Desmond was no longer lying on Clay's lap, he had already crawled off into his own personal space, slightly embarrassed by the situation earlier. He rested himself against the wall in silence, thinking otherwise. Clay, on the other hand, had taken no mind at all. After all, he did take it upon himself to let Desmond rest for a while in his care. It was Clay, who did not mind his burdens. This smiling man, still a stranger to Desmond. And so, begs the question, why did he? Desmond keeps to himself, with his cellmate opposite him looking content, as if meditating to himself. Desmond could have easily mistaken that he had fallen asleep sitting up.

A loud tapping rang through their ears, and both heads turned to the door. Underneath, chrome bowls filled with chowder slipped through the flap, and an unpleasant smell wafted through the air. Clay got up walking over, picking each bowl in hand. He strides over to Desmond, who watched his every step. Though Clay knew, time and again, Desmond would refuse to eat as such, he offers none the less.

"Here, you haven't eaten the last few meals, you know."

"Yeah..." An effortless reply.

"Umm, yeah so...you should probably eat then-"

"Okay."

Of course, Clay is surprised when Desmond's weak, shaking hands lift finally accepting his proposal. He notes that Desmond doesn't actually stand or tries to raise his body up. The poor boy was seriously weaker than Clay originally thought. And so, he bends down, pushing the bowl into Desmond's trembling hands. Clay should feel more worried, but he was simply happy Desmond was starting to respond.

"There. Don't eat it too fast."

"Right..."

Clay sits next to him, with the latter looking over his own food, not bothered by the others shared warmth. He ventured a guess to what Desmond was doing. Inspecting the substance, checking for anything that might kill him, naturally. But for Desmond, he wasn't examining, entirely. He was challenging himself. Wondering why, why did the thick gruel in his grasp look so much more appetising than before? That the times before where they were served, he would not eat, would not dare to watch Clay even eat fearing he might vomit. But now...now there was no excuse, he was starving and he didn't care.

Desmond notices Clay has already tucked into his food, his hand covered as if he had grabbed a handful of grime. Well, the way the food looked it wasn't far from it. He doesn't seem to be choking, or struggling, which helps ease Desmond's doubt. There is now a generous amount of gruel in his hand, he feels the 'foods' porridge-like texture, before it nervously passes his lips.

He waits.

It's...not that...bad?

He swallows thickly.

It's another few more timid bites before Desmond feels comfortable. He eventually takes mouthfuls before his bowl was half empty. Clay had long already finished his, and set aside his polished dish. Lips smacking, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, satisfied.

"So, if you don't mind me asking," Clay picks his teeth with his tongue. "earlier actually, what exactly were you on about?"

"About what?"

"Well, you were probably delirious I'll have to say," there's a slight chuckle. "but you were so damn sure of this 'paradise' of yours."

A nervous swallow. "Paradise?"

And realisation hits Desmond, he wasn't delirious at that moment at all. Sure, Desmond was exhausted mentally and physically, but if it had to be one thing he could remember briefly, was that world of his. An illusion though simple and delicate. His face heats, remembering how ridiculous he must have sounded, babbling on to Clay like some overly zealous child.

"I'm...not sure if I would call it that." he admits.

Clay gives him a look. "And why not?"

Desmond lowered his bowl to his lap. "Because it doesn't look like paradise at all?"

"Really?" Clay has his hands behind his head. "So what does your kind of paradise look like then?"

"Paradise looks like-" Desmond pauses abruptly, trying to rephrase his answer, or rather, unsure of what Clay was asking of him. Was he asking him what that world looked like? Or, more curiously, was Clay asking him his own? All this, and suddenly, Desmond was starting to feel more aware of Clay's presence next to him.

He finally answers. "I don't know."

"That's fine." That time spent thinking, Clay noted Desmond's obvious apprehension. "Bet it was beautiful though, the way you kept going on about it."

"Mmm. Probably." Desmond can feel his face heating up again, and does his best to brush past it. "Wait, I kind of...recall earlier, before they took me away I mean. You said something about a fairytale, about why we're here right? Something they can't find without us..." Clay is surprisingly quiet and still, as Desmond presses on. "What did you exactly mean, Clay?"

"Home." said Clay, after a moment of silence. This is the first time Desmond ever notices Clay looking so drained yet composed. "That is paradise. What they want, and I'm betting what you saw inside the Animus is Eden. And they," he turns to Desmond with a frown. "they'll stop at nothing to have it. To find it...to destory it."

Desmond feels lost, as if he was back in that vast world of his. He tries to understand, searching in Clay's eyes. "Destory paradise?"

"We can't let them just have it. Don't you see, Fran?" Clay places a hand on Desmond's shoulder with a tight grip. "They are not allowed anymore."

The instant that Clay looks up at the door, it slides open with three familiar figures barging in. Each looking as intimidating as before, they were instantly cornered. Daniel approaches out from behind with an air of superiority, without a care, without regard.

"Oh, so sorry to disrupt the two of you getting cosy down there, but the boss wants to have a few words with the new one." he nods off to Desmond.

"Fuck off." Desmond mutters under his breath.

"Save it princess," Daniel motions to the other men, and they draw closer. "this doesn't have to get all handsy, mind you."

Clay doesn't snap, doesn't fight this time. He is not tired, but there is defiance and reluctance when he lets his hand go off Desmond, who stands with mild irritation. And he watches them leave all over again, left with the image of their backs turned and the doors shut. As they walk along, Daniel shoves Desmond forward, forcing him to stumble slightly.

"Come on, we haven't got all day."

Desmond rubs his shoulder. "And where are you taking me this time, dare I ask?"

"No where special. We're just gonna have you cleaned up is all, and you're going to have a nice, long chat with the boss," Daniel's voice lowers. "and you're going to behave and comply like a good little puppy, got it?"

At the risk of being shoved again, Desmond forces his answer. "Got it."

He could still feel the short, droplets of water trickling down his neck from his hair. Coming out from a cramped room that had rows of shower heads, lined together with very little spacing in between. Privacy was obviously the last thing these people had on their minds. He was forced to have a quick shower, five minutes no less, Desmond hardly felt clean. Even though he showered alone, the rotating cameras and their empty, black lens' in the corners of the ceiling did little to comfort him.

Daniel's voice rang through the vents and the walls, as Desmond quickly got dressed in what surprisingly looked like his own clothing back in his apartment. Walking out of the room, the three men waited outside. Desmond fixes the front of his hoodie, avoiding their gaze.

"So...what? You guys raided my apartment and took my clothes?" said Desmond, and Daniel takes lead again. "Or these...these pretty much look like-"

"Lucy said it would help with some distress if you wore something familiar." Daniel turns a corner and the others follow suit. "Not that I actually care, sounds like bullshit to me."

Desmond couldn't help but sneer. "Clearly."

They eventually stop in front of a door, one that reminded Desmond of the room the Animus was kept in. Not that he wouldn't be surprised if he was lead back to the same place really. Daniel presses an unknown sequence on the keypad at the side of the door, making Desmond shuffle nervously in place.

"I- what exactly...is this place?"

"You're going to go through a series of tests." Daniel's hand slips to his side. He doesn't bother facing Desmond. "Blood samples and questions," there's a small snicker. "and then...we'll send you back into the Animus."

A scowl graces' Desmond's face. "Oh joy..."

The door slides open to a dark, hollow room, making Desmond really wish he was back in that brightly lit cell with Clay. A rough, painful grip on his shoulders from the two lackeys that had trailed them veers Desmond forward. Unwilling and apprehensive, he is ushered in, feeling vaguely trapped. Before the doors shut, he hears Daniel's smug voice from behind.

"Remember; behave and comply, little puppy."

It's an unbarable ache when Desmond wakes up again. He doesn't wake up in his shoddy apartment though. With a groan, he lifts his head from the warmth of someones legs, Clay's lap. Desmond makes his hasty retreat once more, an arm wrapping around his waist as he shuffles on the floor. Clay is complacent and calm with his reaction, does not scowl or glare. He smiles, hiding the uncertainty in his eyes and it works.

"Easy now, they threw you in here again," he says. "unconscious this time though. You looked...pretty bad."

"Yeah?" Desmond clutches himself, a throbbing pain shoots up his left arm and he stifles a moan. "Well, I feel bad. I feel like shit actually." he leans against the wall, every now and then he feels his muscles cramp. Not to mention the pain he felt under his eyes. "Ugh...what did they even do to me?"

"My guess is they took a blood sample from you, and you might have passed out from the pain in the Animus." Clay rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Can you recall anything else?"

"No," Desmond shrugs. "I mean I don't exactly remember a lot. My head is feeling a little fuzzy right now. But they put me in the Animus again. I don't really know what happened...but Vidic didn't sound happy for the most of it. He said something about going in circles. I didn't understand."

"I see," Clay pauses. "you were probably sent back into a time that wasn't necessary, or something. Was there anything else?"

"Well, they asked me some questions, questions I didn't have any answers to. And...when I couldn't answer them..." he lays a finger under his eye and he twitches, there's definitely a bruise swelling there.

Clay folds his arms, taking a deep breath. "Not surprised, you'd think they'd throw in the welcome mat to us once in a while like they did for Daniel and Haytham," he shakes his head. "obviously not for us mongrels. Everyone of us had to go through this...so, you're not the only one."

"Not the only one?" Desmond clenches his fists, but he's holding back from snarling at his only companion here. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Hey, man, don't take it out on me." Clay's voice is mellow, but it only manages to further irritate Desmond.

"I don't care! I'm left in the fucking dark for god knows how long I'll be here!" he spat, but Clay was calm. Though it appeared Clay was aloof, the man was listening to him. All too seriously, all too well in fact, as if he had heard this all before. "I'm sick of this place...I'm sick of it."

"So what am I then?"

"What?"

"Me." his eyes narrow, and Clay continues to challenge his gaze. "You think I'm having a good time here too?"

"What? Wait, I-"

"You think I'm getting a kick out of wearing this collar?"

"No-"

"You think I'm not tired of the things they've done to us?"

"I'm just saying-"

"You think I'm not sick of this place?" he raises his voice, almost to the point of yelling, almost. But Clay doesn't, there is enough rage emitting through his throat. "Answer me this, will you?"

"Clay...I don't...I'm-" Desmond could have sworn he saw Clay's pupils dilate for a split second into thin slits. "I'm just- I didn't think properly, okay? I didn't think about it." There is a sense of defeat as he replies, exhaustion and sadness. It is all Clay can do to muster up, and swallow his anger away.

"I know." he rubs his temple. "I know..."

Between the two men, they're frozen in tension and silence. Desmond licks his chapped lips, wanting to say something, anything to melt it all away. He knew it hurt to be in physical pain, like he was now. But it hurt a lot more to be caged in the aftermath of what he could only describe as a fight between friends. Could he even call each other that? They are still strangers by name, and yet...

"Umm...Clay?" his tone is agitated, and Clay immediately calls it.

"I know Fran, it's okay. We're good, okay? We're good."

"Ah, right."

"We should rest...or, you should really rest."

"I should." Desmond's eyes start to flutter. "I will."

These dreams of his were starting to become horrifying, colourless and lasting. They claw mercilessly at his mind, a force burning in Desmond's chest, and he is a powerless man. These dreams, nightmares, overlap with the events that happen with him in the Animus. At times, they make no sense, they draw out random scenarios and pictures for him to watch, never to be apart of, like a ghost. And other times, the more scarier times, they become loud and fiery. They repeat themselves so much so, he develops a headache. Torn between fantasy, and reality, it takes up so much of his energy that Desmond collapses, and when he's done, they're also done with him also.

It's a continuing process that neither party can understand. Day after day, if Desmond can call it that, he is quickly thrown into the Animus as he is quickly pulled out. He can barely listen to straight conversations with the people who infested the dream world. Vidic made it prompt that he was meant to find something important. But for some strange and unexplained reason, he was pushed backwards in time. Before man and beast waged war, before all the bloodshed and the golden object that Vidic so desperately needed, there was real peace between the two races. Desmond would have liked to have explored a time like this, to simply appreciate it had he not be unceremoniously yanked in and out of time periods.

Yet, if there was one thing that Desmond could believe, though spun and weaved in a blur through times not of his own, there was a society of creatures and men.

"Fran?"

Once.

"Fran! Wake up, come on!"

It was distant and faint over the drowning alarm that blared, but it was Clay calling and shaking him awake. When Desmond tried to open his eyes, he struggled with the balance of both keeping them open and listening to Clay. He was beginning to sound more urgent, more commanding when he jerked Desmond's body. And so Desmond finally snapped, his eyes wide open much to Clay's relief. He was hoisted up, Clay's arm supporting his back as he sat up.

"Finally you're awake," Clay pants. "else I'd have to carry you, w-we...have to hurry now!"

"Clay?" Desmond slurs, the buzzing noise becomes more blatant. "What are-...why are you-"

A gunshot fires outside of the room, so loud it rings in Desmond's ears, he flinched. Clay wastes no time in helping Desmond to his feet, placing an arm around his shoulder as he leads them both to the door. The same door that never opened unless there was authority, was now unhinged and battered, swinging aside.

Desmond blinks, ridding away his sleep. "What the- what the hell happened here?"

Howls and the scamper of little paws could be heard not to far from them. A couple of gun fires pierce the air later, and the barking ceases. The sound of boots stomping the ground, marching hastily pass their room. It surprises Desmond again, his heart races, but Clay has a firm grip on him now, on the hand around his neck, and he wasn't letting go anytime soon. But he can feel Desmond tremble slightly against him, and his grip tightens.

"Clay...?"

"No time to explain, we're getting out of here Fran," a sound near to excitement was in his voice, as he turns to face his friend with softer smile. "I told you she'd get us out of here."

"Get us out of here? She, who?"

He takes a few steps forward, and they're nearly out the door. "Lucy."