They were after Subject Seventeen. His body was barely mopped up, and they were after his replacement. Clay wasn't surprised, just disgusted. He knew Sixteen was just the number before Seventeen. Seventeen was always the important subject. This must be the Desmond Miles that Juno had mentioned, the person he had killed himself for. To be honest with himself, Desmond Miles was more of a title than a person. An icon, a symbol... A reason. Not a person. Never a person. And yet, here they were, setting up his old room for it's next resident. From bits of conversations, Clay picked up that he was a bartender. An unexpected occupation for someone so important. Desmond Miles. The Bartender. Well, Jesus was a carpenter.
A week passed and Clay avoided sleep the entire time. He didn't want to risk missing Desmond's arrival. Remembering the fatigue from moving the pen earlier meant he avoided that, as well. Anything to keep his ghosty self awake. Usually, he kept near Lucy. When she was alone he would talk to her, but she never answered. He didn't know if she could hear him or not. It didn't matter, he was accustomed to speaking without being heard. Even to her. When she went home for the night, he stayed. Every evening she repeated the same motions. Set down her pen. Shred a few papers. Log out of her computer. Shut it down. Look for her pen. Find it. Put it in her drawer. Turn off the light, check behind her, and leave. Clay would sit in the same chair every time she did. Without needing to look up he would say at a predictable time, "pen is on the desk".
The routine was reassuring at first, but by the end of the week Clay was bored of it. At night he would wait for Lucy, and by day he would follow her around and keep tabs on what was going on at Abstergo. It might be more efficient if he explored the place without her, but something kept him at her side. He simply didn't want to leave her. Her routine might be boring, but sometimes boring was good. At least he wasn't in the Animus, he would tell himself. Never again. Now, he would always be Clay Kaczmarek, and never have to doubt it again.
Occasionally, Lucy would get phone calls from Daniel. Clay noticed that he always phoned her, not the other way around. There was probably a reason, but he couldn't guess it. Twice that week he had called her. Checking up on her, mostly. It seemed like he was far away, from what Clay understood of the conversation, and Lucy seemed to miss him. Strange she hadn't mentioned him much while Clay was alive. They must be close. Long-term friends? Knowing Lucy's history, Clay doubted he was a childhood friend, but she spoke to him like they had known each other all their lives. More things Clay didn't know about her. What future could they possibly have had? She kept everything a secret. Even her friends. And he thought he was the one with trust issues.
With every passing day Lucy seemed to improve. Her disposition lightened and she was more herself, even if that didn't mean particularly light. No one would deny she was a workaholic, but she started smiling again and giving more lengthy answers to people. Her conversations were less one-sided. Clay would never say he didn't want her to recover from his death, but she did seem to do so faster than expected. Maybe that was just him. Everyone else was glad to see her recovering.
Regardless, with every day they were closer to catching Desmond Miles. Clay couldn't help but build him up in his mind a little. After all, this was the man he had sacrificed everything to help. The meticulous glyphs, all those audio recordings, and, of course, his own AI. All to help out this man. Juno's Chosen One. Could anyone live up to those expectations? Well, Desmond Miles would have to. He was meant to save the world. Clay didn't know the details, and wouldn't claim to, but he knew enough. Clay's entire purpose in life was to die and leave directions for Desmond. How many people had that fate? How many people's purpose was to point his man along the way? How many had to die? Clay suspected it would only be himself that died, but the point remained. This man was more of an icon than a human being. He had a lot to live up to. And a lot of people that would be disappointed if he was anything less than super human.
Lucy kept herself busy. Clay suspected he was the only one that knew she was idle all week. After all, her expertise was operating the Animus and taking care of the patient. No patient meant no Animus to operate. She did odd jobs- getting lunch or coffee for everyone, helping deliver paperwork or finish a form. If anyone could make work for herself, it was Lucy. When she got a moment, she would never be just relaxing. In her spare moments she checked messages and wrote pointless memos to herself, or labelled things that didn't need labelling.
The doctors that had worked with Clay occupied themselves with other people operating Animi. He had heard rumours about training people with the Animus, but didn't really believe it until he saw the reports. Troubling knowledge. A few historians stopped by and dropped off reports on the Third Crusade, which, Clay had to assume, must have to do with Desmond. He didn't know everything about him, but he did know they were both related to Ezio Auditore. Hopefully he would go through enough of Ezio's memories to find all of Clay's glyphs. He hadn't considered that Desmond would relive a different ancestor. Lucy processed the reports and made summaries and databases no one had asked her for. It was just her nature, Clay supposed. When there was no work to be done, she made it for herself.
The week was uneventful, all things considered. Lucy continued to brighten with every day. Though he felt guilty for it, he wished she wasn't quite so quick to recover. It was like nothing had happened. All of Abstergo had moved on and Lucy was right in tow. The focus was Desmond, and Clay knew he was just a stepping stone to get to him. But he didn't want to be forgotten.