Shaun works late into the night, and then the next night, then the night after that. Rebecca was more or less right about the Animus data. It's not all gone, but it's not exactly making sense either. Shaun stares at it until his eyes cross, until he's dreaming in binary and arrays and clusters during the few hours he does sleep, until he's throwing down cup after cup of coffee and wondering if this is the state of the Animus, how in all that's holy is Desmond still walking around stringing coherent sentences together.
"Fuck," he says to himself, and it's two am and he's pretty much on the verge of giving up. "This is bloody hopeless."
"What is?"
Shaun jumps about a mile out of his seat before his brain can register that it's Desmond behind him.
"You're working pretty hard there, Shaun," Desmond says, coming over to stand by his chair. "What are you doing?" But Shaun's pretty sure he's already seen what Shaun's doing.
"What does it look like, you twat?" Shaun demands, without his usual vitriol. Desmond hasn't been biting at what Shaun's casting these days anyway.
"It looks like you're looking at the Animus," Desmond says. "Looking for something we don't already have?"
It sounds like Desmond is saying Shaun is wasting his time, like he believes they have everything they need and that's it, Shaun's right there, finally, at the end of his rope. All this time, losing Lucy, thinking Desmond was never going to wake up, or if he did, be little better than a vegetable, watching Bill worry not about his son but about whether his son finally had the answers the Assassins have been after for so many generations. Sure, of course Shaun understands it all on an intellectual level, about sacrifices and the greater good and all that shite, but there's a personal factor here and he's not going to be the one who forgets that, not after everything they've been through.
He surges out of his chair, and Desmond takes a step back, not surprised so much as just making room. But Shaun never was one about distance when it came to venting, so he grabs Desmond's shirt and he half expects some effortless countermove that breaks his grip first and his wrist second. Desmond just stands there instead, staring at him calmly, waiting. It just makes him angrier. The old Desmond would have been giving Shaun a sarcastic serving by now. The old Desmond would push back, challenging Shaun to step up, and when he did, would grin like fighting with Shaun was more fun than he could have in three lifetimes, let alone one. Shaun would be a hypocrite if he said he didn't on some level miss that, but that's not really what this is all about and he's going to make Desmond understand or die trying.
"I'm looking for you, Desmond! You! You're not the same anymore! You left something in there and we want it back. I want it back. We've all paid enough and I'm over it. I don't give a shit what we gained. I don't give a shit if this is to save the world because we've lost enough and even if you don't see it anymore, I still do. So just sod off and let me do what I need to do, all right?"
He shoves Desmond away, turns back to his terminal and drops himself angrily back into his chair. But Desmond doesn't leave. Instead, he just steps back into Shaun's peripheral, turning and propping himself on the table edge next to him while Shaun does his best to ignore him.
"It's not just Lucy," Desmond says after a while, softly, almost like he's talking to himself. Shaun freezes anyway, can't even draw breath because Desmond's not even said her name since he woke up. "Clay's gone too."
Shaun does breathe then. "Clay?" He can't help but look at Desmond then, who's not looking back, but is instead staring at his feet with more expression on his face than Shaun's seen in a week.
"Otherwise known as Subject Sixteen," Desmond sighs. "He was in there. With me. He saved me."
Re: Fill - Chrysalis 2/3 (sorry! I miscounted the parts somehow)
"Fuck," he says to himself, and it's two am and he's pretty much on the verge of giving up. "This is bloody hopeless."
"What is?"
Shaun jumps about a mile out of his seat before his brain can register that it's Desmond behind him.
"You're working pretty hard there, Shaun," Desmond says, coming over to stand by his chair. "What are you doing?" But Shaun's pretty sure he's already seen what Shaun's doing.
"What does it look like, you twat?" Shaun demands, without his usual vitriol. Desmond hasn't been biting at what Shaun's casting these days anyway.
"It looks like you're looking at the Animus," Desmond says. "Looking for something we don't already have?"
It sounds like Desmond is saying Shaun is wasting his time, like he believes they have everything they need and that's it, Shaun's right there, finally, at the end of his rope. All this time, losing Lucy, thinking Desmond was never going to wake up, or if he did, be little better than a vegetable, watching Bill worry not about his son but about whether his son finally had the answers the Assassins have been after for so many generations. Sure, of course Shaun understands it all on an intellectual level, about sacrifices and the greater good and all that shite, but there's a personal factor here and he's not going to be the one who forgets that, not after everything they've been through.
He surges out of his chair, and Desmond takes a step back, not surprised so much as just making room. But Shaun never was one about distance when it came to venting, so he grabs Desmond's shirt and he half expects some effortless countermove that breaks his grip first and his wrist second. Desmond just stands there instead, staring at him calmly, waiting. It just makes him angrier. The old Desmond would have been giving Shaun a sarcastic serving by now. The old Desmond would push back, challenging Shaun to step up, and when he did, would grin like fighting with Shaun was more fun than he could have in three lifetimes, let alone one. Shaun would be a hypocrite if he said he didn't on some level miss that, but that's not really what this is all about and he's going to make Desmond understand or die trying.
"I'm looking for you, Desmond! You! You're not the same anymore! You left something in there and we want it back. I want it back. We've all paid enough and I'm over it. I don't give a shit what we gained. I don't give a shit if this is to save the world because we've lost enough and even if you don't see it anymore, I still do. So just sod off and let me do what I need to do, all right?"
He shoves Desmond away, turns back to his terminal and drops himself angrily back into his chair. But Desmond doesn't leave. Instead, he just steps back into Shaun's peripheral, turning and propping himself on the table edge next to him while Shaun does his best to ignore him.
"It's not just Lucy," Desmond says after a while, softly, almost like he's talking to himself. Shaun freezes anyway, can't even draw breath because Desmond's not even said her name since he woke up. "Clay's gone too."
Shaun does breathe then. "Clay?" He can't help but look at Desmond then, who's not looking back, but is instead staring at his feet with more expression on his face than Shaun's seen in a week.
"Otherwise known as Subject Sixteen," Desmond sighs. "He was in there. With me. He saved me."
"He..." Shaun starts. It's not possible, surely.