A/N: Hello to all of you fellow AC fans. It's been quite awhile, huh? I should start by saying how much I deserve your scorn considering I went and disappeared on you guys for so long. The only excuse I have is that life just got in the way by making me go through college (yes! I am indeed in college and it is awesome (when I don't have tough assignments to make up), and the isolation from my PS3 has left me in a state of limbo. So yeah, I faded away and ended up elsewhere. Again, sorry. But~ I actually have been doing some growing up on my own. With some lessons taken in by my English teachers, I've somewhat gotten better in my grammar writing. So yay that!

Also, there's going to be a change of plot. I know I said I don't want Gabrielle becoming a girl who shadows Altaïr wherever he goes (Acre, Damascus, Jerusalem, Masyaf) but I suddenly realized that Gabrielle being in Masyaf wouldn't do much good. Don't worry though, she's still not going to follow with our most favored novice! Nope! I have an idea on how they can be both far away and gradually become romantic with one another. You'll see~!

After all the time I've been away, new doorways have been opened to me. I've been catching up on the Assassin's Creed plot since I've been away (I bought AC: Ezio's Trilogy, AC3, and ACBF all in the same week!) and I've been inspired to create this awesome plot involving Gabrielle. Because of Desmond's demise (or is it?), the story arc will be limited to three. I won't reveal much because I know you all are very clever to catch on the meaning of how this will end. Thank you and I hope you enjoy a new, fresh, and great story following our most favorite sassy heroine!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Ubisoft's Assassin's Creed franchise; Gabrielle and several original characters belong to me.

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Falling in the Plains of Time

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"I'm going to Europe with my mom."

I blinked out of staring curiously at the newspaper clippings on the wall and turned my head to see Cheryl picking out a few bags of junk food from the stalls. The tall blonde joined next to me when she finished picking out favorite snacks.

"Wow," I slowly spoke up. "That's... That's pretty cool."

Cheryl, however, didn't seem all that excited. In fact, she looked rather bored of the idea of getting on a plane, traveling halfway across the globe, and exploring foreign soil. We both walked to stand behind a small line.

"Uh, where you going?" I asked her, wanting to find out more.

The taller teen only shrugged. "I dunno. I don't care."

Cheryl McCrawford was just another typical rich girl in the neighborhood, and it made a lot of people (including myself) wonder how we even became best friends at all. I was surprised our relationship lasted beyond middle school.

Cheryl and I were polar opposites to a T. She was tall, pretty, blonde, and was part of a social group. I, on the other hand, was a small, mud-brown-haired girl who would rather stay inside her room than deal with a whole population of people. I was once described an anti-social person, and a bit of an introvert.

There wasn't anything special or note-worthy about me. I always found it hard to believe when I've been told once or twice (besides Cheryl and mom because they don't count) that I was attractive in a cute sort of way.

"But it's Europe..." I scowled up at the taller teen as we made it to register to purchase our items.

"It's just some stupid excavation site my mom wants me to be part of. She and dad have this idea that I should start getting interested in the company."

"Oh," I muttered.

Her parents both worked in the same company (it's no big guess how they met), and her parents were suddenly pushing her to join in. Cheryl had her own interests, but they were continuously dogging her to into business when she would go to college, and eventually join the company. It was times like this I didn't envy Cheryl when her luxurious life-style demanded she follow into her rich parents footsteps.

My mom just wanted me to go to college, period.

"So, Mrs. Pearse wants us to plot up an idea for drama." I started when Cheryl spoke up, and I had no doubts she wanted to break the awkward air standing over us. She always got depressed when we talked about her parents, which lead to talking about her inescapable future.

I decided to play along, for her sake. "Ugh, I have to write a five page essay in history class."

"What?!" the tall blonde choked out while snacking. After a few coughs and back-poundings, she breathed easily. "That's so fucking stupid!"

I agreed. This was spring break, a two week break away from school and our studies to enjoy ourselves. But ever the sadistic bastard he was, Mr. Foster decided to slam a five page essay assignment to the whole class! Failure to comply with his demands at the return from the break would result in an automatic zero in his class.

"What an asshole!"

"I know."

We continued our walk beside the road, watching the say slowly dim down until orange and red splattered across the sky. We both continued to walk, talk, and snack on our chips and candy bars without care. Cheryl and I settled down on a small, semi-broken bench while watching the sun set.

"God, if only I didn't have to go to France..." the taller girl muttered as she finished her sour straws.

"Bring back a souvenir for me?" I asked, making a pouting face. I got a thump on the shoulder for the audacity.

"I'll bring back one of those funny French hats." she chortled, and we both bursted into a fit of giggles.

While the sun dived down, the sky was littered with twinkling lights...

The next day was a nightmare.

Stickles and Boomer

The little bookstore of multiple genres that varied from horror, fantasy, and science fictions to romance, adventure, and crime/mystery. The place had been standing since the 1920's, and it even survived the Great Depression. I was liked Stickles and Boomer because it was a small place that didn't have a lot of noise. There was just something about that place that always pulled me in ever since first stepping through the door that rang cowbells.

When I reached the small establishment, I was surprised and shocked to what I had found stamped on the window of the building.

It was going to be closed down!

I quickly entered the building and scanned my eyes around for a familiar withered-out old man who owned the bookstore. Mr. Utivitch, a Vietnam Veteran who had looked after the bookstore for tweny to thirty years, was located near the corner of the small building. He was busy packing away books in a cardboard box.

"Mr. Utivitch!" I called out to him as I hurried towards his position. "Sir! What's going on?"

"What do you think, Gabe?" he chuckled as he threw one last book into the open box before turning to face me.

Sargent William "Bill" Utivitch was once a handsome and vivacious youth that lived in Boston. He was a rowdy, rough, and always itching for a fight. When people were being drafted for Vietnam, he was first in line. Over the few tours he had been through, he slowly lost what cocksure he had, and when he returned home, his folks and friends saw how different of a man he had become. He was more withdrawn, and more humble. While most found that as an improvement to his previous attitude, others worried for him. What he had seen, and what he had been through, was something no young man should ever go through.

Later on through the years after he finished school, he moved out and away from all the action. Eventually, he found himself here, in a small town far out of the big city, and he bought a bookstore. A lot of people were surprised to find out that Mr. Utivitch had been a Marine. They would often jokingly ask why a Cong-killing sort of man was doing owning a quaint little bookstore.

Mr. Utivitch would always say he just wanted to find somewhere quiet. He didn't like the sound of big machines, nor did he like the obnoxious yelling people made. It made him remember things he would rather forget and leave behind in some dark corner of his mind.

Because in Stickles in Boomer, everything was quiet.

Everything was safe.

"Technology does wonders." the elderly man said as he pulled out a tablet. "Don't have a lot of trouble figuring this out at all. Plus, I can upload some books."

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh.

Of course, this was the 21st Century. People eventually would leave behind the old world to leap into the future. Because of the new discoveries within science and technology, humanity was slowly growing and growing in advanced with intriguing inventions. But there were some things technology could not replace, like the feeling of something solid and heavy in my hand, the smell of pages as my eyes hungrily sunk in new words...

Basically, I just preferred paperback to a Kindle.

"God, this sucks big time!" I cursed as I watched him bring out another cardboard box.

"That's life for you." Mr. Utivitch unhelpfully added, and he laughed at my pathetic-excuse-of-a-glare. "Don't you worry about it."

I huffed but let it slide. I looked around the store which caught the elder's attention.

"Is there something you're looking for?" he asked curiously.

I nodded. "I was hoping to look for a history book."

"Oh yeah?" he raised his thin eyebrows at me as he walked around the desk and towards one of the history shelves.

"I have to do an essay for my teacher—"

I was cut of abruptly when the older man suddenly halted and turned towards me with an incredulous expression on his face.

"An essay...? In the start of Spring Break?!" he squawked.

"Cheryl actually expressed the same thing as you did, sir." I quipped at him.

"Excuse my French, darling, but what the fuck are those teachers doing to you poor kids in school?"

"That's a question I ask myself every day."

I followed after the elderly man while tuning out his barely suppressed mumblings about today' schools. The bookshelves still gathered dust despite being wiped off almost every day, but Mr. Utivitch liked to hand on to his old duster. Books of all shapes and sizes were filed away together, and I had a thing for a hard covers that had golden lines embedded in the skin of the cover.

The thing I admired about Stickles and Boomer was that the place held nothing stupid like the Twilight books, Fifty Shades of Gray, or anymore of those trashy modern romance novels. This place held things like old school Lovecraft works, Mark Twain, and J.R.R. Tolkein. I've read the Grimm Brother's version of Peter Pan, Snow White, and Cinderella, and I loved them. Mr. Utivitch said that young people like myself needed to just step away from the world that went forward and simply enjoy the treasures of the old times.

The bookstore wasn't just a place to feel like you were going back in time when someone picked up a book and read its story: the place held precious memories.

Like when dad would come with when I wanted to bring back a new book home so he could read it to me.

"Here we are!" I jumped from the noise, having grown accustomed to the silence.

Handed to me was a leather bound, dark, and withered-looking book. The thing looked ancient from the fading and yellowing pages tucked away securely inside the book. A bit reluctant, I took the book from the wrinkled hands holding it up to me. There was nothing on the book save for an odd buckle-shaped contraption that was shaped as the letter "A".

"What story is this?" I asked Mr. Utivitch as we both traveled back to the main counter.

"It's sort of like Bram Stoker's Dracula, the whole journal entry style; this is a story telling about different eras from the Crusades until the American Revolution."

"Oh my gosh," I gaped at the older man and snapped my eyes back to the book in my hands. This thing could be a ticket to my essay! Easy A! "I'm so getting the extra credits!"

Mr. Utivitch only laughed. I reached for my bag to pull out my Pirates of the Caribbean wallet when the older man waved a hand at me to stop.

"Keep it." he told me.

"But—" I tried to argue, but he shook his head.

"This place is closing, and most of these books are probably going to end up being recycled..." he nodded back to the little leather book in my hands. "I don't exactly remember when I ever actually purchased something like that since the time I've been here, but there's something special about that book..."

The older man trailed off and his eyes glazed over when he stared at the book. He quickly came to when I called to him, wondering if he was finally feeling his old age.

"Just keep it, Gabe." he said with finality.

I watched the old man move around from behind the desk, going back to stacking heavy books away in the cardboard boxes.

"... I'm gonna miss you, sir." I whispered.

He didn't seem to hear me, and I didn't blame him. With one last sad look around the small bookstore that I've grown to love and look forward to visiting, I pulled away from the desk. Mr. Utivitch's grandson, Harley, had just entered the building, and he gave a nod of greeting to me as we walked past each other.

I held the book tightly in my hands as I exited Stickles and Boomer, and I swore I would keep the book safe and cherished for many years to come.

Hours later, I found myself home, and things were hectic as usual.

My baby twin brothers were wreaking havoc in the living room space, mom was assigned the graveyard shift at the hospital so no dinner tonight, and I was still brainstorming ideas on how to start my essay. With my name, teacher's name, class number, and date already typed up on the computer, my fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Earlier, after I had bribed Cole and Drake to bed with a promise to walk them to the park where they like to hang out at, I skimmed the nameless book carefully. The words were faded, the pages were rough, and the smell of the object was quite foreign, but not unwelcome. I was fascinated by the different languages written in the book, but I was happy that next to them were translations written in crooked English. The letters looked like chicken scratch, like the person who wrote it found it difficult to write at all...

I was very curious to read what the whole plot was all about, but I decided to save the time for tomorrow. It was very late from babysitting my brothers, cleaning the dishes, making sure the boys would stay in bed rather than stay up for mom to come home and find them.

With that planned, I saved the document on my desktop, pulled away from the desk, pulled on my fitting sweatpants and spaghetti-strapped top, and dived into the covers of my comfy bed. It didn't take long for the exhaustion of the day to overwhelm my fatigue and whisk me away into the dream scape.

Dreams had images, or they were just darkness.

The scape was darkness... with gold.

It wasn't treasure, and it wasn't pictures of great solid objects... rather, they were messages. The messages were long, like they were written on a great, black wall so the writer could furiously carve them against the invisible darkness and paint it with golden light. The messages were endless, and they went down, up, right, left, sideways...

They were confusing.

But they were trying to say something. They were trying to pass a message to someone who was meant to see the truth that the writer had left behind for them.

Who—

"Se lever!"

I blinked at the sound, the voice gravel, raspy, and harsh. Were the boys watching some movie they shouldn't from the television screen? I groaned at the thought that mom could walk into the house any moment and be horrified to find her sons watching some R-rated film she had been so sure to lock them out of.

Cole and Drake were fast becoming clever in their age. A bad combination with their mischief.

I jumped when a solid kick landed on my foot, and I sat up quickly to suddenly see that I was no surrounded by teal-colored four walls with lilac flowers imprinted on them. Instead, I was surrounded by rotting wood, and there was a large man dressed in strange clothed standing over me. There was a moment when the tall man and I stared at each other, him in cold indifference and I in shock.

Until I felt him kick my leg harshly. I let out a yelp from the kick and scrambled away from him on the hard floor, but I didn't get too far. I heard the sound of shackles until I found myself chained around the ankles.

"What the fuck?!" I cried out, kicking my legs out and looking back at the tall man in horror. "What the fuck are you doing?! Who are you?!"

Oh, God. Oh, God! I was going to be a victim to a maniac that was going to leave me chained under his basement, and no one will find my body until a decade later. I was going to be tortured slowly, both outside and inside, and my mind was going to go out of control like right now!

I started to scream, kicking and pulling at the bindings that chained me to the wooden floor, and I continued to scream over the sound of the man's yelling. I only gave another hysterical scream when he stomped over at me, my hands raised to scratch his eyes should he dare to—

It was a fruitless fight when he grabbed the top of my thick lock of hair and bashed my head against the wall behind me.