“Ezio – my ancestor – I thought he killed Cesare, but I keep having this weird dreams…”
“Where he survives?” Abbie nodded, downing her beer at an impressive rate. “History’s full of all kinds of hidden treats like that, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I get the headaches, too.” She opened another Guinness for him while he continued nursing his first. “Beer helps.”
“Cheers to that.”
She was pretty. God she was pretty. Apple cheeks, cute little chin, amazing dimples... Desmond flushed, feeling guilty and stupid, staring down the neck of his bottle for answers or at least something witty to say. He didn’t like the way her big, green eyes made him want to put a shirt on and then take it off again.
“We should compare notes sometime,” Abbie offered lightly. “I’d love to know what Ezio, was it?” Desmond nodded. “What Ezio thought about my ancestors… What a bloody mess. Worked out in the end though. The assassins got what they wanted.”
Desmond paused, wondering if it was his place to say this. Fuck it. “Ezio respected your great, great, great whatever he is. I don’t think he liked him, but he respected him. They… I saw them together, old… very, very old. They didn’t seem friendly necessarily but… they understood each other. Then, at least.”
Abbie made a soft sound in her throat, downing the last of her Guinness and going for another. “You look just like him,” she said softly, a pink glow starting high in her cheeks. “Lena… that was her name. We thought maybe that marrying Cesare gave her some kind of intuition into other Templar artifacts, that maybe he told her the location of a vault or a cache.” She trailed off, reaching up to tuck a dark blonde piece of hair behind her ear. She wore a strange ring on her wedding finger. It looked oddly familiar. Desmond tried not to stare at it. Married. Of course. Not that he was interested. “I hated reliving her memories,” Abbie said in a voice so soft Desmond almost didn’t hear it.
“Why?” he asked, leaning across the table toward her. There was something about her… strength… certainty… and then a flash of vulnerability in her eyes when he least expected it. He was drunk. That was the only explanation for it.
“Because she was so happy,” Abbie murmured, snorting. She glanced up at the ceiling, a bright film glazing over her eyes. “They were so happy together… It felt like an intrusion… like something I wasn’t supposed to see. And it’s hard not to be jealous of… of what they had.”
“I never really got to see Ezio and Rosa together,” Desmond admitted, shaking his head. “Nothing informative for the assassins in their blissful matrimony I guess.”
“Lucky.”
Desmond shrugged. “Not really. I would’ve liked to see him happy. You get… attached.”
Abbie nodded.
“Boy, look at us. Cheerful as a graveyard in here.” Desmond chuckled, clinking the neck of his bottle against hers. “To our ancestors,” he said, holding her gaze and feeling it shoot to his chest.
“May they find peace,” she said, lifting her Guinness, “in the future.”
They drank.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Abbie said, polishing off her second drink with a quiet smacking of her lips, which were absolutely not curvy and kissable.
“For what?”
“For the Guinness,” she replied laughingly. “It’s mine.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry… I’d buy you more if Scrooge McDuck over there would give me an allowance.”
“It’s fine,” Abbie said, waving him off. Then her smile turned mischievous and Desmond didn’t have to imagine what Cesare fell for all those long, long years ago. He was seeing it. “Thief.”
“Assassin,” he bit back.
Abbie shrugged, dropping him a sly wink as she opened her third beer. “You have me there.”
In Name Alone 115/115
“Where he survives?” Abbie nodded, downing her beer at an impressive rate. “History’s full of all kinds of hidden treats like that, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I get the headaches, too.” She opened another Guinness for him while he continued nursing his first. “Beer helps.”
“Cheers to that.”
She was pretty. God she was pretty. Apple cheeks, cute little chin, amazing dimples... Desmond flushed, feeling guilty and stupid, staring down the neck of his bottle for answers or at least something witty to say. He didn’t like the way her big, green eyes made him want to put a shirt on and then take it off again.
“We should compare notes sometime,” Abbie offered lightly. “I’d love to know what Ezio, was it?” Desmond nodded. “What Ezio thought about my ancestors… What a bloody mess. Worked out in the end though. The assassins got what they wanted.”
Desmond paused, wondering if it was his place to say this. Fuck it. “Ezio respected your great, great, great whatever he is. I don’t think he liked him, but he respected him. They… I saw them together, old… very, very old. They didn’t seem friendly necessarily but… they understood each other. Then, at least.”
Abbie made a soft sound in her throat, downing the last of her Guinness and going for another. “You look just like him,” she said softly, a pink glow starting high in her cheeks. “Lena… that was her name. We thought maybe that marrying Cesare gave her some kind of intuition into other Templar artifacts, that maybe he told her the location of a vault or a cache.” She trailed off, reaching up to tuck a dark blonde piece of hair behind her ear. She wore a strange ring on her wedding finger. It looked oddly familiar. Desmond tried not to stare at it. Married. Of course. Not that he was interested. “I hated reliving her memories,” Abbie said in a voice so soft Desmond almost didn’t hear it.
“Why?” he asked, leaning across the table toward her. There was something about her… strength… certainty… and then a flash of vulnerability in her eyes when he least expected it. He was drunk. That was the only explanation for it.
“Because she was so happy,” Abbie murmured, snorting. She glanced up at the ceiling, a bright film glazing over her eyes. “They were so happy together… It felt like an intrusion… like something I wasn’t supposed to see. And it’s hard not to be jealous of… of what they had.”
“I never really got to see Ezio and Rosa together,” Desmond admitted, shaking his head. “Nothing informative for the assassins in their blissful matrimony I guess.”
“Lucky.”
Desmond shrugged. “Not really. I would’ve liked to see him happy. You get… attached.”
Abbie nodded.
“Boy, look at us. Cheerful as a graveyard in here.” Desmond chuckled, clinking the neck of his bottle against hers. “To our ancestors,” he said, holding her gaze and feeling it shoot to his chest.
“May they find peace,” she said, lifting her Guinness, “in the future.”
They drank.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Abbie said, polishing off her second drink with a quiet smacking of her lips, which were absolutely not curvy and kissable.
“For what?”
“For the Guinness,” she replied laughingly. “It’s mine.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry… I’d buy you more if Scrooge McDuck over there would give me an allowance.”
“It’s fine,” Abbie said, waving him off. Then her smile turned mischievous and Desmond didn’t have to imagine what Cesare fell for all those long, long years ago. He was seeing it. “Thief.”
“Assassin,” he bit back.
Abbie shrugged, dropping him a sly wink as she opened her third beer. “You have me there.”