The clock ticked loudly in the small all white room, which caused one of the occupants to twitch involuntarily in his seat. He drummed his fingers against his leg while he waited for the doctor to finish reading his transcripts and files; waiting for the onslaught of questions he knew to be coming. "How long has...'Altair' been appearing?" The doctor's voice was slow, somewhat tired sounding. Desmond glanced up, gold-brown eyes locked with his new therapist's.

"Uh..." He thought back, flinching lightly at remembered abuse, fights at school. How old had he been when he first began to notice that he wasn't alone in his head? "Since I was like, ten I think?"

His therapist nodded once, eyes flickering down to the file before they came back up to lock on his face. "And 'Ezio'?"

Desmond internally groaned, mentally feeling one of his personalities smirking at the question. "After I left home, so...sixteen?" The man made a small 'hm' noise before resting his chin on his palm.

"Dr. Vidic was kind enough to give me a list of the treatments you tried when you were with him." Desmond flinched at the mention of his creepy-ass ex-therapist. The doctor tapped a long finger on the pile of papers resting neatly stacked in the manila envelope. "He remarked that nothing was successful?"

"That asshole wouldn't know how to treat a person with a hangnail." His voice changed to a semi-irritated drawl, and the blue-green eyed doctor blinked in confusion before quickly covering it with a professional expression.

"Ah...who would I happen to be speaking to?" The patient's posture relaxed so that he was all but lounging in the chair. He rested his head on lazily curled fingers and gave the therapist an appreciative once over.

"Ezio." A small smirk quirked the edges of his lips, scarred side pulling lightly. He liked the way the cute doctor's ears turn pink, and hummed his approval. "Though you may call me anything you like, caro mio." Ezio glanced at the name plate resting innocently on the doctor's desk,and plucked it up with deft fingers.

"So, Dr. Vinci...may I get a first name to go with such a beautiful face?" Yes, the personality could see that Desmond's therapist was nearly drowning in embarrassment, but charming people and making sure there would always be someone to warm his bed was why he was here. He watched with slight disappointment as the doctor fixed him with a stern look.

"No, but thank you for the compliment." Ezio chuckled, setting down the name plate back in its proper place. Dr. Vinci cleared his throat and rested his hands on his desk. "Please can I speak to Desmond again?" He pouted but the smirk settled back on his face.

"What if I want to speak to you still?" Dr. Vinci frowned, and the expression caused Ezio to laugh loudly. "Ah, fine. But we must speak again, I can't have Desmond keeping you all to himself." The personality gave the flustered doctor another once over and a large wink before Desmond blinked, looking confused and worried.

"Shit...what did he say?" Clearly the young man of twenty-five was used to cleaning up his personality's verbal messes; he noticed the light blush washed over his therapist's face and sighs. "Sorry about that...he's pretty harmless."

Dr. Vinci nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth though his face was still red . "Though a bit flirtatious, he seemed over-all pleasant."

The session went about like normal, except when Ezio decided he was tired of merely listening in, even though Desmond tried to shut him out. Dr. Vinci seemed much more concerned about his patient (or patients, counting the other two; Altair had yet to appear, and the doctor had come to the conclusion that the personality didn't like speaking as much) than Vidic ever seemed.

The blond therapist smiled largely when their session came to a close. "I'm very glad we were able to talk as much as we did today, I hope to help you with your condition, Mr. Miles." Desmond stood from his chair, rubbing the back of his neck with a small smile.

"Eh, yeah. Hope you weren't too put off by Ezio, he can get a bit...much sometimes." Dr. Vinci laughed lightly and wrote something quickly on a small pad of paper.

"This is an address of a support group for people in similar situations as yourself. I think it would benefit you, Mr. Miles, if you went to a few." Desmond took the slip of paper with a small smile gracing the corners of his lips.

"Thanks doc-I hope to see you soon, caro." The patient gave the therapist a little wave before turning and all but strutting down the hall.

Leonardo leaned against his door way and sighs. He runs a hand through his hair and gives a small groan. He was certainly going to have a time with that one.

()()

The bar wasn't very busy this time of the week, which he was thankful for. Trailing his fingertips over colourful bottles, Desmond sighed, his head throbbed softly behind his eyelids. The headaches were becoming worse, but it wasn't something that the bartender felt he should tell his therapist about; it wasn't as if they have to do with his...eh, what did Dr. Vinci call it? Oh yeah, his 'condition'. Nice way of candy coating it, doc.

Desmond snorted lightly and straightened, popping his back in the process. Damn, the blond was something he wasn't used to, after dealing with the last creep. He itched the side of his nose, yawning and then flinching at the drunken order from his right. Yeah, he was pretty sure Vidic did him more harm than good, and he had only been seeing the bastard because the court ordered it. Fucking Altair, getting him into fucking trouble. Again.

"Hey barkeep," He turned, eyes brightening when they fell to rest on Lucy. She leaned on the counter, a grin perking her pretty mouth as he padded over to her like a puppy. "Rum and coke on the rocks, please." Desmond gave her a crooked smile and turned, happily mixing his favourite customer's drink.

He handed it to her. "What are you doing here?" He leaned on his elbows, watching the blonde sip at her drink with poised delicacy. She placed the glass on the scratched countertop and sighed in thanks.

"Unwinding, and I was going to ask how your first session with Dr. Vinci went." Desmond shrugged a shoulder, fingers going up to massage at his temples. Lucy sipped at her drink, blue eyes concerned. Lucy had been his friend for the few months he had been living in New York; they had gotten to know each other due to her being an intern to Vidic. She was probably (apart from his doctors) the only one that knew of his condition (so maybe that was why he had some what of a weird kiddie-school crush on her).

"Fine; he seemed nice. Better than Vidic, that's for sure." Lucy snorted and lifted her drink in something of a salute. The bartender sighed through his nose, feeling his stomach growling for food. "He...said that there's a, uh, support group for people like me."

"Are you gonna go?"

Desmond shrugged and hid a yawn behind his hand. "Hell if I know...I mean, it would be weird, you know?" He threaded his fingers through his short hair and glanced at the blonde woman. "Though Dr. Vinci said it might help to meet people who have the same thing as I do." Though he was scared shitless of the thought that he would meet some real crazy people.

Lucy hummed, long thumbs curling over the rim of her glass before her eyes darted up to catch his. "It'll probably be for the best if you go. Talking is as good of a cure as medication, and I'm sure if you meet some other people with the same-" She blinked and coughed politely, not finishing the sentence with 'problem'. It hadn't ended well the last time; Altair backing her into a corner, scissors in one hand and growling 'We don't have a problem'. "Anyway, I think it would be good for...all of you."

Desmond bit the inside of his cheek in thought, subconsciously grabbing her empty cup in order to refill it. He stood facing the neatly arranged bottles while he mulled over the possibilities. Altair hissed softly in his head, saying that they didn't need help. They didn't need to talk to anyone, especially people who were clearly crazy. They were perfectly fine.

The bartender bit down until he tasted blood, bringing himself out of his mind and to the present. He glowered lightly, mixing the rum and coke and turned to a concerned looking Lucy. You're both the problem. He thought, half listening to Lucy's comforting voice telling him about her day with a few start-out patients. I am old enough that I shouldn't need you two anymore. I need help.

()()

The first time he really noticed he wasn't really alone was when he was ten, weeping and being pummeled by a group of boys larger than himself. They spit on him, kicked him, punched him; he had clawed at his face, trying to block the blows his body was receiving. It didn't help that when he came home that night, late and covered in dirt and blood, his father beat the living hell out him.

Altair appeared when he was jumped for the third time that week; Desmond could remember his mind blanking out, not remembering what had happened till one of the largest boys in the make-shift gang was laying sprawled on the ground, clutching at a broken nose. The sight of his blood pouring out of that face that had been previously screwed up in anger and mockery sent a sense of relief through the ten year-old, and he found himself laughing, choking on tears.

The adults came running then, and cries of 'What the hell did you DO?' rang through his skull, but he could only grin and laugh, thankful that for once, he stopped it.

The switches were strange when they happened, and Desmond didn't know what brought them on, only that he had to deal with 'Altair's' shit once he was back. Sometimes he caught glimpses of what the other person inside of him did, but after seeing Altair beating someone within an inch of their life, he was content being in the shadows. He just wished that he didn't have to deal with the consequences.

Ezio appearing when he was older was something that came as a surprise. He had moved out of his parents' house (more like escaped) at sixteen and settled on wandering, picking up things as he went along. Loneliness and of course teenage hormones most likely caused his other...self(?) to appear.

When he woke up in a stranger's room, not knowing how the hell he had gotten there, and watching as a woman in her early twenties came into the room with two cups of coffee, Desmond could remember thinking to himself Great, my first time, and I don't even remember it.

With two other people living inside of his head, Desmond had to admit sometime down the road that his life was seriously fucked up. Ending up in jail on charges of aggravated assault and not even knowing how the hell that happened was the prime factor in causing the bartender to finally admit that maybe he needed help. Well that and the threat that he would go to Rikers if he didn't undergo treatment.

He glanced at the crumpled blue sticky-note paper again, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he waited for the light to change. Should he go? If his therapist suggested that talking to people with the same problem as him might be beneficial to 'recovery' or some shit like that, then maybe...

Gold-brown eyes snapped back to reality when a loud honk sounded from behind. He glanced up and cursed under his breath, revving the engine of his bike and taking off.

()()

A week later found him in front of the building where the meetings were held. A half smoked cigarette rested between his lips as he looked up at the building with a faint sneer. The bartender takes a drag and can't remember when he first picked up the habit; fingers pull away the glowing stick and he crushes it underfoot. Maybe this is a bad idea...Desmond ran a hand through his short hair and hummed softly.

"Are you going in, or are you going to stare at the building like a moron?" He turned at the snippy, accented remark. Oh, I like him. Desmond heard Ezio purr inside his head, and he felt himself scowl.

A man, about his height with light red-brown hair and eyes with the strangest mixture of grey and green the bartender had seen glared hotly from behind his glasses. A curled fist rested on one of the man's slim hips, and an eyebrow was raised. "Well?" He said testily, the hand not resting on his hip making a sweeping gesture toward the doors. There was the sense of déjà vu that the bartender couldn't quite place.

Desmond mimicked the other male's expression by raising an eyebrow; he shifted from one leg to the other and allowed a brief glance over the man's body. Not too bad...He thought before giving the man an easy going smile. "Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?"

A dark scowl twisted the male's thin mouth, and he shoved past the other, muttering under his breath in what sounded like Arabic.

()-()

Perhaps this will be a 2 or 3 shot. Originally I was going to make it one giant ass one-shot, however I want to switch POVs for a bit. That and I need to practice writing in Shaun's point of view.

ANYWAY, DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) or more commonly known as Multiple Personality Disorder is something that I've been reading about for a while. I got this idea in the shower (where quite a bit of my ideas come from :T) and although I have FAR too many stories open...I had to write it down. Dammit.

To read more about DID, just go to google and type it in then click whatever website you want; it's interesting stuff.

Anyway, somethings will probably be wrong; I'm not a psychology majour, nor do I plan to be. So if things are wrong and you know more about this stuff than I do, please just tell me because I do like to learn new things, and because constructive criticism is always welcomed.