Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Clay/Desmond: Homecoming (1/?)

[(Anonymous)]

“Fuck me, it’s cold.“

Rebecca pulled off her coat with a violent shudder as she fell back into her chair. The paper bag she brought, smelling faintly of doughnuts, was right now infinitely more interesting to Clay than the pros and cons of non-discretionary authorization in classification processes. Luckily, their desks standing edge to edge in the open plan office meant he only had to stretch out his hand to claim the price.

However, just before his fingers reached the warm grease-stained paper, a large hand came down on it and claimed it for itself.

“Those who actually do some work around here get to eat first,” Shaun proclaimed. The tall Britishman was a recent acquisition by archiving. He was a history master waiting for the start of the PhD program and deigning to do the menial task of revamping their whole gargantuan internal wiki for their company in the meantime because even in his apartment the heater did not run on insufferable smugness. He occupied the place formerly kept by Lucy, who had been ‘let go’ because she had leaked information to a rival company, a fact that Clay still couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

Clay was just about to give him some choice words when Rebecca pushed past him to the window.

“Bus Stop Guy’s still there.”

“Maybe he’s frozen to the spot,” Clay commented as he craned his neck. Their third story bureau window overlooked an empty former parking lot (somewhat scenic when the snow covered the trash bags and paper napkins that chance winds had blown into the abandoned space for years). At a now blocked-off street, facing a half-demolished factory building, stood a bus stop, also out of use. It was a small cabin with three walls of see-through plastic and a flickering light in the white ceiling that no one had ever bothered to cut off from the power lines.

For the past week or so, always around six or seven in the evening, a man with a big backpack had huddled down there, hunched over in the freezing cold.

“You know, if you’d stop wasting your time looking at that dosser, you might actually get out of this building before midnight for once,” Shaun said from his desk.

“Why don’t you go write your little database entries, Shaun? I’m sure someone will need sleeping aid or later.” Clay stole back the doughnut bag.

“Catfight!” Rebecca triumphed. “Take off your shirts!”

“You wish.”

“I do.” She snatched the bag right from his hand, leaving him doughnut-less once more. “Naked wrestling would be perfect right now. You know I love doing all this, but I’m about sick of SaP already, and we’ve haven’t even really started building the thing.”

Clay grunted in acknowledgement. The security system SaP (as they had quickly started calling it because ‘sappy’ really was the best way to describe a singularly idiotic Friday-afternoon-meeting name like ‘Safety and Peace’) had been haunting the computer engineering department for a while now and between version updates for projects already on the market, it always reared its ugly head.

As the hours came and vanished on Clay’s digital clock, Shaun and Rebecca left – the later not without teasing him that she had a date, a feat which had lately been impossible for Clay to accomplish – and snow started falling in thick wet flakes. With only the abandoned factory skeleton to see from his window, the night was dark against dancing white spots. It looked beautiful from his place with the heater right next to him under the windowsill and coffee at hand. Whenever he looked up from his two screens, though, he felt his gaze drawn to Bus Stop Guy, his hiding spot reduced to a rectangular island of harsh light in the night.

Of course Clay was aware that if he’d looked for hobos in New York, yeah, he might have found one or two more than just Bus Stop Guy. But by virtue of being a coffee break conversation topic between the three of them, he was beginning to wonder about him. What did he do during the day? How did he end up on the streets with temperatures like this? How long had he been homeless – how old was he, anyway? He always just saw the back of his head and from up here he was about the same size as a Lego figurine, anyway.

When nine pm had come and gone and his computer’s quiet purr died down, Clay considered the last two doughnuts in the bag.

*