Alright, I realize this post is way old, but this prompt wouldn't leave me alone. (Not the anon above.) I did write that one night stand, but I'm not sure if it works better at the beginning or on the side (or if the prompter even wanted that part included??), so I'll add it at the end for now and mebbe some of you fine folks can let me know what you think.
Wee bit of angst, as is my wont.
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Shaun sighed and shifted his balance on the ladder when he realized the room was quieter than it should be and glanced around. He and Rebecca were setting up their new hideout only days before their teammates would join them. Or rather, he was setting things up, running cables to their monitor station and Rebecca was... well, she was supposed to be setting up Lucy's work desk (she'd set up the animus first, naturally) but instead she was sitting at her own computer, reading something that was most definitely not the results of animus tests, as he knew those weren't even finished yet.
"Shaun, do you remember New York?," she asked, and Shaun sighed down at her from his perch on top of the ladder.
"Really? Do I remember New York? That is a question that needs an answer right now?," he asked, dropping his arms to shake them out. The cables didn't fall, so he was just going to assume the fasteners were soundly installed.
"Yeah, you remember that last night?," she continued, but he knew what that sly tone actually meant.
"I know what you're really asking. You mean, do I remember the bartender? The man you practically threw me at because 'A) you might get free drinks, and B) he was the hottest man I'd ever manage to bang so I should definitely try to tap that'?," he asked, eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, that's what I meant!," she agreed, without a trace of shame. "It worked, didn't it? We drank free that night and he is the hottest guy you've ever slept with."
Shaun didn't bother hiding his scowl. "And you bring this up because? We're supposed to have this hideout ready by tomorrow, and you," he growled, then paused, because Shaun knew how to connect facts, and the main fact was that Rebecca wouldn't ask without a reason - and if she had a reason, it was connected to the computer she was currently sitting at, the only computer currently connected to the network, which meant... "Oh god, Rebecca, you're not saying...," he trailed off, because he couldn't say it. It was too ridiculous to say.
"I am!," she crowed gleefully. "You managed to bang the boss' son without even knowing it, and he's going to be here in less than two days!"
Shaun felt the blood drain from his face, but couldn't exactly decide what the appropriate reaction would be. He knew Bill had been looking for his son, and somehow, somehow, Shaun had managed to hook up with him in a city of millions of people on a random night, all without knowing? The odds of that were astronomically stacked against such a coincidence. That bartender certainly hadn't given the name 'Desmond', but he didn't think Bill would appreciate that distinction. "You're joking. There's no way, Rebecca, no way," he murmured, scurrying down the ladder and moving to her side at the computer to peer over her shoulder at the files provided about their new project - or more specifically, the person at the center of said project.
He ignored the text of the dossier to peer at the photo of Desmond, and nodded. "No, yeah, that's...definitely him," he said faintly, and Rebecca just threw her head back and laughed.
"Oh, I know," she said. "Think he remembers you?," she asked, cocking her head. "I mean, it was over a year ago now, maybe closer to two..," she trailed off.
Shaun shook his head. "It doesn't matter, does it? Unless he refuses to work with me - and I really, really wouldn't want to have to explain that to Bill," he said, "So, I hope not."
Rebecca gave him an appraising glance. "Do you just have no confidence in your skills or are you just that bad in bed?," she asked, and Shaun growled at her.
"I'm not going to dignify either of those with an answer," he said as primly as he could manage. He'd been a little tipsy, but hadn't been incapacitated, and his memories of the night in question were pretty clear. Neither of them had been bad in bed, not at all, and when Shaun snuck out of his own hotel room early the next morning, it had actually been with a little regret. He hadn't even left a note, of course, just slipped out with Mike - or rather, Desmond, really - still asleep. "Anyways, we'll see what he says - if he doesn't bring it up, maybe he doesn't remember, and no one will say anything about it," he stressed, glaring at her.
Rebecca shrugged. "Sure, if he doesn't bring it up, I certainly won't," she said, but she was still smiling. Shaun knew her better than to think she wouldn't push it just a little bit.
"Good. Now, why don't you finish setting up Lucy's station, instead of being a nosy gossip?" They still had a lot of work to do, after all.
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The warehouse was set up on time, but only because Shaun was quite experienced at nagging Rebecca into actually getting work done. They'd been working together a long time, and despite appearances to the contrary, they worked well together; they were actually friends, though they both knew it sometimes seemed otherwise. Shaun was nervous about the new arrivals, and Rebecca snapped at him more than once to stop fidgeting and pacing. Whatever happens will happen, she said, like that was actually any help at all.
By the time Lucy pulled into the warehouse, Shaun had mostly pulled himself together. He'd reviewed the Abstergo footage - or some of it, at least - and there was absolutely no doubt that Desmond was the same bartender he'd slept with that night. Same face, same voice, same body... only the name was different, and it wasn't like Shaun couldn't piece out why. He hadn't exactly given his own name, after all.
Soon enough Desmond followed Lucy in, watched the girls' affectionate reunion, and his eyes slid over Shaun quickly, without any sign of recognition whatsoever. That was a little disheartening, actually, because Shaun was certain he didn't look that different at all. Desmond himself looked much the same - that is to say: fit, a little rough, and a lot delicious.
"So, this must be the infamous Subject 17. Desmond Miles, was it?," Shaun asked as he stepped forward, keeping as much snark out of his tone as he could manage. It had been a long time ago, after all, and mabye Desmond had had some drinks, too. So if he didn't remember it, Shaun definitely wasn't going to remind him. He'd say nothing.
Desmond glanced around at the girls, then sent a puzzled glance to Shaun. "Who are you?," he asked, and yep, that sealed it. There was no sly tone, no knowing expression, nothing at all, and you know what? That kind of stung a little. Maybe Desmond did that sort of thing all the time, and Shaun really hadn't been memorable for him at all.
But Shaun was a professional, and he could certainly act like one, so he rushed through introductions, added something about getting to work and time being precious and then fled to his work station. No time like the present to get started, after all.
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Thing is, Desmond didn't exactly leave him alone. Whenever he wasn't in the animus, he was always pestering Shaun, asking him questions about what he was doing, how'd he become an assassin, what had he done before, what were his interests. Basically, it felt like he was always around, always hovering. Maybe that was just the confined space, because Desmond definitely did hang out with Lucy and/or Rebecca, too, but they were always in the same big room, and he could hear Desmond whenever he spoke to either of the girls.
But despite the constant bothering, Desmond never eyed him with recognition. Never gave him a sly look or a smirk or a hint that he remembered anything about their shared night together at all, and it was maddening, because it was suddenly all Shaun could think about. Rebecca wasn't helping, either - she never brought it up when Desmond was around (or conscious), but she'd said enough that even Lucy had started giving him questioning looks. Looks that Shaun refused to meet, if he could, and studiously ignored if he couldn't.
It certainly didn't help that Desmond proved to be exactly Shaun's type outside of bed, as well. Sarcastic and quick with his remarks with a willingness to listen to Shaun's rants on just about anything? Yes, please. If there weren't so many reasons for him to keep his distance, Shaun would be all up on that in a heartbeat. But there were many reasons for him to keep his distance, and the worst part of it all was, Rebecca knew that, too. But she encouraged him anyways. In fact, she would not shut up about it.
So, Shaun thought about him. Them. That night. He thought about all of those things a lot. He especially thought about that night when he was alone in his room, and all of those reasons seemed so meaningless when the man in question was just down the hall, just as alone, and maybe, maybe...
But Desmond didn't remember him, didn't remember that night, and that was the biggest reason Shaun wasn't going to make that trip down the hall and find out if Desmond maybe anything.
FILL: One Night in New York (1/3?)
Wee bit of angst, as is my wont.
Shaun sighed and shifted his balance on the ladder when he realized the room was quieter than it should be and glanced around. He and Rebecca were setting up their new hideout only days before their teammates would join them. Or rather, he was setting things up, running cables to their monitor station and Rebecca was... well, she was supposed to be setting up Lucy's work desk (she'd set up the animus first, naturally) but instead she was sitting at her own computer, reading something that was most definitely not the results of animus tests, as he knew those weren't even finished yet.
"Shaun, do you remember New York?," she asked, and Shaun sighed down at her from his perch on top of the ladder.
"Really? Do I remember New York? That is a question that needs an answer right now?," he asked, dropping his arms to shake them out. The cables didn't fall, so he was just going to assume the fasteners were soundly installed.
"Yeah, you remember that last night?," she continued, but he knew what that sly tone actually meant.
"I know what you're really asking. You mean, do I remember the bartender? The man you practically threw me at because 'A) you might get free drinks, and B) he was the hottest man I'd ever manage to bang so I should definitely try to tap that'?," he asked, eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, that's what I meant!," she agreed, without a trace of shame. "It worked, didn't it? We drank free that night and he is the hottest guy you've ever slept with."
Shaun didn't bother hiding his scowl. "And you bring this up because? We're supposed to have this hideout ready by tomorrow, and you," he growled, then paused, because Shaun knew how to connect facts, and the main fact was that Rebecca wouldn't ask without a reason - and if she had a reason, it was connected to the computer she was currently sitting at, the only computer currently connected to the network, which meant... "Oh god, Rebecca, you're not saying...," he trailed off, because he couldn't say it. It was too ridiculous to say.
"I am!," she crowed gleefully. "You managed to bang the boss' son without even knowing it, and he's going to be here in less than two days!"
Shaun felt the blood drain from his face, but couldn't exactly decide what the appropriate reaction would be. He knew Bill had been looking for his son, and somehow, somehow, Shaun had managed to hook up with him in a city of millions of people on a random night, all without knowing? The odds of that were astronomically stacked against such a coincidence. That bartender certainly hadn't given the name 'Desmond', but he didn't think Bill would appreciate that distinction. "You're joking. There's no way, Rebecca, no way," he murmured, scurrying down the ladder and moving to her side at the computer to peer over her shoulder at the files provided about their new project - or more specifically, the person at the center of said project.
He ignored the text of the dossier to peer at the photo of Desmond, and nodded. "No, yeah, that's...definitely him," he said faintly, and Rebecca just threw her head back and laughed.
"Oh, I know," she said. "Think he remembers you?," she asked, cocking her head. "I mean, it was over a year ago now, maybe closer to two..," she trailed off.
Shaun shook his head. "It doesn't matter, does it? Unless he refuses to work with me - and I really, really wouldn't want to have to explain that to Bill," he said, "So, I hope not."
Rebecca gave him an appraising glance. "Do you just have no confidence in your skills or are you just that bad in bed?," she asked, and Shaun growled at her.
"I'm not going to dignify either of those with an answer," he said as primly as he could manage. He'd been a little tipsy, but hadn't been incapacitated, and his memories of the night in question were pretty clear. Neither of them had been bad in bed, not at all, and when Shaun snuck out of his own hotel room early the next morning, it had actually been with a little regret. He hadn't even left a note, of course, just slipped out with Mike - or rather, Desmond, really - still asleep. "Anyways, we'll see what he says - if he doesn't bring it up, maybe he doesn't remember, and no one will say anything about it," he stressed, glaring at her.
Rebecca shrugged. "Sure, if he doesn't bring it up, I certainly won't," she said, but she was still smiling. Shaun knew her better than to think she wouldn't push it just a little bit.
"Good. Now, why don't you finish setting up Lucy's station, instead of being a nosy gossip?" They still had a lot of work to do, after all.
The warehouse was set up on time, but only because Shaun was quite experienced at nagging Rebecca into actually getting work done. They'd been working together a long time, and despite appearances to the contrary, they worked well together; they were actually friends, though they both knew it sometimes seemed otherwise. Shaun was nervous about the new arrivals, and Rebecca snapped at him more than once to stop fidgeting and pacing. Whatever happens will happen, she said, like that was actually any help at all.
By the time Lucy pulled into the warehouse, Shaun had mostly pulled himself together. He'd reviewed the Abstergo footage - or some of it, at least - and there was absolutely no doubt that Desmond was the same bartender he'd slept with that night. Same face, same voice, same body... only the name was different, and it wasn't like Shaun couldn't piece out why. He hadn't exactly given his own name, after all.
Soon enough Desmond followed Lucy in, watched the girls' affectionate reunion, and his eyes slid over Shaun quickly, without any sign of recognition whatsoever. That was a little disheartening, actually, because Shaun was certain he didn't look that different at all. Desmond himself looked much the same - that is to say: fit, a little rough, and a lot delicious.
"So, this must be the infamous Subject 17. Desmond Miles, was it?," Shaun asked as he stepped forward, keeping as much snark out of his tone as he could manage. It had been a long time ago, after all, and mabye Desmond had had some drinks, too. So if he didn't remember it, Shaun definitely wasn't going to remind him. He'd say nothing.
Desmond glanced around at the girls, then sent a puzzled glance to Shaun. "Who are you?," he asked, and yep, that sealed it. There was no sly tone, no knowing expression, nothing at all, and you know what? That kind of stung a little. Maybe Desmond did that sort of thing all the time, and Shaun really hadn't been memorable for him at all.
But Shaun was a professional, and he could certainly act like one, so he rushed through introductions, added something about getting to work and time being precious and then fled to his work station. No time like the present to get started, after all.
Thing is, Desmond didn't exactly leave him alone. Whenever he wasn't in the animus, he was always pestering Shaun, asking him questions about what he was doing, how'd he become an assassin, what had he done before, what were his interests. Basically, it felt like he was always around, always hovering. Maybe that was just the confined space, because Desmond definitely did hang out with Lucy and/or Rebecca, too, but they were always in the same big room, and he could hear Desmond whenever he spoke to either of the girls.
But despite the constant bothering, Desmond never eyed him with recognition. Never gave him a sly look or a smirk or a hint that he remembered anything about their shared night together at all, and it was maddening, because it was suddenly all Shaun could think about. Rebecca wasn't helping, either - she never brought it up when Desmond was around (or conscious), but she'd said enough that even Lucy had started giving him questioning looks. Looks that Shaun refused to meet, if he could, and studiously ignored if he couldn't.
It certainly didn't help that Desmond proved to be exactly Shaun's type outside of bed, as well. Sarcastic and quick with his remarks with a willingness to listen to Shaun's rants on just about anything? Yes, please. If there weren't so many reasons for him to keep his distance, Shaun would be all up on that in a heartbeat. But there were many reasons for him to keep his distance, and the worst part of it all was, Rebecca knew that, too. But she encouraged him anyways. In fact, she would not shut up about it.
So, Shaun thought about him. Them. That night. He thought about all of those things a lot. He especially thought about that night when he was alone in his room, and all of those reasons seemed so meaningless when the man in question was just down the hall, just as alone, and maybe, maybe...
But Desmond didn't remember him, didn't remember that night, and that was the biggest reason Shaun wasn't going to make that trip down the hall and find out if Desmond maybe anything.