Days had passed. The routine was drilled as followed: a snarky wakeup call courteously of Vidic followed by an extensive Animus session ending with the decision between sleeping through the nightmares or staying up until weariness knocks him out. Either way, those damned dreams couldn't be avoided, and Desmond had begun to live with them, troublesome as they are.
Not to mention the headaches.
God, those were a pain.
Desmond barely managed to reach the backroom's counter. He leaned for support with one hand as the other turned the faucet on. Risking his weak state, he used both to wash cold water on his face. He drank some, feeling slightly dehydrated.
How long was he in the machine this time? Ten, twelve hours?
He recalled how Lucy replied when he asked.
"More than you should have."
His head was in the toilet in a matter of seconds, spilling his stomach's contents.
Once there was nothing left to give, his shaky legs brought him out of the bathroom to his bedside. He stumbled and fell forward, landing gracelessly onto the linens. He grabbed a pillow and buried his nose in it. It smelt like a doctor's office, but he clutched it taut, trying to ward off the ache in his stomach and the endless throb in his skull.
The Black Room patiently awaited his return as exhaustion brought him forth in chains.
Enemies everywhere. Red smeared the shadowy floor, the black walls, and his bare hands.
His limbs felt too powerless to move, and a haze had washed over him. The grim environment began to consume, lapping first at his feet then rapidly climbing past his waist. Sluggish as he came to be, Desmond attempted to fight back, but his resistance was doubtlessly futile, and his mind remained foggy and senseless. He was helpless, lost within the ghastly delusion.
Amidst the sea of crimson and coal, a cyan silhouette briskly weaved through. It darted towards the forlorn man, reaching out.
All was at a standstill, and the flooding waves of scarlet were then vaporized.
Desmond got a short moment to witness a large hand approach his face before he was sent backwards and slammed to the ground behind him. His jaw was held sternly to the side while cold metal was fixed opposite on his neck. He instinctually closed his eyes, waiting for the blade to pierce him.
But it did not.
Desmond dared to peek.
He was pinned between a hooded man's knees. The latter was breathing laboriously, shoulders rising and falling with each silent gasp for air. The assaulter retracted his hands from the man beneath him, but suddenly fell onto Desmond, breaths exchanging heavily.
"I got you."
His voice was low, thickly accented, and said right in Desmond's ear. The words themselves sounded oddly foreign, but the nether man recognized the voice, and he let out a breath he had held in.
"You scared the shit out of me," was all Desmond could say to his predecessor. He looked up the assassin, perplexed by the odd and sudden arrival.
"I was running forever..."
The Arab took a deep inhale and exhale of air.
"...but now I have you."
The American thought strangely of this but couldn't find the words to utter his inquiry. Instead, he felt uncomfortable under the weight of the assassin, and Desmond reflectively acted on his disposition.
"Okay, okay. You 'got' me. Now would you please get off?"
Wordlessly, Altair rolled over and rested beside his descendant. As if their minds were in sync, neither found the urgency to move. The two remained put, staring up at the ceiling...'s stars?
"What in the...?" Desmond whispered to himself, bemused by the clarity of a night sky he had seen lifetimes ago.
He was in Jerusalem, looking up at constellations of stars, even finding the little dipper. He felt the dirt under his fingers, dry grass grazing his palms, and rocks poking into his back. A vivid illusion it may be, he knew better than to fall for semblance of the Animus.
However, his reasoning finally came, assessing that he was dreaming as he vaguely remembered himself blacking out. This meant that this was his own deception he had created.
A fist grabbed his sleeve. The grip was firm, but Desmond rejected it's realty. His senses were deceiving him, pushing away his logic and deluding him to think that he was in a place far away from his imprisonment. But if he would open his eyes, he would be back at Abstergo, waiting to be hooked up to a simulator all day or until his nose bled.
This -illusion- wasn't the freedom he asked for, but the bartender was dubious if he'll get his wish in reality.
Desmond continued to question his endless chase from control, wondering when the end will be and when his sanity will escape him.
Inattentive to his action, his hand hovered the one clasped onto his sleeve. His finger tips softly settled on the other's skin. His mind was fishing for proof against its existence because he felt it -the warmth of life was there.
The other's hand gave away from the tension and relaxed as an implied response to the touch. Desmond's fingers trailed up and wrapped loosely around the man's wrist, and the tops of his digits rested on a specific, pulsating spot. That was another condition that made him second guess his perception of this dream or simulation.
Shit.
He couldn't tell the difference.
"Dezmund."
His racing thoughts were lost once he heard his name in that voice. It was as if the Arabic tone muted his pessimistic anguish, stealing his mind right out of his trouble and into a tranquil status.
Desmond hummed in reply, in total bliss of the newfound serenity.
"You cannot stay here."
The spell of peace and stillness in his mind was broken. The bartender ripped his hand away harshly and pushed himself to rise. Altair was quickly on his toes and already leaning over Desmond as he sat himself up. He held his hand forward to stop him.
"What?" Desmond asked, raising an eyebrow.
He was flicked on the forehead.
"You must not move any longer."
Then he was shoved down into the dirt with painful force, and the small stones stabbed his spine.
"What the hell-!"
Desmond was cut short by a stirn and curt command.
"Silence."
And he gave it.
"Goodbye...for now."
The man caught himself wanting to agree, but he was unable to part his lips. He was frozen still as a numbing sensation overtook his body. He only blinked once, and Jerusalem was gone.
A/N: If you are reading this then I double congratulate you for not only reading the first but also the second chapter of this little story of mine! It gives me the warm fuzzies just knowing that people enjoy it enough to continue reading past the first chapter!
Thank you for the comments! They made me consider, smile, and crack up! You guys are too cool!
If you want to submit a review with any complaints, suggestions, or commentary -feel free! I read every one of them and take them to heart!
Carry on,
~Blue[J]~
