The Beginning of Silence

Chapter 09

"Exiting Animus…"

Groggily, Desmond blinked up at the Lab's harsh overhead lights. A draft, perpetuated by the Animus's screen sliding back into the slab's cool metal face, made his eyeballs dry out, so when he sat up he ground the pads of his fingers into their sockets until his ducts produced the necessary tears.

"We're done for the day, Mr. Miles," said Vidic. He seemed in a good mood. "You can rest now. I'll have your dinner brought in." He turned to go, but stopped when Desmond spoke to him.

"Was that the 'Malik' I think it was?" Desmond asked, leaning his arms on his thighs. "I thought he hated Altaïr." The thought of them being students together—roommates, no less!—was near preposterous, and the thought of them being friends even more so. Even after Altaïr proved himself, Malik had seemed wary of the man, like he was afraid of him.

Vidic waved a hand dismissively, as if the gesture would close the subject. "The hate started after the death of Kadar, Malik's younger brother. From what Jenifer and I have deduced, the two of them were close in their adolescence."

"So he's the one you're after?"

"Perhaps." Vidic shrugged and gave the ceiling a thoughtful look. "Perhaps not. But he is a very promising candidate, don't you think? After all, he was alive when the Piece was hidden, and he knew Altaïr very well." He smiled at Desmond, and the look was harsh. "Well enough, perhaps, to be the one we're looking for. Thank you, Mr. Miles, for giving me part of the information I need." Then the doctor finally did leave, and Desmond was left with naught but questions.

Desmond sat on the Animus a while longer, thinking. Could Malik, one of Altaïr's most unfriendly—yet true—supporters, truly be the one Abstergo was after? He was a master Assassin, Desmond had to admit, and would know the traps set by Altaïr, but could he—lacking one arm, as he later would—get past them unscathed, despite his skill? Desmond didn't know.

Desmond glanced at the windows: all were dark, the night outside as black as spilled ink. "Yo, Jen," he said to the typing woman at his side.

She looked up, annoyed. "What is it, Desmond?"

"How come I haven't had to fight anybody yet?"

Jenifer sighed: "Your Ancestor is still a trainee, Desmond. He won't seriously fight anyone for years, and won't assassinate anyone for even longer." She turned back to the keyboard. "Right now, we're focusing our attention on his growth and social relationships, as opposed to his actions as we did last time."

Desmond frowned and persisted. "But there hasn't been any action!"

Jenifer's lips puckered. "You men," she snorted. "Always finding entertainment in blood and sweat. We can't you just sit back and enjoy the… oh, I don't know, historical aspects of your time in the Animus? If I were you, I would drink in the detail. That culture was lost to us so many years ago—it's a shame we don't have an entire team studying your memories! Think of all we could learn! Why you men can't see that is beyond me…" She fell into muttering dark incoherencies.

Desmond shrugged. "Okay, you win. I'm an ignorant pig who likes swords. Happy now?"

"Marginally. Now go eat and get to bed." She wrinkled her nose. "And take a shower. When was the last time you bathed?"

Desmond hopped off the Animus and stretched. "Morning I got here."

"Smells like longer."

"And I suppose you'd smell like a rosebush if you didn't get a chance to change your clothes for days?"

"At least I'd shower." Jenifer fluttered her tiny hands at him, effectively shooing him away. "Move it, Desmond! I have work to do!"

Desmond slouched off, hands in his pockets, muttering, "Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on… or don't. That's okay, too."

Luckily, Jenifer didn't hear.

After a meal and a shower (a shower he was painfully aware of being on camera for the duration of), Desmond wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into his bedroom. His old clothes, which he had left lying on the floor by the closet, were gone, and a new uniform had been left folded neatly on the lower bunk bed. He dressed, trying his best to keep covered by the flimsy towel, without a doubt in his mind he was giving the security guards a good laugh at his expense.

Desmond was tired, but before he went off to bed he made sure to check beneath the closet shelves for a pass key to the doors, like he'd found last time. Unfortunately, the Abstergo administrators had wised up and made sure to not leave anything behind for him. And the old passkey—he still remembered it from his old days—didn't work anymore: he made sure to try it.

Remembering the passkey got him to thinking about Lucy. Where was she? After she had covered his getaway, Desmond had seen her return to the Lab like a docile little lamb. Now she was gone; Vidic claimed she ran away. But how had she escaped? It had been hard enough with the two of them working together. Had Lucy found any of the Assassins who were still alive? Or was she alone; the very last of the Brotherhood to walk free on the earth?

It's pointless to think about it, Desmond decided as he climbed onto his bunk. Absolutely pointless. Even if she did get out, there'd be no way for her to contact him, nor he her. Lucy would be of no help to him. It was best to just forget her.

But that proved hard as Desmond lay awake on his back in the dark. He had grown close to the woman in the two weeks he had known her. Unfailingly optimistic was Lucy; she always had a smile to offer. Doubtless she would be able to cheer him up would she were here.

"Maybe I should take a leaf out of her book," Desmond whispered at the ceiling. "Try to have a little faith. See where that gets me."

Smiling, Desmond rolled over and dropped off. Someone would come. Lucy wouldn't—couldn't—let him down.

Desmond was not alone; he could feel it.

AUTHOR HOO-HA

I think that Desmond and Lucy would make the cutest couple EVER. Desmond's all cynical and Lucy's optimistic; they would cover each other's faults and would each keep the other in check. Lucy's unfailing brightness would never go so far as to get her off guard thanks to Desmond's grounding influence, and Desmond wouldn't give up hope thanks to Lucy.

I was wondering if anyone would like seeing a fic about Desmond's escape from the "Ab Lab," the escape Desmond has hinted at several times throughout this fic (In this chapter and in several chapters prior, I allude that Lucy helped Desmond escape from the Abstergo Lab. In this chapter, I mentioned that Lucy helped Desmond escape, but did not go with him. She went back to Abstergo, for reasons of her own). If I write it, it could turn into a multi-chapter fic, or could end up being a ridiculously long one-shot. But the question remains: would people read it? If you review this chapter and have an opinion about this, please let it be known. I'd appreciate your judgment on this matter. Thanks.

Anyway, I figured out that I really like this Japanese candy/cookie thing called Pocky. It's like a really thin biscotti coated in chocolate. Or strawberry. Mmm. Yummy. I'm gonna have to change the subject before I start salivating all over the keyboard.

I hope everybody who's read this has had a fun time. I know I have.

All for now! Stay tuned for the next chapter, which is coming pretty quickly since this one was so short. Woot! Par-tay!