Clay Kaczmarek hated having to stay. He had done everything he thought possible to get out. Making a run for it was, of course, futile. Too many guards, too many of them had tazers. Faking a heart attack to go to a hospital? They didn't even send a doctor to his room. (At least he had gotten an hour off to rest, though.) The air vents were much too small to crawl through, and had grates blocking anything bigger than dust from passing through. Once, he had managed to block the door from latching properly. Once. It didn't end well for him. Clay had smuggled Lucy's pen into his room, one night. He had long scince broken the security camera in his room, but he threw a sheet over it as a precaution. He waved the pen in front of the control pad by the door. The small screen just said, "UNAUTHORIZED" and blinked a red light at him.

Clay had done everything short of suicide to get out.

And then, he tried that. Of course he left a piece of himself behind- to keep his word to Juno. He hadn't wanted to die, then. It was just the only way out. Clay wasn't a particularily religious man, and suspected no shining gate of white would greet him, though he still hoped it would. While laying there, finished writing but too weak to cut again and end it, he thought he saw a lady in white run to him. Everything was blurry, and constantly flickered away. Clay could almost hear her say something, and thought she might have cradled his head and tried to comfort him. She might have been blonde... and she might have been an angel. He was too far gone by then, though. After a few seconds, everything went dark.

He found himself shielding his eyes from a light with his hand, and blinking a few times until it subsided. The arm in front of his face wasn't bleeding, though it had scars. Was he in a hospital..? Had they saved him?

No... This wasn't a hospital. A quick survey of his surroundings found himself laying on the floor of Absergo, in the same place as before. He propped himself up on his elbows to look around. There was blood everywhere, but it had darkened and thickened substantially. Daylight filled the area though the massive windows on the other side of the Animus. And... someone was next to him. Standing a few steps away, her back to him. Her hair, usually in a tight bun, was loose and unbrushed. Every few moments she would take a sharp breath, and though Clay couldn't see her face he knew she was trying to fight back sobs. She was a wreck.

But he was alright. Why wasn't she? In fact, he felt better than he had in months. The only voice he heard in his head was his own, and he was certain of the year. He didn't know a word of Italian, and didn't have a personal recollection of the French Revolution. Clay found himself blissfully ignorant. He let himself smile at that thought. This must've been some kind of, 'mental reset'. With a fresh mind, he could last another year- or maybe even longer. Finding unexpected strength in his usually exhausted body, he was able to stand up and step over to Lucy. He thought he could forgive her, now. Not the previous, 'I have no choice' forgival he'd given her before. This time, their kisses wouldn't taste bitter and dutiful. With strength and confidence anew, he could reconcile with Lucy. Everything would be okay now, and he could believe her when she told him he wasn't going to die. He reached a scarred hand out to her and comfortingly rested it on her shoulder. She didn't turn, but that was okay.

"I'm alright, Luce."

She didn't answer, but that was okay too. Something had her clearly upset, and he didn't need to make it about him. Though he didn't envy whoever they had to clean up after him. Christ, it was much more grizzly than even he had expected. It was a miracle he was still around, really. All that blood... Lucy took a long, drawn out sigh, and straightened her posture.

And walked away. Clay was a little offended she hadn't aknowledged him, but suspected she was mad at him for scaring her with all... this. She probably thought he was dead. She would probably have nightmares about this room, for months to come. At least he could empathize about that.

"That's fine, we can talk later."

It was a pointless comment, though. The door had closed behind her before he had finished the sentance. It was strange to leave him loose like this, though. He was always locked up in his room. Not that he could really do anything in here. He'd already tried smashing the windows. It hadn't worked, but the look on Vidic's face when Clay threw his chair at it was priceless. The chair was completely beyond recognition by the time they'd gotten him subdued.

Clay looked uneasily around the room. What was he supposed to do, now? There was a bucket and sponge nearby, did these Templar bastards really expect him to clean up? If so, they were crazier than he was. He had made it his daily mission to make things difficult for them, and an attempt on his life hadn't made it any different. Still, it was strange that he was so healed. It can't have been more than a day ago he had opened his veins to all this. He wasn't tired, but maybe he'd take a nap anyway. He turned to go to his room, when something caught his eye.

Right where he was laying earlier... was himself?