Desmond (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moderndayassassin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2018-12-03 08:58 am
moderndayassassin) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2018-12-03 08:58 am
i'm done being a pawn
WHO: Desmond Miles
WHERE: Fountain; around the village,
WHEN: 12/3
OPEN TO: Anyone!
WARNINGS: Swearing for sure
WHERE: Fountain; around the village,
WHEN: 12/3
OPEN TO: Anyone!
WARNINGS: Swearing for sure
Fountain arrival; ota
His hand was going in slow motion as it reached for the key to saving humanity and releasing Juno. Despite knowing it was right, despite saying goodbye to the remaining people in his life, he was afraid as he took a deep breath and prepared for the end. His eyes closed ... and then suddenly he was opening his eyes surrounded by water. Desmond flailed, shocked and horrified, this was not the way he expected Juno to take him, and was he supposed to just wait until he drowned? No, this can't be right. His feet kicked and he broke the water into air, gasping and scrambling for the side of ... what the hell was this? His eyes hurt from the water and he dragged himself out, immediately shocked by the cold of the air around him. It hadn't been cold before, why was it cold?
Desmond shakily tried to stand but collapsed hard onto his knees, his hands catching his weight. He should be dead. Maybe he was dead. Or maybe this was something else. He sat back on his haunches, breathing unsteadily, and dropping this strange pack from his back to toss it aside. Who put that on him? Juno's face hazily appeared in his mind's eye, and his confusion turned into rage. Maybe he failed. Maybe this was Minerva, furious that he disobeyed. Frustrated, he did something very stupid and dove right back into the water, going as far as he could. He had to finish this. He couldn't thwart fate. He reached around of any sign of what to do, but it was dark and he sprang out of the water again, colder and more exhausted than before.
"Juno!" He yelled, searching the sky. "Minerva! Which one of you bitches did this?" Desmond spit out water, shaking from cold or shock. "Juno! Goddamnit."
Around the village the next few days, OTA
Desmond was unnerved by everything so far and deeply suspicious. It was an elaborate lie, it had to be. A trick. He went to the inn just because there was no where else to stop freezing and not starve as far as he could tell. He sat by himself in the furthest corner away from others, making certain nothing was at his back but the wall in case of stabbing. Occasionally he ventured up to the records there, reading it but skeptical.
Later on he can be seen in the bunker trying to make sense of what was down there and if his hacking had any use. He was wandering around the village, admittedly being a little creepy as he glanced at the houses and cased the joints. Eventually he claimed House 46 and sat outside, staring off into the distance, scowling.
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He was scared she was real and that he'd be so happy to see her again, and then he'd have to tell her the truth and pay for his choice. He didn't deserve her sorrow. His eyelashes fluttered when she first touched his scrubs. Real. This was real. Lucy was real. She was right there and he felt like he'd been running a marathon with how hard it was to keep breathing. Desmond put his hand over hers, holding it to his chest, and his beating heart officially started to break.
He couldn't stop himself from dropping her hand and putting his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. This wasn't going to last long, he knew that much, but for a few minutes Desmond was giving himself permission to be selfish and just be glad she was still breathing. She was real and solid. She smelled and felt exactly as she had. And she was small, he forgot how small she was compared to him. His eyes stung and he willed his grief away, for now. "I really hope I didn't wish this on us. I wanted to see you again, but this wasn't what I meant."
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Lucy focused on her breathing. She focused on the body heat he provided, the feel of how sturdy he was in holding her close. His smell. Only one arm went around him, hand curling in the back of his scrubs, while the other hand, her right one, was rested at his waist. What did he mean...? Why wouldn't they have seen each other again? The hand at his back gripped tighter, the telltale burn of tears at the back of her eyes, and she was pressing her face all the more into him—don't cry, don't cry. There wasn't any reason other than how much pain she was in since she'd arrived and he was the one and only familiar person she knew in this place, someone from back home.
Let them just have this moment, the two of them standing there, hugging one another, holding on like it could be the last chance they get. Which was exactly why she didn't speak, didn't break it.
But there were still so many questions. Desmond Miles was dead.
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But he couldn't.
"I'm sorry." The grief might make his throat hurt like hell, but it also managed to choke out some words. He closed his eyes so tightly they began to hurt. "I wish I could go back and do so many things differently." That was the thing about death, and in particular an early death. There were nothing but regrets and possibilities that would never happen. He was too close to any of it. Desmond moved away from her, because he wanted to sink right into her embrace and forget the world. And it simply wasn't an option. Nothing about their lives or apparently their deaths were fair. He crossed his arms and took a few steps back.
"I would have made us grow up together instead. Who cares if my dad was a prick if it was you and me back then?" He knew this was a fantasy and a blind one at that, but he was emotionally circling the drain. "We could've tried to have a real life. Or, whatever, fine, if my blood would've gotten us there no matter what, it would've been as partners." And Desmond would still have died to save the world, but she would have lived. She wouldn't have needed to leave the Order because of William. God, so much shit was at his door, and Desmond doubted he'd ever take responsibility for it.
"I just wish...." He sighed and uncrossed his arms, running fingers through his short hair. "I wish you trusted me."
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That was a part of her life Lucy Stillman tried to block out, pushing it away as if it’d never existed. As if William Miles hadn’t had a hand in shaping her to be who she was today before abandoning her, leaving her vulnerable and open for the Templars to swoop her in to their side of the game. She swallowed and now crossed her arms, mirroring his stance, staying where she was while he was taking down that bridge they’d closed.
Partners? What was he saying? Why was he saying all of this?
“I did trust you, Desmond.” I trusted you despite who your father was. “I trusted you more than the others.” Because, in some fucked up way, it had sometimes felt like they were one in the same.
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He could get caught up in those cycle thoughts, but then she said those words, and his head jerked up, staring straight at her. She was so damn convincing, that was the worst part. He could believe her so easily. Was it him, that was this stupid? Or was she really good? Desmond shook his head at her. "More than the others. Okay, I believe that. That's what a good lie is formed on, right? Just enough truth." He could drown himself in bitterness. Maybe he'd drown them both in it. He wanted her to tell him the truth, of her own free will, but she never would.
"You wouldn't, would you? Tell me the truth." He said out loud. "I want to think you would, Luce, I really do, but that's because I'm a fucking idiot who fell for y--the act." The error was made and Desmond couldn't change it now, unfortunately. He was just going to ignore that little stutter. Yeah okay, it's not even a secret at this point, but that was probably her plan too. He rubbed his hands over his face. "Please tell me. Don't make me have to say it, I think you're smart enough to know what's going on, so now's your chance. Tell me."
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Words trailed off. Lucy stared across at him, felt like there was a camera effect where the world behind him stretched out as suddenly her senses brought just him right to her. What was he...? He was accusing her of lying, why? And when she’d been the most honest with him out of their little group. She’d felt like she could take off a corner of the mask, peer out without too much fear of backlash. She could’ve been real with him, had breached security even to voice her concerns to Vidic where any one of them could’ve found her out. He mattered to her, it hadn’t been intentional, to care.
The perfectly constructed little world, the lies she’d built, they were all coming apart the same as she watched him coming apart at the seams. It’d been her plan to gain his trust, so that Project Siren could take off. Not to get him to fall for her. She’d caught the stutter, the near slip up, and something within her cracked. Her jaw clenched. Tell him her conscience screamed at her, her heart backing it up, while with her head she was fighting them. What would be the point in keeping up appearances here? There was no Warren Vidic, no Bill Miles. It was just Lucy and Desmond. As far as she knew, the latter was dead and he deserved some semblance of the truth.
Lucy felt too wound up, heart stuck in her throat, too tensed by what he was asking of her, a simple and yet not so simple request to fill. Her weight shifted and she unfolded her arms, an ache beginning in her right from being on her feet for so long (or had it always been there and was now getting worse the longer they stood there), for making the trek to the inn and then back to her house. “I...” It was hard to find the words. What do you have to lose by telling him? “I can—“ and she then broke off on quiet sound of pain, shoulders hunching forward as a hand went to press to her stomach. Her head lowered and she half turned away from him, feeling the dampness beneath her palm seeping through the dressing and her scrubs.
Shit.
Her head shook and she was glad that she’d turned off to the side, fingers quick to reach up to swipe her cheek where she felt the tear trek down. “I’m sorry...” was all she could offer him, for the moment.
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At first he didn't know what was happening, only seeing her back away from the attempt and he felt frustrated, but then he realized what was happening. He went so pale that he nearly felt faint. His anger and bitterness and betrayal were all very real things, but so was this. Desmond went into a coma the moment he stopped fighting Juno, knowing that meant Lucy's death, and he knew his knife was moving and then his mind went black. He wasn't faced with her body, ever. He was still in that coma when she was buried. He woke up to the truth and the complex grief involved. So seeing that blood here on the other side, knowing he was the cause? It was horrifying.
"I'm sorry," he whispered instead, shaking his head. "Come on, you need to ... you need to sit. You're bleeding." Desmond really felt like he might pass out or get sick, but seriously Des, stop passing out as if that'll solve all your problems. He felt numb as he reached out to touch her again, trying to be gentle and lead her off the path to sit, but he was shaking. He didn't have the right to help her. She should have trusted him. Vying feelings that left no real middle ground.
Desmond thought this might actually be an amazing hell, all things considered. "I'm sorry," he said again, his time brokenly, and he couldn't stop the tears from springing to his eyes. Nothing would have stopped them. His guilt, sadness, self-hate, and grief were too potent a mix. But between the apology and the intense emotion behind it, well, the connection was clearly written on his face.
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Lucy lowered her eyes to her torso, lifted her fingers to see the fresh red staining through the layers. “He’s going to kill me,” she muttered to herself, brows knitting. Connor was going to be so displeased that she’d pushed herself to this point when she should’ve been resting. She lifted her head and found Desmond there again, close, felt his hand at her arm ready to guide her, and she reached readily for him in return, trusting him, as the shift in balance was almost enough to make her feel as faint as he looked.
He was shaking, why? The sight of blood shouldn’t have been so distressing given all the time he’d put into the Animus. The things he’d seen.
The second apology came, the words broken, grief-stricken. She allowed him to guide her only so far before she was staring at him, puzzled and growing more and more concerned by the sight of tears. Was he...crying? “What’s...going on?” They only got so far when she stopped and grabbed at his arm, staring up at him.
Lucy was seeing him in a different light now. She saw him there but it wasn’t in this world, it was underground. It was darker. A black splash of light and symbols covered the air behind him. Her eyes searched his, moved over his face, the expression he wore. He was shrugged off then, the air leaving her lungs, like he’d driven his fist into her diaphragm. He had, in some way, the edge sharp, the cut clean and meant to—
“... no.”
That couldn’t have been right. He wouldn’t—
She began to back away, the horror of dawning realization now an expression she wore as clear as ever. Lucy felt sick. She could feel a fury creeping in for the pain she was in all because of him, a panic for what this meant. It was all too much at once that it was hard to make sense of just one thing. Was that what that meant, her last conscious memory being of him standing in front of her? “No.” Her breath hitched, came out shallow and quick. “No.” With all of her strength, whatever she had left, she took a sudden lunge forward to shove her hands roughly at his chest, to add a smear of her blood on his scrubs, uncaring of the slice of pain tearing at her side.
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He didn't stop her when she pushed him, stepping back with the movement instead and putting a little more distance between them. Her blood on his scrubs was a brand. All the death he'd seen and the death he'd caused, and he was pretty sure this was never coming off him, metaphorically. "I didn't want to," he started and then stopped. How can he explain? It was seconds to the outside world, but it felt like an hour for him. He didn't want to, but he did. "Juno took over my body. I fought her, fought so fucking hard, I didn't want ----" He could blame this on Juno. Desmond knew that. He could tell her that it wasn't his choice and it would be difficult, but it would give them both someone to hate instead of him. It might be kinder, to lie.
But everything came full circle eventually. He knew that much.
Desmond rubbed at his eyes, trying to swallow through the pain. "She showed me. That you were one of them." He was actually being very careful with a word like Templar, in case Connor came around. "I saw what your plan was. Subject 16, Clay, he knew too, but you know that. I got trapped in the Animus with him after." After he dramatically went into a comatose state from shock and possession. "She showed me what would happen if you betrayed us. Everyone would die. Only I could save the world, even if it meant I died too." Lucy couldn't have known that; no one knew it but Desmond, once he got his head on straight.
He swallowed and touched the blood on his scrubs. Fuck. What was his life? "So yeah. I killed you, and I killed myself, and if there was a way to do the second thing before the first thing and still save the world, I would've done it."
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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."
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There were few things that could sucker punch him better than comparing him to William Miles. And he knew exactly that's who she was talking about. His father the master manipulator, cold as ice, and the two of them were vastly different. Or maybe they weren't. Desmond felt the blow cut into hm, sharp and vicious, and he wanted to strike back, but she looked so defeated. And she was bleeding.
"We both let you down," he said quietly, agreeing. "I heard there's a hospital not far from here. It's by the inn." Desmond would've taken her himself, if he thought she wouldn't refuse just to spite him. "You need to go there, you're going to pass out if you don't." If she passed out, he'd carry her, but he can't offer to do that. He was physically keeping his distance so as not to scare her. "Just go get help, and you won't have to deal with me anymore. I'll stay out of your way." He had to make sure she would stay alive here, but after that, well, Desmond was great at running from his problems and shutting himself down.
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There were tears on her cheeks, she knew it but could barely feel them. She was broken, defeated, bleeding, and most of all, Lucy was numb. Still she lashed out. "Don't act like you fucking care, Desmond." It didn't matter that he'd slipped up moments ago, admitted that he'd fallen for her. "I don't need help, I'm fucking dead." It was such a shock to hear herself admit that. A swift breath was sucked in and she'd managed to hold back any kind of a sob wanting to escape, turning away from him.
Back onto the path she went, steps staggering briefly. She would follow it back across the water, back to where she lived. And Lucy hoped that he rotted in this Hell. That was all he deserved, as far as she was concerned.
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