Everything he'd just told her, the moment he said it out loud and confirmed it—I killed you—she was fixed on simply those words and nothing else. On the memory of his face hovering in front of her. This was real, wasn't it? Was this supposed to be some kind of karma? Lucy forced herself back a step and pressed her hand back to her side, the pain fresh, real. Pressure, she needed to keep pressure on it until she could get home and to Connor.
Juno... "She couldn't have known." Hushed words. Her eyes were lowered to where his hand was touching his scrubs, the blood she'd left. "She couldn't have..." Then her eyes were back on his. "How could— You believed her?" It wasn't like Desmond could've asked her himself, if he'd been under a full body possession and had no control over his actions. But Lucy wasn't thinking about it like that.
Christ, he'd brought up Clay and that was like throwing salt into an already open wound, one she carried with her to bed every night, one that was constantly there, the Animus a bleak reminder. She'd tried so hard to not think about Subject 16, the promises she'd made to keep him safe, that she would see him out of Abstergo if he just helped her first. Lucy's hand pressed harder to her abdomen, the blood slowly creeping out along the teal material at the edge of her palm.
Then quietly, "I thought you would be different." There was a waver in those words; exhaustion, hurt, misery, the revelation, her fate. "But you're no better than him."
no subject
Juno... "She couldn't have known." Hushed words. Her eyes were lowered to where his hand was touching his scrubs, the blood she'd left. "She couldn't have..." Then her eyes were back on his. "How could— You believed her?" It wasn't like Desmond could've asked her himself, if he'd been under a full body possession and had no control over his actions. But Lucy wasn't thinking about it like that.
Christ, he'd brought up Clay and that was like throwing salt into an already open wound, one she carried with her to bed every night, one that was constantly there, the Animus a bleak reminder. She'd tried so hard to not think about Subject 16, the promises she'd made to keep him safe, that she would see him out of Abstergo if he just helped her first. Lucy's hand pressed harder to her abdomen, the blood slowly creeping out along the teal material at the edge of her palm.
Then quietly, "I thought you would be different." There was a waver in those words; exhaustion, hurt, misery, the revelation, her fate. "But you're no better than him."