If he had been a heartless soul, Connor could have left her to die. But despite his attempts to keep them at arm's length, some mortals seemed to find ways to wrap themselves around his heart. Connor glanced down at the sleeping form. Especially children -- the one thing he had truly wanted to give Heather, but couldn't. Children were so fragile, yet so resilient. And they managed to feel such strong passions about everyday things -- a rabbit, a flower, a doll.

This little girl in front of him had suffered so much loss -- of her family, her home, her safety. Yet her trust in him had been so instinctive, and she had clung to his neck when he had carried her, to his hand when he had not. Connor wanted nothing but a safe place for her now. But where?

Connor began his pacing again, going even deeper into thought. He'd tried to get someone here to take her, but the house was already overburdened with refugees. And there wasn't a way for a family to suddenly have another child and not look suspect -- not around here, anyway, and not among those who would even consider doing such a thing. So now Connor was stuck with the decision of what to do with her. He had thought it through until he couldn't think straight, but still only two options revealed themselves to him. He could steal away and abandon her here, to whatever fate held for her. It was an abhorrent thought. The other option was nearly equally unthinkable for him, however: to risk the child's life by taking her with him when he escaped this country.

Connor knew that if they did manage to escape, if they both lived through all that, that he'd never be able to just dump her in an orphanage somewhere and be done with it. That would be as horrible as leaving her here. Connor knew too well, still felt it intensely, the pain of being ripped from family and home. And he could never forgive himself if he left this little girl with that pain and loneliness -- not without at least offering something of a substitute. If he could call himself worthy as a substitute.

Connor straightened himself up and gave a deep sigh. He didn't really want to abandon her, either here or somewhere else. But how could he be a father to her? He had no experience, for one, and being a solitary parent was an even bigger risk. As much as he'd always wanted a family, he wasn't so sure he could handle the duty of fatherhood alone. And how would he explain Immortality to her? And when? Granted, she had already witnessed that he couldn't die. But to a child so young, it could be explained away as "a kind of magic." Later, it would require more. Connor shook his head. It would be so very difficult. But how could he just leave her to fend for herself? The answer was, he couldn't. His heart knew the answer, even as his mind resisted.

And a grand resistance it was, one he spent another half-hour wrestling as he paced the room yet again. Rachel began to stir even as she slept. Connor watched her somnolent struggle against bad dreams, empathy welling within him, tilting the odds of his own inner struggle. Suddenly she sat up, eyes wide, mouth open in a scream so terrified that it came out only in a hoarse whisper. Connor dropped to his knees by her side, pulling the tiny trembling form tight against his body as he gently hushed her. Rachel whimpered as she leaned into his embrace, but her breathing slowed from its hysterical state and her shaking slowly but surely diminished, then stopped.

Connor felt the tilt of odds become a landslide. There was no leaving this child here now. Not while he still lived and breathed. And cared. He could protect her from harm, give his life for her again and again until they both reached safety. And if he was determined enough, he could raise her, and do it well. What did most fathers know about fatherhood anyway? Rachel would probably teach him a few things too. Connor smiled to himself. Probably a lot, actually. And he could ask for no greater reward for saving her life.