She’s trying her best to stop crying, and eventually her sobs turn into hiccups, and she finds herself sat down. She can’t bring herself to look up, she can’t. She’s blown it, she knows. This was her one chance, and she’s lost it, and it’s like losing them all over again, all at once. But when she does look up, the first thing she notices is Connor, quite happily cradled in Cordelia’s arms. She only has one picture of Cordelia holding her as a baby.
She wants there to be more. She wants them to be happy.
She wants them to be alive.
She stands up, tugging at her tank. She starts to walk towards the door. But she has to t r y.
“In the future. I have nothing and no-one. I don’t even remember my mother’s voice. And that’s not fair. You should get long and happy lives. And you don’t. And my life won’t be long nor happy. I want that to change. But you can’t help someone who doesn’t w a n t it.”
The sob that’s been threatening to bubble up and out of her throat subsides as Charlie’s tears finally fade away. She still doesn’t totally understand, doesn’t know how to react– she’s had so much thrown at her in the past few minutes– too much for anyone to handle. One thing she can understand, though, is that the girl who told her all of this is just as lost as she is, and even more alone.
She can guess what Charlie was alluding to when she said her life would be short– the oxygen tanks she lugs around with her is a dead giveaway– but right now, that’s just another fact to add to the growing list of things to freak out about later.
For now, she just has to keep Charlie from walking out that door.
Because, estranged goddaughter from the future or not, she’s still the type of person they’re here to h e l p .
“Doesn’t want it? Why wouldn’t I want to live? But– - Charlie, you walked through the door as a stranger less than ten minutes ago, and since then you’ve told me you’re from the future, you’re Wes’ kid and my goddaughter, and I’m going to die. It’s– it’s a lot to expect me to take in a l l a t o n c e .”
