa had made. For their brief moments together, Clare had treasured them, welcomed them, and still remembered them in vivid detail. It had been the tainted bright spot in her dreams as she fought the pain and instinct of her transformation. It had been her drive and motivation, although she lacked those traits when it mattered most.
Teresa had died, and Clare remained among the living.
Was it the memory of that time which prevented her from picking up her pace? Kept her from looking forward rather then back at the past, at the boy who seemed determined to keep on walking as she had once done?
Bending her back against the rising wind, Clare found herself worrying, a tiny ripple in the still waters of her mind. She was unused to thinking of others. She had spent hours single-mindedly honing her skill to detect and read the flow of energy around her, pouring off her enemies. She had fostered the knowledge to read those currents beyond simple sensing, and gave up much to bring that talent to fruition. It had been Teresa’s most valued skill, and it was often the only thing that saved Clare’s life when she was confronted by Yoma; she was incapable of killing with brute strength and agility.
Clare was not as graceful as Teresa and she had wept, often without tears, at the poor copy she made of Teresa’s flesh. Clare lived for revenge, nothing more. But now, there was a boy out there, silently pleading for her to stop and notice him.
She would never know for certain when the decision to turn back had been made, physically or mentally. She had known the moment he fell and was half buried beneath the bruising winds and coarse sand. She knew the moment he lost consciousness right after crying out for help. She could pinpoint the moment she connected this boy lying face first in the dunes with her past self, lying at the bottom of a cliff. But the moment she decided he was worth saving was lost just as surely as she had been lost in her memories. Clare instinctively turned around and walked back the way she had come. She could not leave him to die.
Clare carried him, putting one step in front of the other as her thoughts traveled down the path of recollection. She knew she would end up leaving him some day. It was inevitable. She knew what despair would await him at the end of his journey if he stayed with her regardless of that certainty.
So why did she find it so difficult to let go of his warm body? Why did she cradle him in her arms, using her yoma half to sustain the weight until she reached her destination? She tried to avoid those thoughts as she walked through the storm, sheltering his fragile body.
When she arrived at the city, she went straight to the nearest inn, negotiating the streets easily despite the sand obstructing her vision. Raki was beginning to suffer from the wind despite her best efforts to shield him with her body. Propping him up against the wall, Clare pounded on the door. When it opened several minutes later, the man on the other side gawked at her. Uncaring of the stare, she shouldered her way inside. “A room for the boy,” she calmly said as though it was the most normal thing in the world to have a Claymore and a human seeking asylum. It was not so unfamiliar to her although it had been years since she had last witnessed a similar scene, and never from the viewpoint she now held.
“Uh, of course,” he said, gesturing for her to follow.
Laying her cargo on the bed, Clare let her hand linger on his warmth for only a second before turning her attention fully on the innkeeper. Digging underneath her cloak, she unearthed a rarely used money pouch and poured out a small number of silver sticks, enough for a week’s worth of lodging and food. “He’s with me so he’s not a Yoma. Please take care of him until he recovers.”
She held his eyes while he weighed the money in his hand, calculating the length of the boy’s stay. A week of steady income was not such a bad thing. Pocketing the sticks, he nodded. “Of course. I can’t refuse a Claymore after all. Just tell me we don’t have a problem here in this town.”
Clare blinked and a ghost of a smile stretched across her lips. “Don’t worry. I’m just passing through and happened to find a boy collapsed on the road.”
Turning, she left the inn, content with the verbal promise. It was all she could do to walk away and keep her silver eyes from shedding a tear while Teresa wept within her.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Clare could feel the energy coursing through her: seductive and tempting, drugging her senses with a beckoning promise. It was spiraling through her body, seeping into every crevice of sinew and bone, working its way up her spine. She could feel power rising within her, constricting each muscle in painful counterpoint to the wounds covering her body.
She was lucky to be alive, and her instinct was delighting in the freedom such pain granted. It was seductive, the whispers it hissed in her ears and the visions it showed. All she had to do was leave everything behind, cross over the bridge leading from humanity to basic instinct. She longed for it, but something kept holding her back. A child clung to her. It was a boy who refused to let her cross the divide or die before she could step into the unknown.
Why was he clinging to her? Why was he insisting life without her would be empty? Did he know emptiness? Did he know the feeling of true despair?
She shook off the tangled weave of her thoughts as she fought against the rising urge to sprint into the beckoning wilderness. She had known despair, once. She had known the desolation of living without hope and bereft of voice because no one would understand or cared to try. She had known what it was to lose everything in a single moment and somehow managed to live. And then Teresa had walked past her, and she had known that, at last, there was someone who could understand.
But Teresa had been taken away from her, leaving nothing but blood to stain Clare’s hands.
Clare felt a tear seep down her face as Raki clung to her, screaming words she had been too weak to say once upon a long time ago. Why did he insist on dying with her rather than living without her? He was young and full of vitality. He could make it in this world if she wasn’t holding him back. Couldn’t he?
He was stronger then she had ever been.
Gripping the hilt of her sword tightly, she gritted her teeth and held onto the memory of those last moments. There was purpose. There was sorrow and guilt to rival the deepest wound. Her voice had been stolen from her with a single swipe of Priscilla’s claws. She had yet to find that voice again. She couldn’t leave Raki alone with the knowledge that she had given up. Fighting against her instincts, she cried soundlessly as a flash of light consumed her body.
She wasn’t ready to die yet. She had something to live for, a new voice to find. She wasn’t just Clare. She was Teresa’s flesh and blood, and somehow, she had become this boy’s world as Teresa once had been and continued to be hers.
Pain ripped through her body a second time as silver light flowed down her skin, smothering the yoki within. As her breath slowed, she could almost hear Teresa’s silent laughter and the gentle touch of her hand on her head.
For a moment, Clare felt peace.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Faster. She needed to become faster, stronger. She couldn’t let that monster take him. She had not felt the need to protect since she took on Teresa’s flesh. She had only known the desire to hone her skills, to take revenge when the opportunity presented itself. There was no one but Teresa and the thing that killed her in her head when she cared to remember, when she dared to dream.
But now there was him, a boy so like herself it made her heart ache with memories and wishes and a thousand nameless desires. She would not let Raki die for her. She would not let him do another foolish thing. He did not have the skill to face Ophelia alone. She couldn’t ask him to do that when she herself was too weak to save him.
She nearly sobbed when she felt the battle behind her end, the awakened one fading into a hundred pieces of scattered flesh and tattered dregs of fading energy. She had not traveled far enough. Alighting on the ground, she gently pried Raki’s face from her bosom, denying herself the need to hold him in her arms a few minutes longer. She did not have minutes to spare.
“Raki,” she said, her voice breaking the helpless terror that had engulfed him the minute she had picked him up and started running. “We have to split up, Raki.”
Raki gazed at her incredulously; she had to stifle the broken smile that threatened to break her resolve and concentration. She needed to stay focused on Ophelia’s energy. She needed to make sure he understood that this was the only way she could possibly save them both.
“From here, I’ll head northeast. You will head northwest.”
She was prepared for his protests, but she had never expected him to vehemently deny his right to life. The last barriers melted as she finally understood his drive. He didn’t want life without her. He would rather die then see her die. There was nothing else within him than a need to be with her always.
He reminded her too much of her past self. She had once held onto Teresa and cried her tears of protest. Clare had once allowed Teresa to walk away from her, and it had brought ruin on them both. She had once thought she would gladly dare anything to help Teresa, and she had failed to cry the simplest warning. She would not let Raki have the chance to doubt his resolve. He had already proven everything in her eyes. He was stronger then her. He would be able to live without her, for a little while. She could only rise to meet his challenge.
Swooping down, she captured his lips in her own, stifling his vehement declarations. She could taste the dried blood on his lip from the wounds Ophelia had given him, and his shock as she licked his lip. It was all she could give him, for now.
Breaking the contact, she looked at this boy who had stolen into her life with all the optimism of youth. “I promise you, I won’t die,” Clare said, cupping his cheek in her right hand. “I swear I’ll come looking for you. So, stay alive!”
Clare watched, unblinking, as Raki struggled with the desire to stay and the need to trust. She held back the dread she felt building in her throat as he at last turned away from her to run to the northwest. She wasted precious minutes in prayer as he weaved between the forest trees. It was the first time she had prayed and she desperately hoped she would never have to do so again.
Tearing her eyes away from his back, she took off to the northeast. She had only moments to go before Ophelia caught up with her. She had to be ready, because this was not going to be her day to die. She couldn’t die because if she did, then Teresa would have died for nothing and Raki would live an empty life, completely alone.
She had a promise to keep, to him and to Teresa. Clare had a promise to keep, to herself.
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