Even if it had been her suggestion to call them, this is torture. Absolute fucking torture, and as Klaus dials she's tempted to just reach over and hang up. She can't do this. How can they do this?
But then Claire answers the phone, and she can hear Patrick behind her, and it disarms her in a way that she knew it would but still takes her by complete surprise. Her vision blurs from relief, from happiness, from complete and utter helplessness at the fact that they are here and not there, and it's as if she forgets how to breathe.
Hi, baby, she tries to say unconsciously, instinct kicking in before she can even think about it, because it's how she would greet her if these were regular circumstances. Her voice would be fond, warm. Happy. She would playfully remind her it's getting late, she should be getting ready for bed while Claire thoroughly ignored her and told her about all the fun she's having with Daddy, and Allison would smile through her daughter's tales of everything they've been doing the last few days. Because, she already knows, Patrick is spoiling her, trying to keep her entertained and trying to overcompensate for the fact that she's missing two of her favorite people.
There's nothing, though. There is no greeting that she can give, no conversation she can make. No connection she can make with her own daughter. There's no gentle teasing, no asking her how her day is going, what they have been up to. There are so many things she wants to tell her, so many things she wants to say, and ask, and she can't. She doesn't have a voice, and there's not enough time in the world for everything she wants to say, anyway. How can you fit a lifetime worth of moments in just a few minutes?
When she asks about her, Allison has to look away, looking like she might crumble right on the spot. She can hear Claire sighing, before her little voice perks up as she reminds Klaus to give her mommy some soup and tea, just how she had that time that she had been under the weather, and Allison can already picture Patrick in the background. Trying to not look concerned in front of Claire, but his brow furrowing in a way that would give him away if she looked past the smile on his lips.
There's no time for reassurances, though. They're on borrowed time. They need to stop Vanya. They need to try to stop the apocalypse, if they want to get back to that little girl on the other end of the phone.
'Please tell her I love her,' she writes, her hands shaking slightly. From the heartbreak, from the grief of it all. From the deep sense of longing she's being hit with as her arms ache for her daughter, and the realization that if they don't stop this tonight, she will never be able to hold her again. 'And I'm sorry, for not being there tonight to hug her, and sing to her, and read her a bedtime story, but we'll be back soon. And I can't wait to hold her again.'
She almost feels sick at the reminder that it might not be true, that they may never be back. This might all end tonight, but right now she just needs to cling to the belief that maybe they can make it because the alternative is unbearable to even consider.
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But then Claire answers the phone, and she can hear Patrick behind her, and it disarms her in a way that she knew it would but still takes her by complete surprise. Her vision blurs from relief, from happiness, from complete and utter helplessness at the fact that they are here and not there, and it's as if she forgets how to breathe.
Hi, baby, she tries to say unconsciously, instinct kicking in before she can even think about it, because it's how she would greet her if these were regular circumstances. Her voice would be fond, warm. Happy. She would playfully remind her it's getting late, she should be getting ready for bed while Claire thoroughly ignored her and told her about all the fun she's having with Daddy, and Allison would smile through her daughter's tales of everything they've been doing the last few days. Because, she already knows, Patrick is spoiling her, trying to keep her entertained and trying to overcompensate for the fact that she's missing two of her favorite people.
There's nothing, though. There is no greeting that she can give, no conversation she can make. No connection she can make with her own daughter. There's no gentle teasing, no asking her how her day is going, what they have been up to. There are so many things she wants to tell her, so many things she wants to say, and ask, and she can't. She doesn't have a voice, and there's not enough time in the world for everything she wants to say, anyway. How can you fit a lifetime worth of moments in just a few minutes?
When she asks about her, Allison has to look away, looking like she might crumble right on the spot. She can hear Claire sighing, before her little voice perks up as she reminds Klaus to give her mommy some soup and tea, just how she had that time that she had been under the weather, and Allison can already picture Patrick in the background. Trying to not look concerned in front of Claire, but his brow furrowing in a way that would give him away if she looked past the smile on his lips.
There's no time for reassurances, though. They're on borrowed time. They need to stop Vanya. They need to try to stop the apocalypse, if they want to get back to that little girl on the other end of the phone.
'Please tell her I love her,' she writes, her hands shaking slightly. From the heartbreak, from the grief of it all. From the deep sense of longing she's being hit with as her arms ache for her daughter, and the realization that if they don't stop this tonight, she will never be able to hold her again. 'And I'm sorry, for not being there tonight to hug her, and sing to her, and read her a bedtime story, but we'll be back soon. And I can't wait to hold her again.'
She almost feels sick at the reminder that it might not be true, that they may never be back. This might all end tonight, but right now she just needs to cling to the belief that maybe they can make it because the alternative is unbearable to even consider.