There were a few nurses milling around, but otherwise this underground safehouse/prison was empty. The Assassin driver-cum-doctor walked him to a closed waiting room, and told him to wait in there. Shaun barely restrained himself from hacking into the laptop in the middle of the room, noticing a few discreet cameras on the walls. Habits die hard, he supposed.
"He's lucid, today," a new person popped in, smiling benignly. He barely registered it was a woman. Shaun wanted to punch her. He smiled caustically instead.
"Can I see him now, then?" He bit out around his teeth, forced grin in place.
"Yes," she beamed. "Follow me." Clearly she had no sense of self-preservation.
She led him to yet another door, which had a blank nameplate. Blank because Desmond was not supposed to exist? Blank because he had nothing left in his head? Shaun suppressed an urge to tear the plate off. Stay calm. Stay calm.
"He's inside," she said. "There's a mirror on the wall -- we can see in, from there, in case anything happens."
"Thank you," Shaun said tightly. So Desmond was under watch 24/7? It was like he was back at Abstergo, Shaun thought, bitterly. He'd left one cage to end up at another.
He wasn't expecting what he saw when he opened the door.
It was a decent-sized room, mostly white. One wall had a large mirror taking up most of the surface. There was a low bed in the corner, untouched. All the furniture was nailed to the floor.
And, some feet away, a shaggy head of dark brown hair was facing away from him, hands casually inside pant pockets.
"Desmond?" Shaun ventured, blinking.
"Shaun!" Desmond turned around at the sound, grinning. He'd been having a staring contest with the mirror-wall, it seemed. He was dressed in white slacks and a slim white shirt. He had no shoes, and his beard had been meticulously shaved off. His exposed arms revealed he was still thin and pale, but he was standing, and walking. "They told me you were coming to visit, and I could hardly stop myself from pacing a hole into the floor all day."
"You look good," Shaun said, stupidly.
"I feel much better," Desmond agreed, and scratched the back of his head. His knuckles had band-aids on them. "Do you mind if I hug you?"
Shaun blinked. "What," he heard himself saying, from afar.
"I haven't hugged anyone for a while," Desmond began, and then startled when he found himself being tackled by an armful of Shaun. "Gack!"
"You bloody - mad - bastard," Shaun heaved, his heart exploding through his chest. He hadn't realized it, but he was crying. He'd done a lot of that, lately. "I can't..." he shoved a startled Desmond back, holding him by the shoulders. "Why in hell's name did you do that to yourself?"
"Uh?" Desmond blinked.
"You thrice-damned martyr," Shaun yelled. All he could see in his mind's eye was an unconscious Desmond, wasting away: slowly, slowly, going mad. "You bloody idiot!"
"Sorry?" Desmond grinned, confused.
"Lucy and Rebecca feel terrible," Shaun heard himself saying, angrily. "They feel like murderers. I feel like a murderer!"
"You're not a murderer," Desmond said.
"You don't know that!" Shaun snarked. "You don't know anything! You're as smart as a bloody welcome mat!"
"Hey, now," Desmond frowned, crossing his arms. His god damn skinny arms.
"Look at you," Shaun said, bitterly, grabbing his shoulders.
"I thought you said I looked good," Desmond murmured.
"I thought you were dead," Shaun admitted, quietly. "Where have you been?"
Desmond looked up to the ceiling. "Here, mostly," he said mildly. "Or so they tell me."
Shaun looked up at him, silent, questioning. Or so they told him? Why? Because he was rarely 'lucid'?
"It's hard," Desmond began, avoiding Shaun's eyes. "I don't know where I am, sometimes."
"We did this to you," Shaun said, quietly. "We let this happen."
Desmond met his eyes then, and smiled. It looked genuine, and Shaun wanted to strangle some sense into this thick-headed, bloody retarded individual, who owned the biggest heart he'd ever known.
"It was worth it, wasn't it?" Desmond shrugged. "And, I'm okay. Mostly." He placed his hands on Shaun's elbows, as Shaun's arms were still extended between them, his hands tight on his shoulders. "I still remember how to mix a martini."
Fill [10/14]
"He's lucid, today," a new person popped in, smiling benignly. He barely registered it was a woman. Shaun wanted to punch her. He smiled caustically instead.
"Can I see him now, then?" He bit out around his teeth, forced grin in place.
"Yes," she beamed. "Follow me." Clearly she had no sense of self-preservation.
She led him to yet another door, which had a blank nameplate. Blank because Desmond was not supposed to exist? Blank because he had nothing left in his head? Shaun suppressed an urge to tear the plate off. Stay calm. Stay calm.
"He's inside," she said. "There's a mirror on the wall -- we can see in, from there, in case anything happens."
"Thank you," Shaun said tightly. So Desmond was under watch 24/7? It was like he was back at Abstergo, Shaun thought, bitterly. He'd left one cage to end up at another.
He wasn't expecting what he saw when he opened the door.
It was a decent-sized room, mostly white. One wall had a large mirror taking up most of the surface. There was a low bed in the corner, untouched. All the furniture was nailed to the floor.
And, some feet away, a shaggy head of dark brown hair was facing away from him, hands casually inside pant pockets.
"Desmond?" Shaun ventured, blinking.
"Shaun!" Desmond turned around at the sound, grinning. He'd been having a staring contest with the mirror-wall, it seemed. He was dressed in white slacks and a slim white shirt. He had no shoes, and his beard had been meticulously shaved off. His exposed arms revealed he was still thin and pale, but he was standing, and walking. "They told me you were coming to visit, and I could hardly stop myself from pacing a hole into the floor all day."
"You look good," Shaun said, stupidly.
"I feel much better," Desmond agreed, and scratched the back of his head. His knuckles had band-aids on them. "Do you mind if I hug you?"
Shaun blinked. "What," he heard himself saying, from afar.
"I haven't hugged anyone for a while," Desmond began, and then startled when he found himself being tackled by an armful of Shaun. "Gack!"
"You bloody - mad - bastard," Shaun heaved, his heart exploding through his chest. He hadn't realized it, but he was crying. He'd done a lot of that, lately. "I can't..." he shoved a startled Desmond back, holding him by the shoulders. "Why in hell's name did you do that to yourself?"
"Uh?" Desmond blinked.
"You thrice-damned martyr," Shaun yelled. All he could see in his mind's eye was an unconscious Desmond, wasting away: slowly, slowly, going mad. "You bloody idiot!"
"Sorry?" Desmond grinned, confused.
"Lucy and Rebecca feel terrible," Shaun heard himself saying, angrily. "They feel like murderers. I feel like a murderer!"
"You're not a murderer," Desmond said.
"You don't know that!" Shaun snarked. "You don't know anything! You're as smart as a bloody welcome mat!"
"Hey, now," Desmond frowned, crossing his arms. His god damn skinny arms.
"Look at you," Shaun said, bitterly, grabbing his shoulders.
"I thought you said I looked good," Desmond murmured.
"I thought you were dead," Shaun admitted, quietly. "Where have you been?"
Desmond looked up to the ceiling. "Here, mostly," he said mildly. "Or so they tell me."
Shaun looked up at him, silent, questioning. Or so they told him? Why? Because he was rarely 'lucid'?
"It's hard," Desmond began, avoiding Shaun's eyes. "I don't know where I am, sometimes."
"We did this to you," Shaun said, quietly. "We let this happen."
Desmond met his eyes then, and smiled. It looked genuine, and Shaun wanted to strangle some sense into this thick-headed, bloody retarded individual, who owned the biggest heart he'd ever known.
"It was worth it, wasn't it?" Desmond shrugged. "And, I'm okay. Mostly." He placed his hands on Shaun's elbows, as Shaun's arms were still extended between them, his hands tight on his shoulders. "I still remember how to mix a martini."