Chapter Three

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Straight backs and distant sets of eyes were seated at a long, gray table. White laptops squatted on the table, casting blue-gray glows on cold faces. Lab coats, black pens, manufactured breezes from the air conditioner turned on high, and a clock that never stopped ticking.

Lucy tried her best not to shiver in the stainless steel chair, but she couldn't find time to blow dry. Instead, she had thrown her hair up in a pony tail. Now, water droplets were sliding down her neck, each one like ice on her sensitive skin.

Her read the meeting's agenda, printed on Abstergo-issued paper with the Abstergo letterhead, for the twentieth time. At least.

God, she hated Helvetica. Why was it always Helvetica? Why not choose a font with some character to it?

Character. Funny. A smirk passed like early morning mist over her lips: faint, fleeting, but welcoming to any who had witnessed it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Her eyes centered on a line in the center of the page, under new business.

Patient 67789: Crisis Intervention and Determination of Future Course of Action.

For once, why can't they type what they really mean? Desmond created a huge fucking mess, again, so we're going to decide if we're going to let him live or kill him in his sleep and throw his dead body in the incinerator, again.

Let the skin peel like paint, and his eyeballs explode, and his blood boil, and his muscles slide away, and his bones evaporate under the crushing pressure of the heat.

Be fucking honest for once. Shit.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She had seen the incinerator once. The last patient, that was where she had gone. Her dear friend. Lucy knew she had crossed the line with her inquiries, but she couldn't stop herself. She had to know the truth. Of course, there was no truth to be found. Only shadowy corners and dead ends dropping away into oblivion.

And no matter how long she searched for her answers, it wouldn't matter. Not even divine truth would bring her back.

Jessie. What was it like to walk with the Aztecs, dead sister? Did you see the great temples? Sit with your ancestral family in rooms of glinting gold? Bear witness to one of the greatest societies on earth at its zenith?

I won't let Desmond join you. I swear it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the delay."

Lucy looked up to see Vidic entering the conference room, running his fingers through his closely cropped silver hair.

Lucy hated him. There was no denying that. But her boss was still the most "human" of all the researchers at Abstergo that she knew. His stress and anxiety prevented him from concealing all of his emotions like the others. Instead, he was a whirlwind of genius and success that commanded attention, like a tornado.

He always moved with his shoulders slightly hunched and his back rounded, always moving forward and beyond toward the horizon of his great ambitions. He moved like that then, as he approached Lucy's end of the table with his brief case clutched tightly to his body.

"I had to stop Dr. Hackbarth from further delaying my research," he muttered as he took his seat next to Lucy.

The younger, less published researcher was quick to defend himself. "Dr. Vidic, I assure you that I only seek to lift up the incredible results that have been coming from your labs. However, one of my nurses was slashed across the throat with a shard of glass, and is in our intensive care unit. And Dr. Kaputska earned himself a similar gash in the abdomen."

Vidic looked at Dr. Kaputska. "He's fine. Aren't you, Art?"

"Of course, Dr. Vidic, but that is not the point."

"So what is the goddamn point, Art? What is the goddamn point?"

"The point, Dr. Vidic," Dr. Kaputska said, careful to keep his voice level, "is that this panel must be provided with sufficient evidence that the benefits of your patient's continued presence at this lab outweigh the risks."

"Ms. Stillman can attest to that, can't you, Ms. Stillman? Under my supervision, she has unearthed a new string of memories, some of which may provide concrete evidence for the Piece of Eden's … how shall we say … less publicized abilities?" Vidic leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together, his expression smug.

"What exactly are you talking about, Dr. Vidic. Please be plain."

"Seeing into the future, my dear lady. Seeing into the future, plain and simple. Like a fortune teller's crystal ball, except this one is real and all for us. We just have to figure out how to use it."

Vidic let the stunned silence settle for a moment or two. He knew he had them, and he was loving every second of it. It was moments like these that he relished, that he rolled around in with relish.

Another researcher, Dr. Rotermund, cleared her throat. "That is a bold claim, Dr. Vidic."

"A bold claim that has been documented though the Animus," he retorted.

"How? I thought the subject could only find a connection with one ancestor, and you yourself reported to us that no more information could be obtained."

"Ah, yes. But ladies and gentlemen, through the gentle coaxing of my lovely assistant, the subject has managed to connect with another, albeit an indirect one. A written confession, of sorts, written by an indirect ancestor, which was then read by a direct ancestor."

"Coding it into the long-term memory of two of his ancestors, ensuring its existence on the Y chromosome."

Vidic nodded as he poured himself a glass of water from the sweating pitcher on the table. "Yes, yes, yes. Of course. And in this writing, the ancestor claimed that the Assassins have been using this ability for centuries to save their own asses. That is how they have been scratching out an existence right under our noses for all these centuries. Through the help of that thing."

He paused to swirl the ice in its glass and flashed the panel a smile. "But it is ours now. And if we play our cards right with this subject, ladies and gentlemen, we may figure out exactly how to use it. If that overrated gaggle of gypsies used the Piece of Eden to avoid us for all these years, think about what we could do with it. The potential of a tool like that, when wielded by the proper people. With proper goals."

Dr. Rotermund pushed her thick frames up her nose slightly. "But if the subject becomes completely detached …"

" … I'll throw him in the oven myself, Dr. Rotermund. But for now, dear little Desmond has developed a taste for my dear Lucy. So hopefully, his attachment to her will keep him attached to this reality." He took a drink and looked at the older female doctor through the glass. "For the time being, at least."

"Well then, if that's the case." Dr. Rotermund raised an eyebrow at Lucy. "Perhaps it best if you step into the observation room. I want to see how he reacts with only you present. If it is possible to continue the research with Ms. Stillman, then please, prove it."

"Lucy, go," Vidic said, gesturing to the door. "Go talk to him."

"Yes, sir. Yes, mam. Right away." She pushed her seat away from her and rose. A curtain had been blocking the view from a window that took up the entire westward wall of the conference room. It was a one-way mirror, and in the room was Desmond.

Lucy exited the conference room and turned down the hall. She nimbly punched in the code and locked eyes with the security guard.

"No matter what happens, do not enter."

"But Ms. Stillman, I …"

"No matter what. Those are not just orders from myself, but Dr. Vidic."

"Yes Ms. Stillman," he muttered as he watched her press "Enter" and slip into the room.

So stereotypical, with its padded walls and floors and ceiling. And Desmond, too, in a straight jacket and his hair all mussed and his thin frame slumped in a corner. This had to be a movie. Right?

"Desmond," she whispered, walking towards him. Her heels sunk deeply into the padded floor, like she was walking on a mattress. "Desmond, look at me."

Her lover wearily picked his head up.

Three blinks of her eyes. One, two, three. As quick as a ticking clock. He responded. One, two blinks.

They are watching, her blinks said.

I know, his said back.

So all that was about to transpire would be an act, and they were both eager to play their parts.

"Lucy," he said, his voice hoarse and his eyes bloodshot. "Lucy, thank fucking God. Thank fucking God, seriously. He really fucked me up this time, Lucy. I didn't think I was coming back that time."

Even though he was playing their usual game, Lucy could detect the sincerity in that last statement. They would have to talk later, much, much, later, when she could hack into the system and steal those few hours with him once again.

"I know," she responded.

"Lucy, fuck me, goddamnit. Please. I just need to feel something real. They're not watching, are they?"

"Of course not. It's just me."

"Then come here, please."

Lucy knelt down beside him and untied his arms, just as Desmond grabbed her by the waist and forced his tongue down her throat.

Could she really go through with this, knowing the panel was watching? They had always said that it may come down to this some day. Desmond's hands were already moving, one on her left breast and the other cupping her rear.

He was pulling her on top of him, her stockings rubbing against his starched pants. She threw her lab coat aside and hiked up her skirt. She could feel all of those cold, distant eyes on her legs, covered with gray stockings. But she couldn't deny the heat of his breath or his lengthening pressure on her upper thigh. She was getting aroused, despite herself.

How many of those old bastards would get a hard-on before this was all through? None, it turned out. Vidic pulled through.

The intercom clicked on. "That is more than enough, Ms. Stillman," he said, the mirth trickling through the crackling speaker. "Please rejoin us in the conference room."

She pulled herself away from him, putting her lab coat back on.

"Lucy, baby, you said they weren't watching!" Desmond cried, punching one of the padded walls. He grabbed his hair and bent over, his nose almost touching the ground. "Why, why, why did you lie to me like that? When you know what --"

"-- I didn't know, OK? I'm sorry. I'll see you later, OK? Hang in there."

"OK, OK," he said, straightening himself and sighing out his nose. "I'm sorry. You're right. We're going to get out of here, right Lucy?"

If only he was really that naïve, she thought. He knew he was going to die. He knew that she had little chance of surviving this, too. But in this reality, she could comfort her lover with two simple words: "Of course."

"OK, OK, OK …" he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he curled up in a corner. "I love you."

Her breath caught in her throat. Those words had not been said between them. It was an unspoken agreement: If there was no chance for a future, there was no need to go through the old traditions of relationships. They were forging this out their own way, in the tiny space of this skewed reality in which they were allowed to do so. But he was breaking out of that space.

Or maybe this was part of his act.

She continued trying to puzzle it out as she responded, "I love you, too." She couldn't meet his gaze.

But Desmond didn't notice. He had already closed his eyelids.

Lucy quietly punched the exit code into the door and strode past the security guard, ignoring his lewd glances at her calves.

When she reentered the conference room, she was met with polite applause. Vidic even tipped his water glass at her before taking a satisfied swallow.