Light passed over his eyelids. Desmond moaned and rolled over, trying to escape the sun.
"...Desmond?" a tentative voice asked him.
Slowly, Desmond pried his eyes open. He was back in his cell, the sun shining directly on his face through the small window. Lucy was on her knees in front of him.
"Ugh." He winced, then sat up, an effort in itself. The room blurred, then came back into focus, and his head was pounding. The comfort of the floor made him feel better, though; he assumed it was easier than sitting on concrete, and again the reason for the plush room crossed his mind.
He glanced at Lucy, and the reason for her presence also crossed his mind. Why wasn't she in her own cell?
"What're you doing here?" As he asked, her face changed from concern to relief back to concern.
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "That guard's slap dazed me too. I didn't pass out, but I don't remember what they said to me. I think they put me in here to make sure you didn't die or something."
Desmond turned his body towards her, noticing with surprise that his hands weren't bound. Lucy's hands were behind her back, though; she wasn't so lucky.
"How long have I been out?" he asked.
Lucy shrugged. "Not sure. Two hours, maybe?"
That meant they'd been here for a day and a half. The thought made Desmond sick—and hungry. His stomach suddenly realized how empty it was, and began to howl.
He wrapped his arms around his midsection, pressing hard, stopping the noise. "Are they just going to let us starve?"
"Oh—you haven't found it yet?" Lucy tilted her head at him, then looked around. "Let's see..." She rose awkwardly with no hands to push herself up, then wandered over to the far wall of the cell. She stopped under the window, then pushed her shoulder against the padded wall.
A section of the wall, about as big as a doorframe, slid back and then to the right, revealing a dark room. Desmond pulled himself to his feet, careful not to topple over, then followed Lucy as she walked in.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, bright, artificial lights flickered on, hurting Desmond's head even more.
This room was made of foam as well, only about three by four feet - it was tight getting both he and Lucy in - and on the far wall, there was a solitary toilet, made of steel, with no water in it. There was no sink, no shower. Just a toilet.
"Is that it?" Desmond asked, though that toilet did look awfully tempting; his bladder had just seemed to realize it was in need as well.
"If your room is the same as mine, then no." Lucy padded out of the room, Desmond following. The door slid shut behind them, and he made a mental note of its location.
"There should be something..." Lucy had moved to the wall on her right, and started pushing against it with her shoulder. A click, and then another panel slid back.
This room couldn't even be called a room; it was set about a foot back into the wall, with a solitary shelf up to about waist height. The shelf currently contained some sort of off-white, liquidy paste that Desmond assumed was food. Or lumpy glue. Next to the plate was a plastic water bottle, no cap.
"Is that...?" Desmond asked warily, approaching the also-plastic plate.
"Food." Lucy nodded, smiling. "Go ahead."
There was no spoon; Desmond picked up the paste with his fingers and slurped it down, not caring what it was or what it tasted like. Eating felt so good.
He happened to glance at Lucy; she was staring at the food with such intensity that it made him stop. "What's the matter?" he asked, looking up at her.
She shook her head. "I guess the amount of food you get is based on calorie intake... You're bigger than me, so you get more, but..." A longing gaze crossed her eyes as she looked; clearly what she'd gotten wasn't enough to fill her up.
Desmond held up the plate. "Have some."
Lucy backed up a step and shook her head. "It's yours."
"You're starving," he countered, standing.
"It's not just that..." She never took her eyes off the paste. "My hands are bound so I have to..." She bent her head down and mimed eating off a plate, like a dog. "I'd rather do it alone."
"Oh." Desmond replaced the plate, not wanting to make Lucy feel worse than she already did, and instead picked up the bottle. "Here, have some water."
"Thanks." She smiled gratefully, then tilted her head back as Desmond poured a small stream of water into her mouth, then took a sip himself.
"Why no cap?" he wondered aloud.
"How would you get a cap off with no hands?" she asked him. "And even if you were uncuffed, you could choke on it."
"What kind of a moron would—?" Desmond began to laugh at the oddness of it all, but Lucy shot him a sharp look.
"Not by accident. Why do you think... Sixteen did what he did? Being cooped up for too long can do things to a person.
"If all you have to wake up to is the thought of another day of torture, would you want to stop sleeping?" she asked, voice hard.
And suddenly it all made sense. The foam room so you couldn't bash your head open. No utensils for self-injury. The lack of water in the toilet to eliminate drowning. Plastic plate and water bottle; too soft to do any real brain damage.
"But..." Desmond was stunned. "Surely you could suffocate yourself in this foam? It must be just like a pillow being held over your face."
Lucy shook her head. "Try it."
Feeling slightly crazy, Desmond planted his face in the wall. To his utter shock, he found he could breathe quite normally. He backed away from the wall.
"Specially insulated padding," Lucy muttered. "I've seen the plans for it. I just never had any idea what it could possibly be used for.
"This whole cell was Vidic's design," she added, motioning with her head around the room. "He always loved watching people try to figure out what was right in front of him." She nodded to the corner to the right of the entrance. "And he's probably been watching you for a while; I figured mine out quite quickly." There was a camera, so small Desmond hadn't noticed it at first. He glared at it, then turned back to Lucy.
"Can he hear what we're saying?"
She shrugged. "Probably. He'd want to make it easier, see if we say anything we shouldn't."
"Come with me," he muttered, pulling her by the arm to where he knew the bathroom was. He opened the panel, then led her in, letting go of her arm when they were inside.
"No cameras in here?" he asked. "It is a bathroom, after all."
She shrugged again, then looked around. "I don't see one. There might be a microphone, though," she warned him, giving him a dangerous look.
Desmond stared at her desperately; there were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he guessed many of them would get him a punch to the jaw, so he settled on, "Where are we?"
Lucy sighed. "I have no idea. The Animus level was on the fourth floor, and judging by the lack of any buildings outside the window, I'd say we're much higher than that. I've never actually been through half of our building."
Though Desmond wanted to know more, the burning sensation in his bladder prevented him from asking. "Do you mind...?" He gestured to the toilet.
"Oh!" Lucy's cheeks turned slightly red. "Of course, sorry."
It seemed the room knew when people were still in it; no matter how Desmond tried, he couldn't get the door to close while he was in the bathroom. He attempted jumping out into the main room, then slipping back in while the door was closing, but even then it sensed his presence and stopped short of crushing him, another suicide protection measure most likely.
"It's fine," Lucy assured him. "It's not like I'm going to watch or anything."
So she faced the corner while he finally relieved himself. It was the best thing he had ever done in front of a toilet.
There was no sink, no shower, only an automatic hand sanitiser that dispensed a minuscule amount, barely enough to cover his hands. Desmond tried to ask it for more, but it had locked up, and wouldn't dispense again for another two hours. He sighed and moved back into the main room.
"Ow," he muttered, bringing a hand to his head. For the first time, he noticed there was a small pool of blood where he'd slept.
"Hey, Lucy...?" he asked slowly, turning toward her.
Desmond jolted awake, and for half a second he thought he'd gone blind, until he saw small patches of moonlight on the wall he was facing.
His head was absolutely pounding; it felt like someone had taken an axe to his brain.
Even more than that was an intense feeling of hunger. So had he just imagined his meal? Was there really no toilet in this godforsaken room?
Struggling with the effort, Desmond rolled himself onto his back and sat up slowly, eyes nearly rolling back into his head as a wave of dizziness hit him.
Lucy was sitting against the wall, asleep, and Desmond could just barely make out the woman he knew under the burn marks that covered her face, neck, and arms.
So he hadn't been dreaming. But was there more food? Desmond looked longingly at where he guessed the panel to be that held the only nutrition he was going to get. Still, he worried that standing up would cause him to pass out again.
"Lucy!" he whispered, but then shut his mouth. Her hands were still bound; how would she even get the food out?
Slowly, he commanded himself. First he went to his knees, then took a knee, before hesitantly straightening his legs and standing. Dizziness swept his vision, and he put a hand on the wall to support himself, but after it had passed he felt fine.
Finally, he made his way to the opposite wall and pushed on the panel. It slid back, and there was glorious food. And there was even a piece of brown bread.
Desmond eagerly ate the paste and drank some water, but set the plate with bread and half the bottle of water on the ground.
"Lucy," he whispered again, a little gentler. His hand went out to touch her arm.
Lucy jerked awake and whipped her body around, scrambling backwards with her feet, but with her hands bound there was nothing to support her body; she fell awkwardly on her side, elbow holding up her torso.
She glared up at him. "The fuck, Desmond!"
"Uh... Want some bread?" he asked lamely, holding up the plate.
Instantly her eyes softened and she pushed herself back up so she was sitting against the wall again. "It's yours," she insisted.
"I already ate the rest, don't worry." Desmond lowered himself down beside her, crossing his legs with the plate in front of him. It was at that moment he realized he still wasn't wearing a shirt.
He broke off a small piece of bread and held it up. "Open your mouth."
Lucy bit her lip, trying decide on being fed or starving. She chose the former, and slowly her lips parted. Desmond placed the bread on her tongue, and her eyes widened. She chewed and swallowed, sighing with relief.
"I think that's the best bread I've ever had," she said, grinning widely.
Desmond smiled back and have her another piece. He fed her the entire slice, all the while wondering how long this would last before they could get out.