It was a quite nasty habbit of Shauns. Desmond doubted he'd get ever used to it.. besides the lots of things he would probably never get used to. At least not when it involved Shaun.

The British man was working as usual. His desk was clean as usual. However today he had some handkerchiefs next to his hand, his nose was red and a white scarf was tightly fixed around his neck. To put it simply - he was sick.

Desmond was not. Usually this would probably not have disturbed him. But today working with Shaun was more awful than ever. He didn't shut up, even for a minute. He always complained, told him what was important about the building he just passed.

The Assassin snorted as he sat up on the Animus, slightly massaging his temples.

"You know, Shaun... if you don't stop I cannot concentrate."

"Well yes. As far as I recall only women have the ability to concentrate on more than one things at a time."

Desmond rolled his eyes and sighed. Shaun definitely was up for a fight today.

"Listen... maybe you should better go to bed and rest a bit?"

"Oh? And who do you think should then continue my work? You maybe? As if you would be suited for this 'stuff'!"

The American stood up and slowly walked up to the history fanatic. He glanced over his shoulder and only now did he see the slightly red eyes and the sweaty skin. Out of pure instinct he put his flat hand on to Shauns forehead.

"Hm... you do have a fever..."

Shaun eyed him with a frown, silent for a moment before he laughed.

"As if you knew... and besides it doesn't matter. I have to work, so stop being a nuisance and get back into the Animus. Or if you refuse to do so, get lost."

"Why are you always so mean to me Shaun?"

"Mean? I am just being myself. If this is too much for you to handle, Desmond... then go. away."

He snorted, removed his hand from the Brit's skin and eyed him for a moment. It really was time to teach him a lesson... but what would be suitable to shock the englishman?

"Are you finished staring into the air, Desmond?"

"I am not staring. I am thinking."

"At least you seem to be capable of one thing at a time. Splendid."

"Stop this Shaun! Or you'll regret it!"

This time Shaun stopped typing and looked at the american boy, one brow raised.

"Oh...? How would you want to make me regret something?"

"Maybe... I'll kiss you!"

"You would not dare."

"And why not, heh?"

"Because you are a coward, Desmond. You use to run away when you face a problem. It's not your fault really, you were probably raised that way."

"Shaun! You're going too far this time!"

"Freedom of speech, Desmond. A common law. Even you should be familiar with that?"

"Shaun!"

Desmond bit down unto his lower lip and glared at the englishmen.

"I am going to hit you, Shaun!"

A snort was his answer before the other man turned around in his chair, now facing Desmond.

"You would not dare to hit a person with glasses."

"Then take them off!"

"And besides. You are no match for me, Desmond!"

"Hah! Prove it!"

"As you wish."

And with that Shaun stood up and before Desmond even knew what was happening, he felt Shauns fist connecting with his face. He stumbled backwards and fell.

Dumbfoundedly he stared at the man in the chair who removed his glasses and grinned at him as he rubbed his cheek.

"Never underestimate your opponent, Desmond."

Then he turned back around, snoozed once before he started typing again.

"That was unfair!"

"Oh come, on. Don't sulk. I'll buy you a hot chocolate later, allright?"

Desmond huffed, sat on the floor and sighed, before he murmured.

"Allright.."