Thanks for stopping by to read my fic. I've dabbled in writing before, but I've never really had the confidence or thoroughly thought out enough plot line to post one. Desmond is my favorite assassin and I wish we got to learn about his background. Don't know why no one has written something like this before now, personally. There's just so much that can be done. Anyway, enough rambling. Please enjoy and review!
Chapter One: The Fight
The silent evening at the Miles' household quickly dissipated by a loud knocking on the front door. Bill Miles looked up from his quiet game of Go, to the front door, and back to his wife. Pat Miles glanced up, an eyebrow raised questioningly, from where she sat across from him, contemplating her next move.
"Fine…" Bill sighed, getting up and opening the front door.
Standing on the porch was Bill's son, Desmond, and behind him, were two Farm guards in military fatigues.
"Hey, Dad," Desmond said, chagrined, waving sheepishly. "How's it going?"
Bill sighed irritably as he crossed his arms.
"What'd he do this time, guys?"
"He was found driving in the back lot with a hijacked car," explained the guard on the right, pushing Desmond inside.
"Alright…..Thanks, guys. I'll take care of it," Bill said exasperatedly, holding the bridge of his nose with one hand and Desmond's shoulder with the other.
Bill guided Desmond toward the living room, the front door slamming shut behind him. Pat was already cleaning up their Go game, sensing the ensuing fight.
"Sit," Bill ordered sternly, pushing Desmond onto the couch. He paced angrily in front of his son as he gathered up his thoughts. Finally he rounded on Desmond.
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
"Really? That's the best you can up with?" Desmond immediately deadpanned, shaking his head. "In the wide world of parental reprimands, that's all you got? I'm disappointed."
"Desmond…" his father warned. "You hijacked a car? I don't know whether to be pissed off or impressed."
"I would be impressed, if I were you," Desmond shrugged.
"Desmond," Bill groaned, aggravated. "Do you have any idea what kind of attention you could have attracted? Lord knows how many Templars you could have brought down on us."
"Templars," Desmond scoffed with an eye roll. "What Templars? I've never seen any. Nothing ever happens. They never come. Hell, according to history, they died out a thousand years ago. But if they do ever show up, that's when I'll worry. And feel free to say I told you so."
Desmond paused before sighing heavily, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Dad, I'm almost sixteen. Every teenager on the planet has their license by now. I just wanted to learn to drive, like everyone else. Is that such a hard thing to ask?"
"You don't get it, do you? Have I taught you nothing in sixteen years?" Bill inquired harshly. "When you get a driver's permit or license, you're put in state and federal databases. Templars would just have to take a look see in there to get your name, birthday, home address. Basically, all the information they wanted on you."
Desmond let a loud groan of frustration, vaulting up from his seat on the couch, his hands fisting in annoyance and anger.
"Oh for Christ's sake, is that all you care about?! Can't you forget about the fuckin' Templars for two seconds?"
It was at this point that Desmond's mom got up from where she was observing quietly from the other side of the room, to intervene between her husband and son before fists started flying.
"Desmond, honey, I think your father just wants to protect you."
"Well, he can take his protection and shove it up his ass! All I want is for some damn independence, for you to trust me!"
"Honey, we do trust you," his mom attempted to reassure him.
"Yeah, and that's why you keep me trapped here at this prison camp?!" Desmond responded sarcastically.
"We're just trying to do what's best for you," his mom said gently.
"Well this," Desmond said, gesturing around the room, "is not what's best for me. And two whack job, helicopter parents is definitely not what's best for me!"
"Desmond, you are a child," his father said sternly, causing Desmond's expression to harden. "You may think you know what's best for yourself, but you do not. We are your parents, and we know what's best for you, and the community. Which means no driving. If you're caught driving again, I'll have you put on house arrest. Is that understood?"
Desmond let a yell of frustration and annoyance before stomping off to his room, the door slamming behind him, house walls vibrating. Pat turned to face her husband, hands on her hips, a stern expression on her face.
"I thought that went rather well. At least neither one of us threw any punches this time," Bill shrugged.
"Good lord, Bill," she said, before turning around and stalking off.
