2012

-/-

Desmond climbed out of Lucy's trunk, trying to ignore the way his arms and legs felt like they were being stabbed with pins and needles. He cracked a smile anyway, and Lucy returned it enthusiastically. "Not too badly knocked around?" she asked.

"Better than still being a prisoner," he said. "Is this it?"

"In all it's glory," Lucy said. The building she'd taken them to after fleeing Abstergo was certainly not impressive, but they were supposed to be hiding after all. It would be sort of counterproductive to have a building that stuck out like a sore thumb.

Desmond followed quietly behind Lucy as she led the way inside. His mind wandered, mulling over everything that had happened recently. It had been an insane week- kidnapped and stuffed into a machine that sounded like something straight out of science fiction. He shook his head to clear it, and called out to Lucy. "How many floors up are we going?"

"Only two," Lucy said cheerfully. "Having trouble keeping up?"

She wasn't mocking him- if anything, her tone was joking, almost like she was flirting. Desmond frowned, and the old scar on his mouth throbbed painfully. A reminder. "It was just a question," he said, more abruptly than he'd meant to.

"Oh," Lucy said. "Sorry."

They climbed the rest of the way in silence, and when they reached the top (and a room that looked much cleaner and better equipped than the outside of the building would suggest), Lucy made her introductions in a perfunctory way.

"This is our little group," she told Desmond. "It's just the three of us- well, four, now that you're here. That's Rebecca-" she pointed at a woman hunched in front of a computer nearby, who waved and smiled distractedly. "And Shaun." A grunt from the other end of the room. "Everyone, this is Desmond Miles."

He muttered a hello, but no one said anything back, and Lucy started to move on with her little tour of the apartment. There wasn't much to look at, and before long they were standing in front of Shaun's desk as Lucy explained his role in their little group. Then Desmond blinked. "Hang on," he said, interrupting Lucy midsentence. "Shaun Hastings?"

He looked up at Desmond, away from his work for the first time since Desmond and Lucy had come into the room. Then his eyes widened in recognition. "Desmond?"

"I had no idea you were an assassin," Desmond said. "You never told me-"

"I wasn't," Shaun said. "Not the last time we saw each other. What was that, ten years ago?"

"Eight," said Desmond.

"Close enough."

"You… know each other?" Lucy asked, looking uncertainly between the two men.

"Oh yea," Shaun said. "We-"

Desmond kicked him under the table, which wasn't quite the subtle hint he was hoping it would be. Shaun yelped and glared at him. "What was that for?" he demanded.

Desmond didn't answer, just turned to Lucy and changed the subject, asking something about her role in the group. She answered- a little uncertainly, and clearly still curious, and eventually the conversation moved on. A while later Lucy went over to Rebecca's station to talk with her about something or other, and Shaun turned on Desmond.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "You vanish into thin air one day, no warning or anything that you're going to leave, and now you turn up out of nowhere-"

"Shaun-"

He went on, ignoring Desmond's interruption. "And apparently your last name is Miles now, not Kenway-"

"Seriously, will you just-"

"You lied to me," Shaun finished, glaring accusingly at Desmond.

"Of course," Desmond said. "I wasn't going to come right out and tell all my secrets to some guy I'd just met."

"You crashed on my couch for almost a year!"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go!"

"You still should have said something," Shaun said, and crossed his arms over his chest. "I mean, I always knew you were weird, but this is weird even for you."

"Sorry," Desmond said. "I should have said something, only…" Only it sounded insane.

"Tell me now," Shaun said. "Seriously, right now."

Desmond nodded. He trusted Shaun, and now that he knew the man was an assassin as well, there was no reason to stay quiet. He opened his mouth to insist that Shaun keep this a secret, then shut it again. It had been a while since he'd seen Shaun, but he trusted him enough to assume that could go without saying.

"Alright," Desmond he said instead, and pulled a chair over to Shaun's desk to lean across it, ignoring the other man's protests that he would make a mess of everything. "It started twenty years ago," he said. "August, 1992. I was five years old."

"And?" Shaun said.

"And that was the first year I traveled through time."

-/-

1992

-/-

Night fell heavily over the Farm, hot and sticky and miserable. It wasn't exactly unusual weather for August, and normally Desmond would barely have noticed. Already at five years old, he had learned better than to waste his time complaining. The adults on the Farm were way too busy with their own problems to bother with him, and he'd only be snapped at if he dared complain about something as petty as the weather.

Still, the weather tonight had him on edge. It wasn't just the heat. He was used to that, but the rumbling of thunder like cannonfire in the distance kept him jumping every few minutes. Last spring, a huge storm that lasted three days straight had rolled through the Farm, ripping down trees and burying everything under a thick layer of muddy water. Ever since then, Desmond had been terrified of the sound of thunder, and had spent more than one night hiding under his bed and shaking like a leaf.

Sometime after dinner, when a bigger than usual burst of thunder had Desmond almost jumping out of his chair, his dad finally noticed and, like Desmond had expected, snapped. "What's wrong now?" he demanded.

"The thunder," Desmond muttered. "I don't like it."

"What thunder?" his dad asked. "There's no thunder."

Desmond opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself just at the last second. It was never a good idea to argue with his dad, even though he could still hear the thunder rumbling in the distance, coming closer with every passing minute.

His dad made a show of sighing loudly, and stood up from the table. "Come here," he said, and Desmond followed him hesitantly toward the window. He could barely see over the window ledge, so his dad lifted him up to get a better view. "Look," he said. "Not a cloud in the sky."

"But…"

It was true- the sky outside was dark, but only because it was late. There were no clouds, no sign of rain, no lightning- but he could still hear the thunder. He bit his lip and tried to figure out what was going on.

"Now go get ready for bed," his dad said, setting him down and giving him a little push. "It's getting late."

Desmond nodded, then started as the loudest clap of thunder yet rang out. He saw his dad roll his eyes and Desmond ran for his own room before he could get a lecture about making things up. By the time he made it to the safety of his own bed, there were tears in his eyes. He just barely managed to keep himself from crying until he was absolutely sure his dad wasn't going to follow him in. Then, when he was sure no one was around to hear him, Desmond buried his face in his pillow and cried.

It was a long time before he ran out of tears, but eventually the ugly sobs trailed off into a hiccup whimpering. Desmond didn't feel much better- the thunder alone was enough to terrify him, but the fact that no one else could even hear it was worse. He felt like everyone was laughing at him, and he didn't understand why.

He lay there, sniffling quietly, until he heard quiet footsteps come up to him. Desmond held his breath and squeezed his eyes closed more tightly, hoping that it wasn't his dad come to check up on him. Not that it had ever happened before, but his mom was spending the week away somewhere, and there was no one else in the house.

"What are you doing in here?" someone asked, and Desmond nearly stopped breathing in surprise. It wasn't his dad's voice- it wasn't any voice he recognized. He opened his eyes and sat up, wiping away the last of his tears. A girl stood over him, close to his own age, looking as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

"Who are you?" Desmond asked, and she frowned.

"I asked you first," she said.

"I-" he looked around, and realized suddenly that he wasn't in his room anymore. Instead, he was in someone's barn, sitting on the ground in the dirt. The whole place smelled like animals, and Desmond wrinkled his nose as the stench really hit him. "Where am I?"

"You're in the barn," the girl said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Oh," Desmond said. Another clap of thunder interrupted him before he could say anything else, and the girl jumped at the same moment he did. For once, though, the sound of thunder didn't have him terrified. He was mostly just thankful that she seemed to have heard it too.

The girl wrapped her arms tight around herself and frowned. "It's raining," she said.

"I don't like storms," Desmond admitted, and she shook her head wildly before letting herself fall to the ground next to him. Her dress- old fashioned and blue, with a thick coat of mud on the bottom- spread out on the ground around her. She made a face and pushed it out of the way.

"Me neither," she said. "My grandma told me not to go out, but I didn't listen to her and then it started to rain and I came in here. Is that why you're here? Because of the rain?"

"I don't know why I'm here," Desmond said. "I was in my room at the farm, and then I was here-"

"Oh!" the girl said. She brightened a little. "Your family lives on a farm? There's a lot of those around. I can ask my grandma tomorrow. She knows everything, she'll know how to get you home."

She smiled at Desmond, and he managed to smile back a little. Outside, the sounds of the storm had started to fade a little, and Desmond found himself a little excited about the unexpected adventure. "I'm Desmond," he said, and held out his hand very seriously like he'd seen his dad do the few times they'd had visitors at the Farm. She shook it, giggling a little.

"That's a funny name," she said. "I've never met a Desmond before."

"Yea?" he stuck out his tongue at her, but that only made her laugh harder. "What's your name, then?"

"Jennifer Scott," she said. "But you can call me Jenny."

-/-

1738

-/-

Jenny found her brother in front of their father's grave, sitting in a cross legged pose with his chin on his hands, frowning at the stone like it held all the answers to all the questions he could ever want to ask.

She leaned against a tree, arms crossed, and watched him for a little while. It had been nine years since she'd last seen him. He'd only been three then, a kid, with a smile full of holes from where he'd lost his baby teeth. He wasn't a kid now, and he didn't look like he did much smiling either.

Jenny stepped away from the tree, purposefully making enough noise that Haytham would be sure to notice her footsteps. Sure enough, he turned round, jumping to his feet like he was ready to fight. The stance was good, for a beginner, but his eyes were wide and Jenny could tell by a glance that he'd never been in a real fight, against someone that actually wanted to kill him.

"Who-" he faltered a little, then relaxed into a more normal posture. "Jenny?"

"Long time no see," she said, and he shook his head.

"I thought you were dead," he said, his voice accusatory. "You left."

"I did," Jenny said. "I went… looking for someone." She realized she was rubbing her hands together and stopped. It was a nervous gesture, a bad habit she'd picked up years ago.

"You didn't come back," Haytham said.

Which was also true. She should have, when she heard that her father had been killed, and that Haytham had been taken in by templars. But in the end, she'd been too much of a coward and had stayed away. Until now, when the guilt finally got to be too much, and she'd come to find her brother at last.

"There are some things you should know," she said. "About what really happened that night. When dad was killed."

"I know already," Haytham said. "They told me- assassins came and killed him."

"No," Jenny said. "They were templars, not assassins."

"But-" She could see his mind working, trying to figure out this new information. "Dad was-"

"An assassin," Jenny said. "And so am I, actually."

"Is my mother-"

"No." Jenny shook her head. "Tessa always knew about it, but I guess she wasn't interested in involving herself."

"What about Desmond?" Haytham asked, and Jenny's hand twinged painfully. This time she managed to keep herself from rubbing at it.

"Yes," she said. "He was an assassin, and… well, he was complicated. Is." Because she still didn't think he was dead. Not really, just… gone."

"What does that mean?" Haytham demanded. He sounded half angry and half whiny, and Jenny couldn't keep herself from feeling sorry for him. She'd never been that good at explaining things, and this was a pretty big bombshell she'd just dropped.

"It means… how about this. I'll tell you the whole story, everything I know, all the stuff I went through growing up. Then you can decide for yourself what to think about it all."

Haytham turned his head a little, studying her intently. Then he nodded. "Fine," he said. "Tell me your story."

Jenny closed her eyes and let out a heartfelt sigh. These were memories she hadn't gone back to in years. They were difficult ones, happy times made sad because they were over and done and she could never go back. But she had to start somewhere. "Alright," she said aloud. "I guess I can start twenty years ago, in 1718."

"Why there?" Haytham asked.

"Because that was the day I wandered into grandmother's barn and found a half drowned little boy there," Jenny said. "His name was Desmond."

-/-

1718

-/-

Jenny woke up sometime close to noon and realized she'd fallen asleep practically on top of Desmond. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could (because he seemed nice, but he was still a boy and boys were gross) and kicked his foot a little until he mumbled something and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Storm's gone," Jenny said.

"Good," Desmond said, jumping to his feet. "What do we do now?"

"We're going to see my grandma," Jenny said. "She's really nice. She'll help."

"Okay," Desmond said, but he didn't move until Jenny actually grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the barn door.

"Come on," she said as they half stumbled out of the barn. Outside, the sun shone brightly and the world smelled wet and fresh. "Race you!"

"I don't know where we're going!" Desmond protested, but Jenny was already running and didn't want to stop. She just pointed at the house on the hill and ran faster. Desmond started running too, and together they charged up the slope, dodging puddles and sheep droppings. There were a lot of sheep around- her grandpa had been a sheep farmer his whole life, and after he died late last year, her grandma had taken over the farm with the same excitement she had for every part of her life.

Jenny was panting by the time she got to the top of the hill, but at least she was faster than Desmond, who was also breathing hard when he finally caught up. "No fair!" he whined. "I didn't know where we were going!"

"Sore loser!" Jenny crowed.

"Am not!"

"Are so!"

He made a face at her and she made one back. "I still won," she said. "I-"

The smile slipped from her face as Jenny heard the house door slam, and a second later her grandma came striding toward them across the grass, an angry expression on her face. "Where were you last night?" she demanded. "The worst storm we've seen in fifty years and you go running off! What were you thinking?"

"I didn't know it was going to rain," Jenny said.

"That's no excuse," her grandma said. She sighed and looked Jenny over, head to toe. "Do you know what your mother would have said if she thought I didn't know where you were last night? You know she doesn't like you coming down here in the first place."

"I know," Jenny said, suddenly guilty. "But grandma- I found someone!"

She gave Jenny a look that said clearly there would be more words about this later, then switched her attention to Desmond. He squirmed a little and looked sideways at Jenny. "And where did you find this one?" she asked.

"In the barn," Jenny said. "He told me he doesn't know how he got there."

Her grandma turned her full attentions to Desmond, who fidgeted a little. "Is that true?" she asked, and Desmond nodded miserably.

"I don't know how to get home," he said, then suddenly frowned. "And I don't want to."

Jenny expected her grandma to ask why Desmond didn't want to go home, but she only looked him up and down with an odd intensity. There was a golden light in her eyes that Jenny barely had time to notice before it vanished. Then, she nodded. "You can stay here, if you like," she said. "But I warn you, life here isn't easy. There's hard work, and lots of it."

"I can do it," Desmond said.

"You're letting him stay?" Jenny asked, perking up a little.

"For now," her grandma said. "For now."

-/-

Please bear with me for some authors' notes while I sort of babble about this fic. I've got quite a few things to say.

First, this has been sitting on my computer for months and I finally figured that I'm never going to get round to editing it so I might as well just stick it up.

Second, I wrote the entire thing out of order. Like, I wrote the story-within-the-story (the parts Desmond and Jenny are telling Shaun and Haytham, respectively) and then went back and did the later sections. Because of that, characters will reference things that won't come up until later as though they'd already happened. It's just me trying something different- hopefully it's not too confusing.

Third, like I said earlier, this is unedited and I'm not entirely happy with how the first draft came out. Hopefully it's not too full of grammar mistakes or plot holes.

Phew! Told you this would be long. Hopefully now that I got this out of my system I'll be able to shut up and not be annoying for the next twelve chapters.