Desmond is tired and unhappy when he gets out of work, sometime a little past two in the morning. This is his fourth time this week that his boss has asked him to stay past the end of his shift, and this time the excuse had been that someone needs to clean the tiny bathroom in the back of the building. The one that always smells like vomit for the very good reason that this is where patrons go to throw up. Desmond has been the one to clean it the last six times, even though he's not the only person that works at Bad Weather and any of the others would be perfectly capable of pushing a mop around back there.

But Desmond does as he's told anyway, because his boss knows, he's seen and there's no arguing with people like that.

He pulls his hat down lower over his ears, and growls to himself in a general show of displeasure. This job sucks, and his boss sucks. Sometimes, Desmond thinks the man is nothing but a collection of bad habits, snapping his gum and picking his nose and going too long between showers. Disgusting, on top of being both stingy and kind of a jerk. If the rest of his life hadn't been such a shambles, Desmond doubts he would have stayed as long as he already has.

His walk home is nothing but busy, crowded streets. Desmond makes sure of that now, because people do stupid things sometimes when there's no one around to see. He would rather make sure that if someone comes after him, there will be witnesses. It takes him a while longer to get home than it would have if he'd gone directly, but he'll take safety over speed.

Desmond is only halfway home when he hears the footsteps behind him, a long way back. Distinctive. Combat boots, maybe even military. They don't worry him at first, because there are plenty of guards in this part of New York. But when Desmond has made three more turns and can still hear the boots behind him, gaining on him, he realizes there's something wrong.

He speeds up. The sound of the boots behind him speeds up as well. Desmond glances over his shoulder, and sees him. Dark clothes, a hood covering his face, and boots. Even without being able to see the man's face, Desmond knows it must be angry.

He knows it's stupid, but he breaks into a run anyway. The man in the boots is going to catch him if he doesn't do something, and Desmond is running away from so many things in his past that sometimes it feels like running is the only thing he knows how to do, the only reaction he has to whatever's threatening him.

And Desmond is good at running, but not so good at thinking of a place to run to. That's why he makes the blind turn down the alley, not even looking, so that he crashes right into the man standing there and waiting for him. The man is big. Desmond bounces off him like a character in some cartoon and falls flat on his back. The ground cracks against the back of his head and his vision starts to swim. But he smells the chloroform when the man pulls out the rag, and struggles against the hand that shoves it across his mouth and nose.

It doesn't take long for the drug to take effect, though, and soon enough Desmond feels his limbs go slack. The world starts to go dark, and Big Guy steps away from him with a grunt as Combat Boots comes running toward them.

"Damn," Combat Boots says from what sounds like a very long way away. "This one can run. We sure he's not part rabbit?"

Big Guy leans over- he smells like sweat even through the haze of chloroform hanging around Desmond's nose like a cloud- and pulls the hat off Desmond's head, flicking at an ear derisively. "Nope," he says. "Not part rabbit. We got the right guy."

And that's the last Desmond hears before passing out.

-/-

He wakes in an unknown room that smells of absolutely nothing. For a minute he lies perfectly still, breathing slowly and deeply, oddly disoriented by the lack of smell. Eventually, he opens his eyes and looks around.

Bright white walls. Sparse, white furniture. A door that Desmond doesn't even have to try to open to know that it will be locked. He gets up. His legs shake, and he sticks out a hand to steady himself against the table he'd woken up on. It's a weird looking table, and the shape makes Desmond wonder if it doesn't have some purpose he can't figure out.

"It's called an animus."

He stiffens at the woman's voice, but doesn't turn around until he's calm enough to keep the surprise off his face. "Hi," he says. What a stupid thing to say right now. "Where is this?"

"Uh-" She flashes him a quick, apologetic smile. "Sorry. Can't tell you."

"Who are you then? Why am I here? What-"

"I really can't tell you much," she protests. "But I'm Lucy."

"I'm…" he trails off, tamping down the natural impulse of politeness because he's pretty sure he's just been kidnapped.

"Desmond Miles," she says. "Yes, we know."

"How? I haven't- I mean, that hasn't been my name since I was sixteen."

"Hiding from someone?" Lucy asks.

"From everyone." He sits back down on the table and looks at her. "From my family, from the law, from… whoever you are."

"You must have been doing a pretty good job," Lucy says.

"Apparently not," Desmond says wryly. "I'm here instead of at home." He sighs, looking pleadingly at Lucy. "So at least tell me what you want. If this is a ransom thing, I should warn you there's no one around that would actually pay for me."

But Lucy doesn't get a chance to answer before the door whooshes silently open (explaining, at least, how Lucy had been able to get in without him hearing her), and an older man comes in.

"Dr. Vidic," Lucy says, hurrying forward. "I was just-"

"It doesn't matter," Vidic snaps. He brushes her aside with an impatient gesture and strides over to Desmond. "This-" he points at the table. "Is called an animus. A machine invented to relive the lives of one's ancestors. That's what we need from you. Relive your ancestor's life, show us what we need to know, and then you can go."

"Sure," Desmond says glumly. He would have to be an idiot to believe that.

And then suddenly Vidic's hand is on Desmond's chest, pushing him down with more strength than Desmond would have guessed the old man had in him. "This is not a discussion," he hissed. "We don't know how long it will take to get what we need, but it's almost certainly not enough. This will go faster if you're a willing participant, but I can induce a coma if need be. Slow progress is still better than no progress, and this is the only warning I'm planning to give you."

"Okay, okay!" There's something in Vidic's eyes, a desperation that Desmond has very rarely seen before, and is too scared to argue with. Besides, he's defenseless and flat on his back with Vidic looming over him like some kind of beast from a nightmare. This close, Desmond is almost choking on the stench of him, like rotten meat. "I'll do it, just- what ancestor am I supposed to look at? How far back?"

Vidic grunts and pushes himself away, ignoring Desmond's questions completely.

"Come on, man!" Desmond protests, a little desperately. He's not quite as scared of this animus thing as he is of Vidic, but it's not exactly something he's looking forward to. "You have to tell me something!"

Vidic hesitates, then grunts and nods at Lucy.

But when she walks back over to him, she doesn't exactly start by answering his questions. "These are unusual," she says instead, pointing at his ears.

"Guess so," Desmond mumbles. He self-consciously flattens his hair over his ears, like that will make any difference at all.

"May I?" Lucy asks, and Desmond only nods because he's so surprised. People don't usually ask, just stare. She nods and runs her fingers lightly over the fur on the back on the closer ear, which is unfortunate because it really tickles and this is not a laughing situation. "How do you hide these?" she asks. "Dog ears kind of… stick out. Literally."

"Hats," Desmond mutters. He doesn't tell her about any of the other things that are wrong with him to go along with the ears. She did just kidnap him, he thinks. "And not enough haircuts." He paused a second. "And they're wolf ears, actually. But what does that have to do with my ancestor?"

"I was just wondering if that's where you got it from," Lucy says. "I know that people that drink the tea often have children with more… obviously animal characteristics, and the ancestor we're interested in was one of the first shape changers."

Desmond shrugs. "I'm not exactly a genetics expert," he says. "Maybe. I don't know how it all works." He hesitates. "So if he was one of the first shape changers, that would be right at the beginning of the king's reign, right?"

"Yes." Lucy pulls her hand back from Desmond as Vidic calls that he's ready. "His name's Ratonhnhaké:ton, and the things in his head might just save the world."

-/-

The first thing Desmond notices when he opens his eyes, is that they are not his eyes. He isn't actually moving, it just feels like he is. It's like being paralyzed in a body that's still moving, and it takes him a second to get over that and just roll with it.

After that, the second thing he notices is the color.

Somewhere back in his family tree, some ancestor- possibly this one, according to Lucy- had drunk the tea and met with a spirit animal. That trait had been passed down, generation by generation, until it got to Desmond. And, like his father before him, and his grandfather before him, Desmond had been born just a little bit less than human.

It's sort of unusual for the trait to be passed down for that many generations- Desmond's grandfather used to joke that their ancestor must have chugged the willow's tea to have it still be this obvious so many years later. It usually dies out after only a generation or two, but Desmond's grandfather swore until he was on his deathbed that his grandfather was in the same boat, and that there were probably even more ancestors, further back from him.

Desmond doesn't really think it's anything to joke about. His grandfather had been born with wings, he could fly, before he got old, anyway, so he'd obviously gotten the good genes. Eagle, or something. But Desmond (while still thanking God every day that he hadn't been born part bear, like his father), is not that lucky. He's part wolf.

The most obvious sign of that part of his heritage are his ears. There's absolutely nothing fun about having ears twice the size of any normal human's, complete with fur, sticking out from the side of his head. But at least he's got above average hearing to go with them, and his sense of smell is just as good. And, small miracle, his nose still looks completely normal.

Apart from those differences, the rest of Desmond's wolf genes show themselves in small, subtle ways. He likes his meat a little red, and he is absurdly in love with dogs. Sometimes he thinks they're easier to understand than people. If he doesn't pay attention, he'll growl when he's mad or whine when he's upset. But all of those are still small things, that don't really impact his day to day life. And until today, he'd thought his color blindness was one of those small things too.

Desmond, like wolves and dogs and (he likes to remind himself) approximately one percent of the male human population, is red-green colorblind. He sees a whole lot of yellow, some blue, and not much else. On top of that, what he does see is usually dim and a little blurry, which is why he pays more attention to what he can hear or smell than what he can see.

But God, this ancestor. He can see everything. Colors that Desmond never knew existed. So while he knows, intellectually, that there is a color called green that belongs to trees and grass and plants, this is the first time he's ever seen it. Waking up in the middle of a forest that looks like it's been painted over with this green… it's just…

"Focus, Desmond," Lucy calls, and even though he knows she's only feet away from him, her voice sounds distant.

"We're on a deadline," Vidic adds, and Desmond is relieved to realize he's almost bearable, with two and a half centuries between them.

"So you keep saying," he says, and he can hear his voice in his ears, so he knows his mouth must be moving- but he can't feel them, all he can feel is Ratonhnhaké:ton, and that's the weirdest thing of all, so far.

"Coma," Vidic snarls, a reminder and a threat, and Desmond would have rolled his eyes if they'd been his to roll and not Ratonhnhaké:ton's. Broken record, much?

But if these people are going to kill him either way- and he has no reason to think they won't- he'd rather spend his last few days seeing things like this than in a coma. So even though everything feels weird and wrong and bent out of shape, Desmond bites down the urge to say something sarcastic, and gets on with the memory.

-/-

It takes Desmond a while to realize that something is wrong, from Ratonhnhaké:ton's point of view. He's so busy adjusting to too-many-colors and not-enough-smell to realize that his ancestor is struggling as well. Desmond is in his head, but not really in his thoughts, so he can only pick up an odd thought here and there.

But still, Desmond eventually picks up on the fact that Ratonhnhaké:ton isn't expecting the world to be the way it is. It's obvious, to Desmond anyway, in the way he hugs his mother (while his mind fills up with memories of fire and fear). It's obvious in the way he talks about the king like he should be someone else (and the feelings in his chest are complicated and painful but Ratonhnhaké:ton is not afraid, the way everyone is afraid of King Washington). It's obvious in the way he looks at his own arms, and his mind paints in white robes and weapons where in reality there is nothing but bare skin.

But Ratonhnhaké:ton is quiet, rarely speaking, apart to ask questions. Desmond has just about given up on any kind of explanation coming from his ancestor, when Ratonhnhaké:ton arrives with his mother, back in their village. When she hands him a set of hidden blades, explaining that his father had left them for Ratonhnhaké:ton to use, a storm of emotions rises up in Ratonhnhaké:ton's throat. The feelings are so intense and so unexpected that for a moment, it's all Desmond can do to hang on tight and try not to be thrown out of the memory.

"I know who my father was," Ratonhnhaké:ton says softly, strapping them on. "And I know what these are."

"You do?" And his mother seems equal parts embarrassed and confused. "How?"

"Because none of this is right!" Ratonhnhaké:ton bursts out. Hidden blades safely strapped to his forearms, he puts his hands on his mother's shoulders, as if to reassure himself that she is still solid. "Mother, you should not even be alive. I saw… you were…"

Desmond waits impatiently for Ratonhnhaké:ton to get his words in order, to explain what is wrong with him, or wrong with the world, maybe. But that is when the king comes riding into the village at the head of his army, and the conversation is cut brutally short as Ratonhnhaké:ton and his mother go running outside together.

The king does not look at all different in these memories than he does in the present day, and the instinct to kneel is so strong in Desmond that only Ratonhnhaké:ton keeps him on his feet. Of course, everyone knows that king Washington is more or less immortal, but this is an eerie kind of confirmation.

After that, everything is kind of a blur. The fight is harsh and brutal and long, and when the king kills Ratonhnhaké:ton's mother in front of his eyes, Desmond feels the shock and grief in his mind as strongly as if it were his own. The memory cannot continue under the combined force of Desmond's grief mixed up with Ratonhnhaké:ton's, and mercifully he finds himself ejected at last from the animus.

Vidic doesn't shout at him the way he expects, but Lucy comes by after a moment. "Don't worry," she says softly, squeezing his shoulder. "You can have a few minutes while we recalibrate the animus."

"Thank you," Desmond whispers. Tears are pouring down his face, and behind the sadness he is infuriated at the way he loses control over the death of another man's mother.

"The animus can't handle that memory," Lucy explains. "Too many feelings- the animus isn't good with that."

"Me neither," Desmond says, and almost manages a laugh. Lucy smiles back at him, tight and strained.

"Do you want to talk?" she asks. "Vidic won't let me mess with the animus codes, so I'm pretty much useless right now."

"Sure." He wipes his face as dry as he can, sitting up as he does so. He's still shaking a little, so Lucy sits down on the animus next to him, and lets Desmond lean against her. "Can I ask a question?" he says.

"I can't tell you too much," she warns. "But you can always ask."

"I just- what exactly are you looking for?" Desmond asks. "We both know I'm not going to live when you're done with me, not if there's a chance the things I'm seeing here could somehow get back to the king after I get out. So why don't you just tell me?"

He sees Lucy glance at Vidic, but the man is so occupied with his work that he doesn't even seem aware that they're talking. "Your ancestor-"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," Desmond prompts.

"I can't say that," Lucy admits. "But we suspect that your ancestor came closer than anyone else to taking down the king. And we want to do that."

"You're going to- the king-" Desmond is practically whining in fear, just from the thought of doing something like that, and Lucy seems to sense his unease because she hurries to reassure him.

"He's not immortal," she says. "He's human, just like me or y-" she cuts herself off, flushing and clearly not sure whether Desmond counts as human. "He's human," she says again, her eyes burning with some terrible emotion. "And he can die. He has to die."

"I'm going to die," Desmond says miserably. Because back when this was just a weird kidnapping, there was a tiny, infinitesimal chance that a miracle might happen and get him out of the building alive. Now that he knows they want to kill King Washington, who has been around for literally centuries, who is probably immortal whatever Lucy says, who can kill and enslave with just a flick of his fingers… Now Desmond knows for absolute certainty that he is a dead man.

-/-

So... clearly, this is based on ToKW, but it's not going to work out exactly the same. I mean, obviously, in the game Connor gets the apple back from Washington and they go back to the real world. But in this story -something- goes wrong, and Washington is still in power by the time 2012 rolls around. There are going to be other changes, though, because personally I don't think there's any good reason not to include Haytham in the ToKW storyline. And if Haytham's coming in, why not Shay? So... yea. xD

Anyway, please don't expect super fast updates on this. I'm still working on Before Time (and My Father's Keeper, believe it or not, just... very very slowly). But I had this idea, and I really wanted to get it out and into the world before it went away again.