Ginger Katt: Haha, funny joke... this story is so OOC I'm scared of being arrested D: But thanks for reading and reviewing anyway!
Oh im bored: Pff, that's the point. I'm trying to keep you guessing :3 Thanks for the review!
SaneFangirl: Scary is what I do, get used to it 8D Thanks for reading this, even though it wasn't what you were looking for! I'll try and make it exciting for you :P
Also, hugs for:
-edd-ot, for adding this story to their alert
-Ginger Katt, for adding this story to their alert
-Liberius, for adding this story to their favourites
-and Oh im bored, for adding this story to their favourites
To fly, we must have resistance.
-Maya Lin
They packed in silence, one or two occasional words exchanged when one needed something. Lucy was in charge of making sure the Animus was packed securely. Desmond had opted on leaving it - leaving everything - behind, but the blonde insisted on re-packing everything and bringing it with them, wherever they were going. It still hadn't been decided.
Desmond had been given the task of packing... well, everything else. He had already stowed the contents of Shaun's desk into three or four cardboard boxes - the man had had a lot of random things - leaving them open so the person with two hands could tape them shut. Desmond had also carefully labelled each box "Shaun's shit" with a Sharpie, which he suspected would get him yelled at by Lucy. Or maybe not. It didn't really matter; one lecture was nothing compared to what he'd been through. He might as well have somefun, even if that fun was minuscule.
Staring at all the desks, lights, boxes, and furniture, Desmond wondered how they were going to get all of it up the tunnel and into the truck in one night. Last time, they'd had four able-bodied people to lift and carry everything. Now they had a woman and a cripple, both who hadn't had a full night's sleep in ages. It was only a matter of time before the lights got impatient.
But there was nothing he could do. He was lucky he could even convince Lucy to leave; he couldn't push it by asking her to leave all their stuff behind too. Desmond sighed and continued packing.
Desmond had been right; it took them more than fourteen hours to pack and load everything onto the truck. They'd unrolled sleeping bags - the cots were already packed - and slept for a few hours, then re-packed the sleeping bags. Thankfully, neither of them had had any nightmares that might slow them down further, which actually surprised Desmond.
"Where are we going?" Lucy whispered as they packed the bags—they couldn't talk too loud.
"Well," Desmond said as they climbed into the cab of the van, "I used to live in Canada while I was trying to escape from the Assassins, and I know for a fact that no one ever re-bought that house..." He trailed off at Lucy's expression.
"Canada?" she hissed.
"Yes," he replied indignantly. "What's wrong with Canada?"
"How are we supposed to get any of this out of the country, let alone across the ocean? I thought you would've had somekind of plan as to where we're going." She glared at him the whole time.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Desmond said loudly. "I'm doing the best I can. You're the one who insisted on bringing all this shit! What are we even going to do with it, anyway?"
"Do you have any idea how much any of this costs? I can't just leave it here!"
She was still hung up on materials. "Lucy, you don't get it! None of this matters, not the money, not the stuff. All that matters is keeping you alive, which we won't be able to do unless we're as far away as possible!"
They glared at each other for a few moments, each too stubborn to back down to the other's demands. But then Desmond realized something: this was exactly what the lights wanted. He and Lucy were being split apart by petty arguments and stubbornness. Eventually one would get fed up with the other, and leave them alone to get lost and die. They needed each other.
Desmond visibly deflated. "You're right," he muttered. "We should be bringing this. I don't know what I was thinking."
Lucy sat up straighter, a light shining in her eyes. Desmond really hoped she wouldn't be smug about getting her way. But all she said was "thanks".
"I..." Desmond began hesitantly, unsure how to approach his idea. "I know someone at the Charles de Gaulle Airport... He could get us on a plane to North America, no questions asked-"
"Wait," Lucy cut in. "The Charles de Gaulle Airport? As in the one in France?"
"It's really our only option right now. Still, we don't have any passports..."
Lucy took a deep breath in, then started the van. "You leave that to me."
The first thing they did was buy an English-speaking GPS. Desmond had said they didn't need one, that all you had to do was make it to France and then follow the Eiffel Tower, but Lucy had insisted.
Lucy typed in Paris, France onto the screen. Desmond turned in his seat and stared out the window at the lightening Italian sky—rain was just starting to fall. When Lucy groaned, he turned his head again. She had leaned back in her seat and was rubbing her eyes. As Desmond looked at the screen, he knew why.
There, on the screen, the letters stuck out like they'd been highlighted—Approximate travel time: 12 hours, 30 minutes. ETA: 18:46.
"Twelve hours?" Desmond moaned. "It's going to be a long day."
"Hey, what was in the Villa when you went to go look?" Lucy was looking at him now. There were dark circles under her eyes.
"I don't know, all the doors were locked. I couldn't get in."
She looked unimpressed. "And you didn't-?"
He cut her off. "Yes, Lucy, I tried breaking the door down. Any other suggestions?"
"If you'd let me finish," she snapped. "You didn't come to get help from me?"
"Well, I was about to, but then I came down to see you sucking face!"
Lucy's expression was of someone who had just been slapped unexpectedly—a mixture of shock and rage. "Oh, fuck you," she hissed, then started the van again and turned around, driving back the way they'd came.
"We're going back to check, and there's nothing you can do about it."
I've been making an effort recently to write longer chapters... it's not working.