"You're feeling better?"

Desmond looks up at Lucy, a little surprised to see her suddenly next to him. "Yea," he says. "A lot better, actually." And it's not just the pain medicine, or the splint on his leg, or his newly wrapped fingers, or- well, any of the other bandages crisscrossing his body. He's out of Abstergo's reach. And for now, that's enough.

"Good," Lucy says. "That's... good." She sounds distracted, and she's looking at Desmond in a way he doesn't quite like. He can feel eyes on the back of his neck again, and he twists around, half wondering if there's anyone else looking at him. But there's no one, of course. "What's the matter?" Lucy asks, and he snaps back around to look at her.

"Nothing."

"Oh." She hesitates, then says, "Back at Abstergo, when you killed those guards-"

"When I did what?" He can't hide the horror in his voice, because he's never killed anyone before. In the animus, yes, but that's- different. In the animus, he's only riding along with Altair, or watching from a distance. It can feel like he's the one doing the killings, but he knows it's not. It can't be. "That's not what happened," he tells Lucy. "They kicked the shit out of me for a while and then I woke up in your trunk."

"You don't remember anything that happened in between?" Lucy asks.

"Nothing happened in between," says Desmond.

"How did you think you got here?" Lucy asks, and now there's something in her face that Desmond knows he doesn't like. It's pity. "You're bigger than I am. I didn't carry you, and no one else was there."

He doesn't have an answer for that, and it terrifies him.

"You need to be careful," Lucy says. "Vidic kept you in the animus too long. It's not safe. Too much and you start having hallucinations, nightmares, losing track of the differences between you and your ancestor..."

"And killing people?" Desmond asks. He can't look at her.

"You've been reliving the memories of a master assassin eighteen hours a day," Lucy says. Her voice is gentle. "I was surprised it hadn't had any effect already."

"You expected me to go crazy, and you didn't say anything?" Desmond demands.

"I'm sorry," says Lucy. "I should have, but the last guy we put in the animus ended up..." she stops, but Desmond glares at her until she says- "He cut himself open and painted the walls in his own blood."

Desmond feels his stomach lurch. Those symbols... He changes the subject. "Where are we now?" he asks.

"Assassin hideout," says Lucy. He remembers her standing next to the animus, hand out, one finger bent in. "One of our last safe havens."

"Thanks," Desmond says. "For getting me out of there."

He glances over at the other two, who are arguing- again- in a far corner of the room. Lucy follows his look and explains, "Shaun and Rebecca. I'll introduce you when they're done flirting."

"Is that what they're doing?" Desmond asks.

"Hey, it works for them," Lucy says, and laughs a little. Desmond manages half a smile. The left side of his face is too bruised to finish it. "Rebecca's our computers expert, Shaun's a historian."

"What do you do?" Desmond asks.

"Mostly undercover work at Abstergo, lately," Lucy sighs. "But I don't think I'll be going back to that anytime soon."

"I don't think they'd want you back," Desmond agrees. "What do I do?" He can't leave. He knows that, because Abstergo will find him again. But he doesn't know what to think of the assassins. He still has too many memories of the farm. He remembers all too vividly why he ran away, and knowing his parents were right about the templars doesn't make it any better. He just doesn't think he has any choice right now.

Lucy fidgets a little, and says, "You're not going to like this." Her eyes dart toward a weird red chair near Rebecca's desk, and even though it looks different, Desmond knows it has to be an animus. He just knows.

"You want me to go back in?" he demands. "You just told me the last guy slashed himself open!"

"It won't be that bad this time," Lucy says. "I promise. Rebecca and I will be monitoring you the entire time. And- honestly, there are secrets in your genetic memory that we need the answers to. The assassins are losing this war, Desmond."

"I don't care," says Desmond. "Assassins, templars- you all want the same thing out of me, apparently." He's angry, and he wants to get up and storm away, only there's nowhere to go and his leg hurts too much anyway."

"That's not true," says Lucy. "I promise, I'm asking you to do this, not forcing you to. It's just... it's not coming out right. But the templars are after the apple, and you saw what it could do, in the animus. What Al Mualim did with it."

Desmond nods, reluctantly. He remembers the army of brainwashed assassins rushing at Altair, and the feel of his ancestor's rising horror as he realized the only way through was to cut down his brothers... his stomach twists. That kind of power was wrong. "Abstergo wants to do that again?" he asks.

"Yes," Lucy says. "But on a global scale. They're planning a satellite launch for December of this year. All they're missing is an apple to power it. That's why we need to find it first."

"And we need Altair's memories for that?" Desmond asks.

"No," says Lucy. "A different ancestor."

He has no choice. Desmond knows he's never been the most charitable of guys. He's spent too much time on his own, struggling to take care of himself, to worry about what the rest of the world is doing. But this is different. During all the time he spent in the animus, he can't remember Altair ever feeling afraid. Except for that day.

"Alright," Desmond says. He wonders if he's signing his own death warrant. "I'll do it."

-/-

And the longest chapter yet is also the most boring. -_- Oh well. Conversation needed to happen.