A/N: Poor Shaun. *sigh* He always get picked on. Or maybe that's just me. In Rebecca's, erm, strategy to wake Shaun up, the line about the drool was what sparked that little scene.

Enjoy !

Shaun snored really goddamn loudly. It was kind of disturbing, really. It wasn't like this was the first time Rebecca and Shaun had ever slept in the same room, but every fucking morning Shaun would start up with the snoring. The first time she had experienced Shaun's absurd snores, she had literally fallen out of bed, smacked her head on her nightstand, and was then up and waving around her gun, thinking someone had already shot off a round in the apartment somewhere. It was that bad.

Rebecca stood at the foot of Shaun's bed and stared at him with distaste. Shaun, usually so prim and proper, was not a pretty sleeper. In the middle of the night, he had kicked the covers off, and his legs were crossed over each other, making one of his boxer hems roll up unnaturally high. He was usually pale, but his thighs were fucking milky. Shaun was wearing a plain white t-shirt, and a sliver of his stomach was peeking out, as his arms were thrown in absolute random directions. His right arm reached across his body and dangled off the bed, and his left one -the one that was under his body- was facing in the complete opposite direction, almost making him look like he was in the middle of some sort of ballet jump.

With his face directed toward the ceiling, Rebecca could clearly see the trail that the drool had left when it travelled down Shaun's chin sometime in the night. In fact, a spit bubble was just forming again- ah, there it was. A fresh trail.

Shaun's brown hair was in so much disarray; Rebecca was almost tempted to look for the electrical socket that had gotten revenge on him last night- she felt like she owed it money or something.

Enough making fun of Shaun. Rebecca glanced at the clock, and to her amusement, she saw that it was five AM. She saw the tiny light blinking in the corner that indicated that the alarm was on, and that it should be going off right now.

Rebecca waited…

There it was.

She waited…

There it was again.

In spite of herself, Rebecca giggled. She could only hear it in between Shaun's deafening snores. Now that took persistence. Many people found an alarm clock to make one of the most annoying sounds in human history- and here was Shaun, giving it a run for its money.

Enough making fun of Shaun? Maybe. But he still needed to be woken up… Rebecca smiled maliciously and left the room quietly, even though she figured she could have slammed the door as hard as she could, and while waking every other person in the motel, Shaun still wouldn't hear it over his motorcycle revving snores. As she slipped out of the room, Rebecca wondered how thin the walls were. She would have to write a note of apology to their neighbours for the night.

Making her way to the end of hall and back, Rebecca was quiet in slipping back in the room. She was hoping that Shaun wasn't awake yet. Resorting to dorm room like pranks certainly weren't the best way to deal with the impending collapse of a secret organization like the Assassins, but sometimes, you just had to do whatever the fuck you wanted. As long as you don't compromise the Brotherhood. Briefly, Rebecca wondered if what she was doing would be considered compromising the Brotherhood.

And then she thought, Nah.

Shaun was having a wonderful dream. He was in a huge library, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books. There was a grating noise coming from somewhere, but Shaun dismissed it. It wasn't that loud. And he could lose himself in books for hours, while blocking out the noise.

If Shaun were a girl, his panties would be wet. Boys didn't get erections for things like books or video games. But girls got wet over nice dresses and nail polish and shit… right?

Shaun was walking toward the books, reaching out for a particularly nice navy blue one with fancy gold writing on the cover. It was so close… It was calling his name, wanting him to put his nose deep inside it, and read it cover to cover…

But then he was plunged into the Antarctic Ocean.

"WHAAA!"

Shaun screamed, and it was almost louder than his snoring. He was dancing around the motel room, shaking ice cubes out of his shirt and cursing in five different languages. Ice cubes were flying everywhere, and Shaun was slipping on them now, looking almost too much like a cartoon character having stepped on an unfortunate child's marble game.

He flung his arms around a few more times, and finally, all the ice was out.

Breathing hard, he sat down on the edge of his bed, and was trying to find his bearings after that rude awakening.

He sat in silence for a few moments, and then he started to shake. He looked down at the carpet in front of him, and saw petit size six feet wearing pale blue socks. Slowly, his eyes travelled up to Rebecca's face, which was unabashedly gloating.

"Rebecca…" Shaun started quietly, looking into her dark eyes. "I believe, in the western culture in the twenty first century, the standard way to wake someone up would be to either inform them of it loudly and clearly, or shake them gently. So, I hope you don't mind my asking… WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

Shaun was seething, and was now standing, towering over Rebecca. Rebecca was trying to hold back giggles as she spoke.

"You were drooling so much, I thought it had dried and glued your lips together and you couldn't breathe. I feared for your safety."

"…WHAT?" Shaun screamed, still beside himself. "YOU DUMPED ICE CUBES DOWN MY SHIRT!"

"Hey… cool down, Shaun." Rebecca kept a straight face for all of five seconds, then dissolved into laughter again.

Shaun was clenching and unclenching his fists. The tips of his ears were bright red, as was the back of his neck.

"Whoa there, Shaun," Rebecca said worriedly. "If it makes you feel better, all the ice cubes will have been melted by now from the heat of your anger. I bet you can't even feel them anymore."

Shaun narrowed his eyes.

"You sure have a good sense of humour for someone who is about to become part of the motel carpet."

"Those were some spiffy dance moves with the ice cubes. I think you've left out parts of your childhood in your oh-so-humble retellings. Come on, Shaun Hastings was Madame's favourite pupil, right? All the girls were jealous of you because you were lighter on your feet than them, weren't they?"

"Sometimes, Rebecca, I think you forget the size difference between us. I could be as light footed as a fucking cheetah and still create an accordion out of you."

"An accordion, Shaun, really? How many Wile. E. Coyote cartoons did you watch as a kid?"

"Oh, you want to bring children into this? Trust me, Rebecca, there's already a child in this conversation. We don't need any more."

"Children allow you to keep a sense of humour. I guess it makes sense that you don't like children, let alone don't have any."

"Oh, ho ho, my funny bone is tingling."

"I didn't know you had one."

Rebecca and Shaun were staring daggers at each other, when Rebecca thrust out her hand and said, reluctantly, "Truce?"

"Well, I didn't exactly get to settle the score… But we really should get going. So, truce."

And they shook hands.

It was only later, once the duo was back on the road, and the ice cube incident was long forgotten, that Shaun realized what Rebecca had done, whether intentionally or unintentionally. For those five minutes or so, for that brief window of time, Shaun had completely forgotten why he needed to be woken up so early, and why he had to stay in a seedy motel. All he could think about was how much Rebecca annoyed him.

But it was okay, because lately, Shaun would rather be angry or annoyed than paranoid and scared. It didn't last long, but then again, no vacation lasts long- and that's exactly how Shaun saw it. It was a vacation from the horrors of the real world into the petty world of pranks of a brother and sister.

Shaun would never tell anybody this, but sometimes, sometimes, he would feel as if those worlds were closer than they appeared.

And that comforted him if nothing else did.

"Are you sure about this?" Desmond asked worriedly, staring up at the sleazy motel. "It looks like someone could murder us in our sleep and no one would bat an eye."

Lucy sighed.

"We don't have many other options, Desmond, unless you think the car is more secure than this."

"I think a fucking shack is more secure than this." Desmond mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Lucy sighed again, and the two made their way into the motel. It was morning. The last thing Lucy wanted to do was be driving in the middle of the night and stand out, but it was awfully hard to be conspicuous on a road where no one else was fucking driving. So, in the end, it didn't really matter.

And they were both exhausted.

While Desmond checked in, Lucy leaned against a wall outside and smoked a cigarette.

She hadn't smoked in almost ten years. But this morning, she thought, fuck it, and picked up a pack at the last gas station they had stopped at.

The smoke was thick in her lungs, and it took her a while to get used to the rhythm again. But when she did, it was so calming, so soothing.

Why did I quit again? She asked herself, inhaling.

It's a fucking filthy habit. Exhale.

Opportunity cost. Health in exchange for serenity. Inhale.

It's hard to be serene with lung cancer. Exhale. Blow some smoke rings.

It's been a while since you felt this calm. Inhale.

I'm safe. Exhale.

For now. Inhale.

Desmond didn't look too approving when you returned with a pack of cigarettes. Exhale.

That's not my problem. Inhale.

Are you sure about that? Exhale. Tap off ashes.

We're two people thrown together because we're in the same shitty situation. Inhale.

That's what it was. Exhale.

That's what it is. Inhale.

It's different now. Exhale.

Lucy's musings were interrupted when a couple walked out the doors of the motel. It was pretty early for people to be checking out. It was only- Lucy checked her watch- five-thirty.

The woman was short and petite, with short brown hair. The man was taller with brown hair and glasses.

Were they a couple? They weren't holding hands or anything that especially portrayed intimacy.

Who else do you leave a shady motel with at five-thirty in the morning?

Suddenly, Lucy got it.

They must be having an affair.

Surprised at her own conclusion, Lucy studied the couple with greater intensity. Neither of them was wearing wedding bands. That didn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe they didn't like to see them and be reminded of who they were being unfaithful to.

Lucy wondered if they were both married, or if only one of them was. She wondered if either of them had kids. She wondered if that woman had had a child with the man she was with now, and was raising it as her and her husband's. If she was married, that is.

However, Lucy's assumption about the affair was tested when the pair got into the same car, and drove off together. And, come to think of it, they had had luggage. How many people who are having affairs bring luggage to their secret meetings?

Maybe they were relatives?

Lucy was still pondering this when Desmond stuck his head out the door to tell her they could go up to their room now.

After assuring him that she would be along in a minute, Desmond returned inside. He might not have meant to show it, but when he had noticed Lucy was smoking, he had wrinkled his nose up the slightest bit.

Lucy looked up at the building. She doubted smoking would be prohibited, considering the dump the place was.

That's what it was.

Making her decision, and taking one last long drag for good luck, Lucy dropped her cigarette, and ground it into the soil with the ball of her foot- there were no ash trays around.

She entered the lobby of the motel, and Desmond was waiting for her at the elevator. When he saw that she had put out her cigarette, he offered her a small smile.

Returning the smile, she made her way toward him, and protested when he wanted to carry her bag as well. After little objection, he handed her suitcase over with a smirk. She liked that he gave her suitcase back.

As they went into the elevator, they both reached for the same button at the same time. For a moment, Desmond's strong hand was resting on top of Lucy's. Then, with an awkward chuckle, Desmond pressed the button and withdrew his hand.

Lucy felt herself flush.

It's different now.

"Holy fuck, I'm tired." Desmond yawned widely, then collapsed on the bed.

Lucy crossed the generic motel room and shut the curtains with the squealing of crappy curtain hooks on a crappy curtain rod- hopefully, that would keep any possible prying eyes out. And, of course, they wanted as little light as possible when they were trying to sleep.

"You better take a hot shower, or walk up and down the stairwells. You're going to be extremely stiff tomorrow- tonight." Lucy informed him, grabbing her toiletry bag and entering the bathroom.

It was a good thing Lucy had entered the bathroom, for she hadn't heard Desmond's snicker.

Childish behaviour, he scolded himself.

Desmond had read books like these before. The ones where the everyman was paired up with the beautiful, intelligent woman, and in the end, they got married, or got a dog, or brought the antagonist to its knees and had it sucking its thumb in a dark corner somewhere curled up in the fetal position.

Was that what happened in real life, though? Desmond was pretty sure he would have had his head blown off in any one of those books- right in the first twenty pages, too.

But the endings… The one about defeating the antagonist was nice, but the one involving the female protagonist was what Desmond was focusing on at the moment. Hell, what if he got both endings? And a dog?

Or, he could none of those endings. Although he was sure Lucy was doing her damndest to protect the two of them, Desmond couldn't help believing that his novel was going to be a short one.

Short stories could be good, though. Hell, they could even be great. It was all about what you did with the amount of characters you had.

What are you going to do with yours? He asked himself.

Something good.

Okay, good start. Keep going.

Something involving Lucy.

Keep going.

Something involving Lucy and myself.

Getting warmer.

Something involving Lucy and myself and… warmth.

Good, good. Now, what about Abstergo?

Let's create our novel from back to front with one ending at a time, please. Get the girl, then, if we have enough pages left, we'll deal with Abstergo.

Good enough.

Desmond heard the bathroom door open, and opened one eye to see Lucy emerge. The light in the bathroom was on, and it made her look like she was appearing out of a burst of light.

Give her a set of stairs to walk down from, and she'll be a goddamn angel.

…Shut up.

Lucy could notice it in the dark, but she must have felt Desmond's eye on her, for she said, "What?"

Desmond opened his mouth, ready to say… something. Anything important that he felt should be said now, before it may be too late.

But the words froze on his lips. His confidence dissipated rapidly, and he found his stomach in knots. His tongue became clumsy, and wouldn't form the words he wanted to convey to her. The words were… somewhere. Desmond could feel them inside him, but they weren't exactly… coherent. They weren't forming something concrete, that he could hold onto quite yet.

Give it time.

Now answer her before she thinks you stroked out on the bed.

"…Nothing."

A/N: Ahhh, poor Desmond, arguing with himself. He's never been a particularly poetic kind of guy, so when anything remotly resembling angels or pretty colours creeps into his mind, he just shuts down... xD. Will that change? Perhaps. (Or perhaps not. Honestly, I don't know.) :)

Hope you enjoyed!

Note: Why does Lucy smoke? Because it fit the scene at the time. Can I imagine her smoking? Yes. She's lived a pretty stressful life, from what I've gathered. And, let's be honest, she's a hell of a lot cooler smoking and musing than just purely musing. xD *That was a joke. Smoking is NOT cool, kids.* :)