Hey all! Wanted to try something fluffier than I usually do, and see if I could still keep in character. Also, I was really had a bad case of the feels on account of Lucy dying today and all.

Must. Contain. Sadness. ç_ç

Tell me what you think!

(Listen to Radioactive by Imagine Dragons for extra feels).

Ubisoft owns

Lucy chewed her lip as she looked between her laptop's screen and Desmond's unconscious body on the Animus. His brow was knit in obvious stress, and his hands twitched and clenched as he continued through his sequence. His lungs pumped irregularly, his chest spasmed at times, and fell eerily still at others. His legs lay in their place, lead against his much more mobile upper body. She cast her eyes back up to his face; his lips had been strung into a thin line, his scar appearing as a chalk line, starkly white against his sun-dusted skin. Under the glass display, his eyelids were pushed around, as his eyes flitted this way and that, like in some macabre throe of a nightmare.

Lucy tried to ignore him, cursing the computer station's proximity to him. She knew better than to let a subject get to her, she'd done it 16 times already. However, if this time was anything like the last, she would be in for a hell of a ride. An aggressive part of her always hated Vidic and herself for what they did everyday. As much as she tried to, she was never able to dissociate herself enough to become the cold, clinical doctor Vidic was. She wasn't built like that.

On the farm, one of her first memories she could recall was a disturbing one. She walked through the compound, talking deep breaths of the fall air, watching with youthful awe as her breath hung in the air in front of her. Lost in her own world, she staggered around, letting fantastical imaginations play behind her eyes. A soft thump nearby had startled her, a soft squeak puffed from her lips into the still, cold air. She hurried to see what the sound was, and choked on a gasp when the tiny body of a sparrow shuddered on the ground, a few drops of electrically red blood spattered around it. She couldn't tear her gaze from its helpless body as it fought against death's embrace. Her eyes prickled as she knelt, unable to tear herself from its fight. A small droplet of blood slipped from its beak, staining the ground beneath it. She reached a hand out, wanting to do something, anything but just sit and listen to its plaintive gasps. Its neck seemed to be off in an unusual angle, its brown feathers askew around the area. She felt a hot tear stain her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. She was a big girl– she had said so to her mother. Why should she care about a tiny bird; it was only nature's way. She held her breath, making herself listen, waiting until it breathed its last; but it never did. She remained there, watching as it bleed and panted, until an adult had seen her and removed her from the scene.

Lucy shuddered as she heard a strangled gasp slip from Desmond's lips. She checked his vitals; all were in the acceptable range.

Acceptable my ass– no medical doctor would put someone through this kind of stress test.

She turned her head, hazarding a glance in Vidic's direction. His attention was fixed on his computer's dark screen, as usual. She deftly flitted her fingers across the keys, her back burned as though his eyes were scrutinizing her, every second she defied him. The lights of the Animus began to transition from a placid blue to an angry orange. The plumes of steam beneath the glass at her feet swirled aggressively, building in size as they became trapped.

She cleared her throat softly, and tried her best to sound surprised, "Vidic, we have a problem."

His eyes flicked angrily from his work, "What do you mean Ms. Stillman?"

She stepped aside, indicating to the unnerving colour, "It's overheated– I'll have to eject him."

"Has he finished the sequence yet?"

She faltered, "W…well no, but–"

"He'll be fine until then. He's not made of glass Ms. Stillman."

Lucy felt a tight grip taking hold of her lungs, "But sir– with all respect– we can't leave him in there when it can't be cooled. He'll overheat too."

"Ms. Stillman, what temperature is the human body, roughly?"

She cursed internally, "98.6 degrees, sir."

He smiled ever so slightly, "And what is the temperature for a high fever?"

"About 104 degrees, sir." She held back a sigh, knowing where he was going with his purposefully asinine questions.

"Well then, until the Animus exceeds 104 degrees, Desmond will remain in it." He paused, then cut her off before her lips opened in protest, "That's final, Ms. Stillman."

Lucy cast her eyes back to Desmond; worry lined her brow as she watched the thermometer rising to 78 degrees from its baseline of 65.

I'm sorry Desmond.

She tried to distract herself, but found herself watching him until she saw beads of sweat form on his troubled brow. She longed to reach out, and to help him, like she tried with the bird, however, this time she was fighting against what was considered acceptable behaviour, and not fear. Her insides churned as pink began to rise to his cheeks. His breathing became irregular in his strain for oxygen. His lips remained parted; a few gasps punctuated the monotone hum from the machine. Every degree passed at a painful speed, Lucy felt the strain of her position the entire 15 minutes it took.

Come on Des, hurry!

She rocked back on her heels, trying to get her brain to switch tracks, and end her torture. She cursed herself as she looked back at his face; rivulets began to appear along his hairline, his cheeks had become fully flushed at this point. His curls lay damp, pressed to his skin, darkened in colour. She chewed on a painfully short nail, wincing when she felt her tooth slip under, breaking the skin.

Desmond sputtered and gasped as the Animus spat him out, his head nearly hitting off the glass as it retracted into the machine. His eyes flew around frantically trying to adjust to his new surroundings. They fixed on Lucy's distraught expression, watching as it softened slightly.

"Take a minute Desmond, but please, get off the Animus." She tried to keep her tone neutral, despite the flurry of emotions threatening to overpower her.

He shifted, stumbling, and staggering forward as his vision threatened to fail. Lucy took one of his arms, directing him to sit in a chair. She let her hand linger, her thumb caressed his arm in a gesture of comfort. He looked up at her, slightly startled at her affection.

"Luc–"

"Shhh… just, try to cool down."

"Wha… cool down?" He became aware of his current state, and wiped his brow experimentally.

She turned from him and straightened her posture, "Vidic, this is going to take some time, perhaps you'd like to–"

He stood angrily, wagging a finger in her direction, "I want status updates on the hour, Ms. Stillman." He walked to the door, slipping between them in frustrated silence.

"Des, maybe you should lie down."

"Wait," he grabbed her arm, "what's going on?"

"The Animus overheated. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, however Warren insisted that you were to stay in it until you'd finished the sequence."

Desmond looked at the Animus, a puzzled expression surfacing over that of pain.

"Yeah, I think I'll go lay down for a while." He stood, shakily once again.

Lucy stood by his side, taking his arm to lead him back to his room. Desmond's eyes squeezed shut, trying in vain to push the pain away. His footsteps were staggered at best; Lucy only hoped that he would be able to make it to his room before he tripped over his own feet. Carrying him would not be an option.

Desmond let himself sink down onto the bed, allowing Lucy to heave his legs onto it, too tired to lift them independently. He lay in a groggy-half state, which only increased Lucy's concern.

"Des, you should probably get out of that hoodie, you're burning up. " She tested his forehead with the inside of her wrist, pulling it away quickly.

Desmond simply lay there, not able to muster his muscles to move. Lucy huffed, and lifted his arms, placing them beside his head. She sat beside him, and tugged his sweater off, struggling slightly as Desmond gave no indication of helping.

She exhaled heavily when she finally removed the offending garment, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thump. She hurried to the bathroom and ran the water until it felt frigid to her hand, then soaked a rough face cloth under the stream. Desmond's soft moans of discomfort perked her ears, and she sighed, wishing their was a mirror in the bathroom in which she could search her own eyes, wondering what the hell she was doing with her life.

Desmond jerked when the wet cloth lay against his feverish head. His eyes burned, and he attempted to pull the wet cloth lower over them, only resulting in feeling his arm flop like a fish out of water.

Lucy sighed, and sat beside him on the bed, her weight beside him a slight comfort from the throbbing burn behind his eyes.

He opened his lips, feeling them pull slightly in their dryness, "Thanks, Lucy." he managed to croak.

She allowed herself a brief moment to remain in his presence; his only calm in the storm that threatened to pull him under. However, time was not something an Abstergo employee had learned to take for granted.

"Just hang on a little longer, Desmond." Her hand lingered on his arm longer than her words hung in the air, and she stood, not wanting to misguide him. Lips pursed, she swiftly strode out of the room, hearing the door swish definitively behind her.

Just a little longer.