A/N: A few of the lines of this part come from the game – couldn't get around it. I apologize in advance. Also, this is kind of a transitionary chapter.
~ ~ ~ Enoch watches her from the top of one of the buildings overlooking the lush garden. She does not know that he is there.
There is another, older woman walking with her.
“But they can be so much more than what they are, Uni. And yet, we continue to subjugate them.”
“It is for their own best interests, Menrva. Left to their own devices, they are nothing but the animals we uplifted them from. They seek only to fight and procreate, and those that are not under our control are becoming a plague on this world. It is a mercy what we do for them. We provide order and direction where there is only chaos.”
“But that's not true! They can learn, adapt, and some of them can resist our instructions! I have seen --”
“What? What have you seen in your short life that I have not seen in mine? Perhaps you have grown fond of one of the slaves, then? Kept one as a pet? Dallied with one, even? Disgusting.”
“But --”
“Enough, Menrva. Enough with your foolish and dangerous ideas. Your extraordinary wit would be better put to use in solving the issue with the Tree, so that we may continue with our tests.”
~ ~ ~ Ezio waits until he can see movement beneath the lids of Desmond's closed eyes before he pounces, jumping on the other man in his sleep. He half expects the younger assassin to keep dreaming, but Desmond's subconscious instincts seem to be surprisingly much better than the ones he has while awake and alert. Desmond's hands are around Ezio's throat before the younger assassin even opens his eyes. Ezio's own hands are forced to cover Desmond's in an attempt to pull them away. When Desmond's eyes finally do open, they are dark and intense and cloudy and not really focused on Ezio at all.
“La shaiq' waqee mutlak bi kollin mumkin!” Desmond spits, increasing the pressure on Ezio's neck. Ezio is very aware that he has precious few seconds before he loses consciousness.
“Desmond. Svegliarsi!” Ezio somehow manages to gasp, using the rest of his available air supply. He can feel the hands around his neck tense for just a second, and then the pressure is gone and Ezio falls back, hands on his own tender neck, swallowing large breaths of air. Desmond shoots up, pulls his hand through his hair, and stares at him in something like horror.
“Remind me to let sleeping eagles lie, my friend,” Ezio finally offers, after he regains his breath.
“Ezio – I... I'm so sorry, dude,” Desmond says, voice soft. “I mean... I get what you are trying to do and all... but my head is a fucked up place, and I'm not always the only one in it.”
Ezio coughs and offers the other man a soft smile. “Well, at least we know that you are safe from Templars in your sleep,” he says, rubbing his neck. He stands, offers a hand to Desmond, who regards it with no small amount of wariness. Ezio laughs.
“Do not worry, my friend. No tricks, I give you my word. Now come. There is much to be done before tomorrow.”
Desmond looks at his hand, blinks, but does not take it. Instead, the other man sits up in bed, eyes wide and alert.
“Hey Ezio, there's something I forgot to tell you --”
“Desmond? Mario? Are you lads awake yet?” Oliver interrupts, speaking through the door.
“Later. Perhaps we should see what Oliver wants, no?” Ezio responds, cutting Desmond off and throwing open the door. Desmond squeaks and pulls the covers over himself like a shy maiden. Ezio cannot help but to roll his eyes; a habit he has picked up from the younger assassin. “Good morning, signore,” he says to Oliver.
Oliver nods at him, clasps a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, Mario. Good. Come with me, I need your help with the firewood.”
Ezio turns, offers an apologetic smile to Desmond, and follows Oliver, closing the door behind him.
~ ~ ~ Ezio spends the better part of the morning chopping firewood before Oliver nods, calls the task done, and offers him a bottle of ale, of which he accepts gratefully.
“You lads are certainly settling in well,” Oliver comments. “Have you given any thought to making this homestead a more permanent place of residence?”
It is the second time Ezio has been asked that question this week, and he still has yet to give an answer.
“I would very much like to, but our circumstances require us to have a certain amount of mobility.”
Oliver huffs and clasps his hand on Ezio's back.
“Our boy Connor spends but a small fraction of his time on this land. And yet, it is his to call home. Something for you to think about,” the older man says, squeezing his shoulder just slightly before letting his hand drop. “Besides, if you were to leave, I think it would break the missuses heart. We were never able to conceive, you understand. I think she is starting to see you lads as family.”
Ezio smiles softly as the older man walks away.
When he returns to his room to retrieve his guitar and Desmond's music player (he considers most of what has been recorded on the device dubious at best, incomprehensible and vulgar at the worst, and completely unworthy of the term 'music'), Desmond is already gone. Ezio spends the rest of the afternoon deep in the forest listening to and rehearsing the grand total of three songs (all under the playlist entitled 'Emergency Use Only – a.k.a Car Rides with Shaun') that he finds appropriate for the wedding. Working Desmond's music device turned out to be remarkably easy and intuitive, which he doesn't really want to question because he's never seen anything like it before, up to and including the apple of Eden. Ezio finds it somewhat amusing in a way that on the back of the device there is also an apple; one with a bite out of it, and he wonders if there is some significance to that. Perhaps the craftsman that made the device was an assassin or a templar with a sense of humor. It would not surprise him. From just the glimpses of Desmond's technology that he's seen, he knows that Desmond's devices have been influenced by the inventions of those who came before. The term reverse-engineering comes to him, but he dismisses it almost immediately. His mind contains knowledge that he does not remember obtaining, and it always brings a feeling of unease and a sensation of being trapped within the apple itself when it is accessed. Better not to think on it at all.
~ ~ ~
Achilles approaches Connor outside the manor house as soon as he returns from the hunt, a strange contemplative look upon the old man's face.
“Is there a problem?” Connor asks automatically.
“I am not entirely sure,” Achilles answers, narrowing his eyes as if debating something. Eventually, he shakes his head. “It's nothing that you need to worry about right now, boy. At any rate, we have a guest.”
Connor follows Achilles inside, where there is a colonial in a blue waistcoat seated with a cup of tea.
“Connor, this is Benjamin Tallmadge. His father was one of us, so no need for secrecy. I think he has something he wants to say.”
Their guest nods at Connor in acknowledgement, takes a sip of his tea and clears his throat.
“Achilles tells me that you have uncovered a plot to murder the commander-in-chief,” the man says, getting straight to the point.
Connor sighs and drops his shoulders.
“Yes, but I have only false starts and dead ends to show for it.”
Benjamin puts his tea cup down and places his hand on Connor's back. Connor tries not wince and drops his head, avoiding eye contact with the man.
“Not anymore, my friend,” Benjamin says. “Thomas Hickey is your man. And I aim to help you catch him.”
“How?” Connor asks.
“I'll explain on the way. You and I will need to go to New York.”
“I will need a little time,” Connor responds. “A couple of my friends are getting married tomorrow, and I am to give the bride away.”
“You are standing in for her father then. She must have a lot of respect for you.”
“Myriam is a good friend, I am honored to be asked,” Connor admits. “Let me take you to the inn. We will leave for New York together first thing Sunday morning.”
~ ~ ~
veryone on the homestead is busy with preparations for the wedding for the rest of the day, and Desmond finds himself unable to corner Ezio for even a second. Worse, he can't talk freely to him even in his own room anymore, as the walls are thin and Corrine had set up another guest in the room directly next to him; a guest that Desmond knows better than to start talking about Achilles and assassins in earshot of. At least with the presence of Benjamin Tallmadge, he knows exactly when they were in Connor's life, and he also knew that they couldn't interfere with what was about to happen to him. It was necessary for Connor to start working with Haytham on his own, to develop the camaraderie and the beginnings of a fragile truce before they dared to do anything at all to mess with the timeline. Therefore, Desmond felt that he would be better off avoiding Connor as much as possible until he leaves with Tallmadge. Besides, Desmond can't afford to look at Connor right now, knowing what he knows and feeling about it as he does. Bridewell prison was no picnic, even in the animus. And he can still remember Connor's fear as he was lead to the gallows.
In the evening, he assists Corrine with decorations around the inn, and helps set up tables, avoiding Tallmadge entirely as the colonial sits at the bar and proceeds to make a heavy dent into the bottle of Oliver's best scotch. Desmond doesn't know how perceptive the man was, and doesn't care to find out. Just knowing that he was the son of an assassin was enough to know that he had some sort of basic training, and he didn't need to be on the radar of any more of Connor's allies.
He's sweeping the floor when Ezio returns from Doctor White's, having had his stitches finally removed. The older assassin nods at Desmond, and heads towards their room. Desmond almost lets him go, but he can see from the corner of his eye that Ezio is carrying not only his guitar, but Desmond's freaking iphone.
His brain processes halt in sheer incredulity, and he drops the broom to go confront the man, because no.
Sure enough, when he returns to his room, Ezio tosses the iphone and earbuds to him with a smile.
“Dude, what – ”
“I never did get a chance to thank you, Desmond,” Ezio says, shrugging out of his waist coat and shirt. Desmond's eyes go straight to Ezio's scarred but toned chest, and he swallows heavily. What was he going to say? Oh yeah, the iphone.
“-- were you doing with my iphone?” Desmond forces himself to continue. He counts it as a point for him that his voice is steady and even. “That thing has a limited battery life, and no way me to charge it for, oh, about the next two hundred years or so,” Desmond continues, but even as he says it, he checks the battery status on the front of the screen. Fully charged. Huh. “How long were you using it?”
“Not long. A few hours a day for the past week,” Ezio shrugs.
“A few hours a day for the past week??” Desmond responds incredulously, checking the battery again. Weird. He shrugs, unlocks the chest, and puts the iphone back in his hoodie pocket with the apple.
Oh. Duh.
“I do not like most of what you call music,” Ezio says through Desmond's epiphany, “although Lady Kim must be very talented with her mouth for this Eminem to write about it in song, no? I would very much like to have such a lover someday.”
Desmond coughs and sputters all over the floor. When he regains his breath, Ezio is leering at him and much, much closer.
“Thank you,” Ezio says, his voice low and heated, “for your assistance.” Ezio runs a finger over Desmond's lips, tracing the scar so similar to his own, and then brushes his lips against Desmond's own in a soft, simple kiss. Ezio tastes like a mix of forest air and Oliver's best ale and smells of leather and sweat and Desmond wants more. But as he leans in, Ezio pulls away with an all too familiar smirk.
“Patience, mio caro. I have learned a song especially for you and wish you to hear it,” Ezio says, as he grabs his guitar.
Ezio breaks out the first bars of 'Here Comes the Sun', and Desmond groans, sliding down against the wall, all thoughts of warm lips and soft kisses gone.
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 9
~ ~ ~
Enoch watches her from the top of one of the buildings overlooking the lush garden. She does not know that he is there.
There is another, older woman walking with her.
“But they can be so much more than what they are, Uni. And yet, we continue to subjugate them.”
“It is for their own best interests, Menrva. Left to their own devices, they are nothing but the animals we uplifted them from. They seek only to fight and procreate, and those that are not under our control are becoming a plague on this world. It is a mercy what we do for them. We provide order and direction where there is only chaos.”
“But that's not true! They can learn, adapt, and some of them can resist our instructions! I have seen --”
“What? What have you seen in your short life that I have not seen in mine? Perhaps you have grown fond of one of the slaves, then? Kept one as a pet? Dallied with one, even? Disgusting.”
“But --”
“Enough, Menrva. Enough with your foolish and dangerous ideas. Your extraordinary wit would be better put to use in solving the issue with the Tree, so that we may continue with our tests.”
~ ~ ~
Ezio waits until he can see movement beneath the lids of Desmond's closed eyes before he pounces, jumping on the other man in his sleep. He half expects the younger assassin to keep dreaming, but Desmond's subconscious instincts seem to be surprisingly much better than the ones he has while awake and alert. Desmond's hands are around Ezio's throat before the younger assassin even opens his eyes. Ezio's own hands are forced to cover Desmond's in an attempt to pull them away. When Desmond's eyes finally do open, they are dark and intense and cloudy and not really focused on Ezio at all.
“La shaiq' waqee mutlak bi kollin mumkin!” Desmond spits, increasing the pressure on Ezio's neck. Ezio is very aware that he has precious few seconds before he loses consciousness.
“Desmond. Svegliarsi!” Ezio somehow manages to gasp, using the rest of his available air supply. He can feel the hands around his neck tense for just a second, and then the pressure is gone and Ezio falls back, hands on his own tender neck, swallowing large breaths of air. Desmond shoots up, pulls his hand through his hair, and stares at him in something like horror.
“Remind me to let sleeping eagles lie, my friend,” Ezio finally offers, after he regains his breath.
“Ezio – I... I'm so sorry, dude,” Desmond says, voice soft. “I mean... I get what you are trying to do and all... but my head is a fucked up place, and I'm not always the only one in it.”
Ezio coughs and offers the other man a soft smile. “Well, at least we know that you are safe from Templars in your sleep,” he says, rubbing his neck. He stands, offers a hand to Desmond, who regards it with no small amount of wariness. Ezio laughs.
“Do not worry, my friend. No tricks, I give you my word. Now come. There is much to be done before tomorrow.”
Desmond looks at his hand, blinks, but does not take it. Instead, the other man sits up in bed, eyes wide and alert.
“Hey Ezio, there's something I forgot to tell you --”
“Desmond? Mario? Are you lads awake yet?” Oliver interrupts, speaking through the door.
“Later. Perhaps we should see what Oliver wants, no?” Ezio responds, cutting Desmond off and throwing open the door. Desmond squeaks and pulls the covers over himself like a shy maiden. Ezio cannot help but to roll his eyes; a habit he has picked up from the younger assassin. “Good morning, signore,” he says to Oliver.
Oliver nods at him, clasps a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, Mario. Good. Come with me, I need your help with the firewood.”
Ezio turns, offers an apologetic smile to Desmond, and follows Oliver, closing the door behind him.
~ ~ ~
Ezio spends the better part of the morning chopping firewood before Oliver nods, calls the task done, and offers him a bottle of ale, of which he accepts gratefully.
“You lads are certainly settling in well,” Oliver comments. “Have you given any thought to making this homestead a more permanent place of residence?”
It is the second time Ezio has been asked that question this week, and he still has yet to give an answer.
“I would very much like to, but our circumstances require us to have a certain amount of mobility.”
Oliver huffs and clasps his hand on Ezio's back.
“Our boy Connor spends but a small fraction of his time on this land. And yet, it is his to call home. Something for you to think about,” the older man says, squeezing his shoulder just slightly before letting his hand drop. “Besides, if you were to leave, I think it would break the missuses heart. We were never able to conceive, you understand. I think she is starting to see you lads as family.”
Ezio smiles softly as the older man walks away.
When he returns to his room to retrieve his guitar and Desmond's music player (he considers most of what has been recorded on the device dubious at best, incomprehensible and vulgar at the worst, and completely unworthy of the term 'music'), Desmond is already gone. Ezio spends the rest of the afternoon deep in the forest listening to and rehearsing the grand total of three songs (all under the playlist entitled 'Emergency Use Only – a.k.a Car Rides with Shaun') that he finds appropriate for the wedding. Working Desmond's music device turned out to be remarkably easy and intuitive, which he doesn't really want to question because he's never seen anything like it before, up to and including the apple of Eden. Ezio finds it somewhat amusing in a way that on the back of the device there is also an apple; one with a bite out of it, and he wonders if there is some significance to that. Perhaps the craftsman that made the device was an assassin or a templar with a sense of humor. It would not surprise him. From just the glimpses of Desmond's technology that he's seen, he knows that Desmond's devices have been influenced by the inventions of those who came before. The term reverse-engineering comes to him, but he dismisses it almost immediately. His mind contains knowledge that he does not remember obtaining, and it always brings a feeling of unease and a sensation of being trapped within the apple itself when it is accessed. Better not to think on it at all.
~ ~ ~
Achilles approaches Connor outside the manor house as soon as he returns from the hunt, a strange contemplative look upon the old man's face.
“Is there a problem?” Connor asks automatically.
“I am not entirely sure,” Achilles answers, narrowing his eyes as if debating something. Eventually, he shakes his head. “It's nothing that you need to worry about right now, boy. At any rate, we have a guest.”
Connor follows Achilles inside, where there is a colonial in a blue waistcoat seated with a cup of tea.
“Connor, this is Benjamin Tallmadge. His father was one of us, so no need for secrecy. I think he has something he wants to say.”
Their guest nods at Connor in acknowledgement, takes a sip of his tea and clears his throat.
“Achilles tells me that you have uncovered a plot to murder the commander-in-chief,” the man says, getting straight to the point.
Connor sighs and drops his shoulders.
“Yes, but I have only false starts and dead ends to show for it.”
Benjamin puts his tea cup down and places his hand on Connor's back. Connor tries not wince and drops his head, avoiding eye contact with the man.
“Not anymore, my friend,” Benjamin says. “Thomas Hickey is your man. And I aim to help you catch him.”
“How?” Connor asks.
“I'll explain on the way. You and I will need to go to New York.”
“I will need a little time,” Connor responds. “A couple of my friends are getting married tomorrow, and I am to give the bride away.”
“You are standing in for her father then. She must have a lot of respect for you.”
“Myriam is a good friend, I am honored to be asked,” Connor admits. “Let me take you to the inn. We will leave for New York together first thing Sunday morning.”
~ ~ ~
veryone on the homestead is busy with preparations for the wedding for the rest of the day, and Desmond finds himself unable to corner Ezio for even a second. Worse, he can't talk freely to him even in his own room anymore, as the walls are thin and Corrine had set up another guest in the room directly next to him; a guest that Desmond knows better than to start talking about Achilles and assassins in earshot of. At least with the presence of Benjamin Tallmadge, he knows exactly when they were in Connor's life, and he also knew that they couldn't interfere with what was about to happen to him. It was necessary for Connor to start working with Haytham on his own, to develop the camaraderie and the beginnings of a fragile truce before they dared to do anything at all to mess with the timeline. Therefore, Desmond felt that he would be better off avoiding Connor as much as possible until he leaves with Tallmadge. Besides, Desmond can't afford to look at Connor right now, knowing what he knows and feeling about it as he does. Bridewell prison was no picnic, even in the animus. And he can still remember Connor's fear as he was lead to the gallows.
In the evening, he assists Corrine with decorations around the inn, and helps set up tables, avoiding Tallmadge entirely as the colonial sits at the bar and proceeds to make a heavy dent into the bottle of Oliver's best scotch. Desmond doesn't know how perceptive the man was, and doesn't care to find out. Just knowing that he was the son of an assassin was enough to know that he had some sort of basic training, and he didn't need to be on the radar of any more of Connor's allies.
He's sweeping the floor when Ezio returns from Doctor White's, having had his stitches finally removed. The older assassin nods at Desmond, and heads towards their room. Desmond almost lets him go, but he can see from the corner of his eye that Ezio is carrying not only his guitar, but Desmond's freaking iphone.
His brain processes halt in sheer incredulity, and he drops the broom to go confront the man, because no.
Sure enough, when he returns to his room, Ezio tosses the iphone and earbuds to him with a smile.
“Dude, what – ”
“I never did get a chance to thank you, Desmond,” Ezio says, shrugging out of his waist coat and shirt. Desmond's eyes go straight to Ezio's scarred but toned chest, and he swallows heavily. What was he going to say? Oh yeah, the iphone.
“-- were you doing with my iphone?” Desmond forces himself to continue. He counts it as a point for him that his voice is steady and even. “That thing has a limited battery life, and no way me to charge it for, oh, about the next two hundred years or so,” Desmond continues, but even as he says it, he checks the battery status on the front of the screen. Fully charged. Huh. “How long were you using it?”
“Not long. A few hours a day for the past week,” Ezio shrugs.
“A few hours a day for the past week??” Desmond responds incredulously, checking the battery again. Weird. He shrugs, unlocks the chest, and puts the iphone back in his hoodie pocket with the apple.
Oh. Duh.
“I do not like most of what you call music,” Ezio says through Desmond's epiphany, “although Lady Kim must be very talented with her mouth for this Eminem to write about it in song, no? I would very much like to have such a lover someday.”
Desmond coughs and sputters all over the floor. When he regains his breath, Ezio is leering at him and much, much closer.
“Thank you,” Ezio says, his voice low and heated, “for your assistance.” Ezio runs a finger over Desmond's lips, tracing the scar so similar to his own, and then brushes his lips against Desmond's own in a soft, simple kiss. Ezio tastes like a mix of forest air and Oliver's best ale and smells of leather and sweat and Desmond wants more. But as he leans in, Ezio pulls away with an all too familiar smirk.
“Patience, mio caro. I have learned a song especially for you and wish you to hear it,” Ezio says, as he grabs his guitar.
Ezio breaks out the first bars of 'Here Comes the Sun', and Desmond groans, sliding down against the wall, all thoughts of warm lips and soft kisses gone.
Freaking Shaun. Somehow, this is all his fault.