It's pretty normal for Rebecca to stumble upon Shaun with his nose in a book, but it's not entirely common for him to be asleep on it. It's an exceptional evening for the historian, it seems, that he was so engrossed as to fall asleep.
Maybe it was that boring. She chuckles.
That doesn't rouse him, though, and neither does the motion of her smoothly sliding the book from under his face. Indeed, he seems quite content to wrap his arms up a bit, as though trying to cradle the missing thing, and rest his head upon them. His glasses askew, he breathes steadily, evenly, and Rebecca pauses to reflect on everything they've been through.
She remembers the first time she saw his stupid screenname, his obvious password, his dangerous truths and foolhardy commentary. She remembers the day she contacted him, those simple words: `Turn back, you don't know what you're getting into.` The day they took him, the day she saved him, the way she just knew some punk junior professor was about to get tortured or worse by Abstergo.
And now, what? They're partners, in it til the end, and she's not sure how she functioned so well without him. Working with Bill and Clay was one thing, but this Animus venture never could have really taken off without the sleeping man before her. His expertise... she wishes she didn't appreciate it so much, so maybe she could give him a harder time, but she's grateful.
Gloved fingers rest on metal, plucking the glasses from his face.
Worn fingers reach for hers, stopping her motion. With half-lidded eyes—is he smiling?—Shaun looks up at her blearily. For a moment she wonders if he knows it's her, but his mumbled thanks is enough to reassure her. It just seems right to lean down and give him a brief kiss on his forehead.
"Reading about the Revolutionary War again, huh? You just never give up." By the time she pulls back, though, his eyes are closed again, ad his peaceful sleep has resumed. There's a coarse blanket nearby; she drapes it over his back.
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ninetydegrees
Rebecca x Shaun | Assassin's Creed
7/3/12 05:33 (UTC)Maybe it was that boring. She chuckles.
That doesn't rouse him, though, and neither does the motion of her smoothly sliding the book from under his face. Indeed, he seems quite content to wrap his arms up a bit, as though trying to cradle the missing thing, and rest his head upon them. His glasses askew, he breathes steadily, evenly, and Rebecca pauses to reflect on everything they've been through.
She remembers the first time she saw his stupid screenname, his obvious password, his dangerous truths and foolhardy commentary. She remembers the day she contacted him, those simple words: `Turn back, you don't know what you're getting into.` The day they took him, the day she saved him, the way she just knew some punk junior professor was about to get tortured or worse by Abstergo.
And now, what? They're partners, in it til the end, and she's not sure how she functioned so well without him. Working with Bill and Clay was one thing, but this Animus venture never could have really taken off without the sleeping man before her. His expertise... she wishes she didn't appreciate it so much, so maybe she could give him a harder time, but she's grateful.
Gloved fingers rest on metal, plucking the glasses from his face.
Worn fingers reach for hers, stopping her motion. With half-lidded eyes—is he smiling?—Shaun looks up at her blearily. For a moment she wonders if he knows it's her, but his mumbled thanks is enough to reassure her. It just seems right to lean down and give him a brief kiss on his forehead.
"Reading about the Revolutionary War again, huh? You just never give up." By the time she pulls back, though, his eyes are closed again, ad his peaceful sleep has resumed. There's a coarse blanket nearby; she drapes it over his back.
"G'night, Shaun."