Hey guys, been a while. I started Brotherhood last week and this little story popped into my head while I was running through the tunnels under Monteriggioni with Lucy. It's also my first Assassin's Creed fanfiction =3 Please overlook any misspellings, I had to type this on Notepad which has no spell-check. I did go through it but I'm sure I missed something. Enjoy!
...
The thumps of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls. The sound bouncing back at Lucy unnerved her a little. In her imagination, it sounded as if a group of Templars were in the tunnel, in hot pursuit. In truth, it was just her and Desmond down here.
At least, she hoped so.
Only a few days ago, she and Desmond, along with Shaun and Rebecca, had escaped their safehouse after Abstergo had found them out. The little band of Assassins had rescued Desmond from Abstergo, as he was one of their own. But Vidic and all of Abstergo wanted him back. They were looking for the Apple, the piece of Eden that would serve their own twisted ends, even as the Assassins scrambled to find it first. Desmond and the memories of his ancestors were the key to finding it, and Lucy knew the Templars would stop at nothing to kidnap him again. It was entirely possible that the Templars could have been waiting for them at Monteriggioni, but thankfully, they weren't.
Still, Lucy felt ill at ease as she followed Desmond down the tunnel. He had been in the Animus for days on end now; first forced by Abstergo to relive Altair's memories, then Ezio's for the Assassins of his own free will. He said he was fine when asked, in typical cheerful Desmond fashion, but Lucy knew better. She had seen what happened to thoae who stayed in the Animus too long. Like Subject 16...
She bit her lip, fighting back the despair and guilt over 16's death. She had been working for Abstergo under Vidic, who had pushed 16 so hard he was driven insane. All Lucy could do was watch as he died. There was no way she could have saved him without breaking her cover. Desmond had said, back at the safehouse, that she was just as much of a prisoner as he was, and that she was not to blame. However well-meaning his words were, they brought no comfort. Subject 16's death was on her and her alone.
She shook her head, clearing the thoughts out, as she watched Desmond disappear over the ledge he had been climbing. She started up herself, forcing herself to concentrate on every step, every handhold, listening for creaks. The wooden beams here were ancient. One wrong step could snap them and send the Assassins plunging down the way they had come.
Lucy hauled herself over the edge, wondering why Desmond hadn't lent her his hand in his usual chivalrous manner. She straightened and saw why. Desmond was standing a few feet away, his back to her, staring down the black tunnel. The tense set of his shoulders told Lucy that he was staring into a past she could not see. The Animus caused such hallucinations if one was in it too long. She walked up to him, reached up, and touched his shoulder. "Desmond."
He did not turn.
Adjusting her grip slightly, Lucy then shook his shoulder. "Desmond," she repeated, louder this time.
Still there was no response.
Now very worried, Lucy moved to stand in front of him. She took both shoulders in her hands and yelled, "Desmond!" Her cry was magnified by the rock surrounding them, making it seem like a dozen Lucys were shouting.
Desmond's eyes were glazed over. Not moved by her outburst, he continued to stare at a spot above her head and far beyond her. He gasped, though Lucy had done nothing further, and collapsed.
Lucy caught him with a grunt, adrenaline lending her an uncanny strength. Gently and swiftly as she could, she laid him down on the stone floor and kneeled beside him. Alarmed, she touched his forehead. Cold and clammy. Or was that just her own hand?
His long days in the Animus were finally catching up to him. No matter how strong the subject was, it always found a way to mess with their minds, and then their bodies. Lucy knew he should have time to rest, but there was just no time with the Templars constantly three steps behind them. In a way, she and the Assassins were forcing him into the Animus, just as Abstergo had. How much better are we than them, really, Lucy asked herself bitterly, if Desmond is still being pushed this far? For a moment ahe loathed herself again, just as she had when Subject 16... after he... Desmond's face swam in front of her eyes, blending with the sudden vivid mental image of Subject 16. Angrily, Lucy brushed the tears away and felt Desmond's neck for a pulse.
It wasn't there.
Lucy scrambled for his wrist. Still nothing. Desmond's chest was still even as her own heaved with frightened sobs. She could not - would not - have another Subject 16 on her hands. Without a moment's hesitation, she tilted his chin up and lowered her lips to his, starting CPR. It's like kissing a corpse, she thought, repulsed even as she attempted to breathe life into him. After two breaths, Lucy straightened and placed her hands on his chest. With all her strength, she pushed on his chest, willing his heart to beat again.
"Please Desmond, please come back," she begged. The panic coursing through her generated a fever heat. It seemed impossible that Desmond didn't stir when her insides were writhing with anxiety. The physical method of CPR did nothing to calm her; every second Desmond continued to lie still, Lucy's hysteria multiplied.
This time, when Lucy pressed her lips to Desmond's, she felt a warmth that had been missing before. At first she thought the heat of her own agitation was reflecting back at her off of Desmond's skin. But it persisted, grew warmer, and to her surprise she felt a pressure against her lips that had definitely been absent before. Their mouths twisted, they were kissing. Lucy tried to pull away, but Desmond's hand had reached up and now cradled her head, his fingers burrowed in her blonde hair. His other hand rested on her waist. She could feel the warmth of it through her jacket, in a way that scared her because it felt so good.
"Desmond," she murmured in between kisses.
"Lucy," he replied, oblivious to the warning in her voice.
"No, Desmond, stop," she repeated, firmer this time. Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. The mixture of hurt and desire in his eyes matched exactly her own feelings and made her want to weep. She wished he wouldn't stroke her cheek with his thumb like that. "We can't," she whispered, with a little less conviction, looking away from him.
"Why not?" That low, husky tone really did a number on her.
"You know why not," said Lucy roughly, "You're not well, and the Templars are after us, and -,"
Desmond interrupted with a laugh, which irritated her, but not enough to force her to look back up at him. "We're safe here, Lucy."
"But for how long?" Lucy demanded the zipper of his sweatshirt.
Shaking his head, Desmond replied, "Your guess is as good as mine. You need to relax, Lucy. You worry too much."
"I'm starting to think you don't worry enough," she muttered.
"One of us has to be the optimist around here," Desmond chuckled. "Come on, Lucy. Who knows how much time we have?"
"Exactly, which is why we need to -," Lucy was cut off with a kiss as Desmond tilted her chin to meet her lips. For the briefest moment, she resisted. There was so much that hung on their team, on Desmond. The fate of the whole world was in his hands. There simply was no time to indulge in their own desires.
But Lucy was so tired of resisting.
She let Desmond roll her over and hover above her. She let him undress her, let his hands proceed the shivers that ran down her body. She even let her hands skim over his muscles, softened by his days in the Animus, but still thrilling to touch.
When he entered her, her whole brain shrieked for her to stop even as she begged him not to. Reason was beyond her as she gave in to the blissful mode of simple action and reaction. Everything else was forgotten in the sudden urgency for release.
When that release came, it was quick and devastating. They lay tangled on the floor of the tunnel, trembling with the combined cold and exhausted ecstasy, for a long time. Slowly, the other urgency came back to them, and they disengaged themselves. They dressed wordlessly, their backs to each other.
Lucy turned only after she had zipped up her jacket. She met Desmond's eyes and opened her mouth. Desmond stopped her apology with a kiss. He gave her a long, tender look before taking off down the tunnel, scouting ahead. She watched him go, wrestling with herself.
Lucy was fond of Desmond. He was fun to be around, with his easy smile and gentle teasing. But underneath that was a serious strength that surprised her. His endurance when it came to exposure to the Animus was incredible. And more than that, he had accepted Minerva's prophecy and fate for him without flinching. That took something special, and she admired him for that.
But admiration was not equal to love, and she could not love him. She didn't deserve to, after all that she had done to him, to all the others. Even if it was against her will, as he had pointed out. Desmond's simple acceptance and forgiveness of her flaws hurt her. It was cruel to lead him on like this when she could not return his feelings. If only I hadn't been so weak.
After a moment, Lucy followed him, heavy with guilt and regret.
...
;-; Don't get me wrong, I love Des/Lucy, but after all the teasing they were doing down there I felt it was time for some srsbsns. And apparently my brain interprets "serious" as "sad" XD Reviews are always appreciated; thank you for reading!