Gaaaaaaaah... this is one beast of a story, and with the Pit being a douche, it's even worse. D:


He couldn't help but feel at home in the church. His mother was overtly religious, and, although he lived for conspiracy theories, his mother had done well to instill in him her faith. And so, he sat in the sanctuary of the Santa Maria Aracoeli, his crucifix in hand. The beads were well worn with time, small grooves worn into the wood where his fingers had run through the prayers so many times before.

He wasn't Catholic, no, not anymore—not after becoming part of the assassins—but he did still cling to the last little bit of Christian faith he had. He knew it was pointless, and if the others found out, they'd call him a Templar, but he couldn't help it. After being kidnapped right after graduation from the university, he clung to what little hope his faith could instill him with.

With stiff legs, he walked to the railings at the edge of the altar and knelt. The pillows for kneeling were still full of stuffing, and even though he shouldn't be here—because it was a tourist sight, and Heaven forbid someone should see him—he gripped his mother's crucifix, his graduation present, and bowed his head to pray. His fingers ran over the wooden beads, and he prayed that his mother was still doing okay, that his brother's wife and child were strong and healthy, and that his father was resting in peace. He found himself rambling, talking with God and trying to cheer himself up after Desmond got Lucy. He thanked God for how well Lucy was healing, how Desmond was still sane, and how, since they had teamed up with William's group, he was sleeping more and getting healthier.

"My child, what are you doing here?"

Shaun nearly had a heart attack as he looked up to see a priest standing there, clutching a cane. He was old and wrinkled and looked as if he belonged there, the stand-in father for so many children who passed through the doors every day.

"The church is shut down."

Shaun bowed his head, running his fingers over the beads. "I'm sorry, father."

"There is no need to be sorry for praying to our Father." He could hear the priest walk over to him and kneel down beside him. "What is bothering you, child?"

He looked at the priest and opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again when words wouldn't come. The man seemed to understand and took his hand gently, folding their fingers together.

"Dear Lord our Father," the priest began.

Shaun closed his eyes and listened as the priest prayed for him and his situation. He listened to the old man's voice, and deep inside, he felt as if his worry and pain were being soothed. He clutched his hand tighter and felt a soft squeeze in response, and by the end of the prayer, Shaun was crying. The priest pulled him into a hug as the historian cried, and he started sobbing harder. The sobs echoed throughout the basilica and into the heart of the dark church. He clutched the man's robes tightly until there were no more tears in his system.

"I want to see my mum again," he whispered. "Sod this for a game of soldiers: I want to go back to the way things were before all of this. I love my job, don't get me wrong, but I want my old life back."

The priest was gently rubbing his back. "All things happen for a reason. God must have placed you here for an important one."

Shaun listened to the man's heartbeat. "I just want to see my family again."

"Keep faith, child. It may be a while yet, but your reason for being placed in such a position will be revealed in due time."

"Don't tell me you believe that shit. What the Hell are you doing out here anyway?"

Shaun turned to see Desmond standing a few feet away, and he scowled. "Go away, you useless gnat. Surely you have some more brain cells to kill by letting Lucy beat you around some more."

Desmond scowled. "Come on."

The old man gave Shaun a tight squeeze. "A few more minutes—"

"No, damnit. Come on, Shaun."

"Pull the fuzz from your ears, idiot. I'm not coming in yet." H

e watched Desmond snarl and plop down in one of the chairs. "I'm not allowed to return until you come with."

"Then sit and shut up," Shaun snarled in return.

Shaun closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the priest's chest. There were several minutes of silence before his fingers curled into the robes even tighter.

"I don't want to go back, father. I don't want to."

The old man chuckled. "You will find your purpose in due time."

"I'm not even appreciated. I give myself one-hundred and ten percent of the time, and they only expect more as if I were super human."

"Sometimes, the underappreciated have the most important jobs. Here, rise with me." Shaun let go and stood with the priest, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders and made a sweeping gesture.

"Take, for instance, the care and maintenance that goes into this sacred place."

They started walking to the middle of basilica slowly.

"Every day, the janitors come and clean the floors, straighten the chairs, and dust the altar. They wax the floors every Sunday night and take out the trash for the garbage men. The garbage men pick up the waste and carry it to the dump, and they do this every day. Yet, these men and women are forgotten. They receive no praise: they get no recognition. Still, they do their jobs.

"The artists that created these walls have long since died and been washed away in the ever-changing tide of time. Nevertheless, thousands of people come in and pray, noticing the beautiful work but never acknowledging it. These are the people that run our society: the small, the unnoticed, the hardworking. Without them, we would not have such a wonderful world.

"You may feel as if you are underappreciated, but your work is necessary. Do with pride, Shaun, and praise the Lord our God for such a gift. You may not have seen your family in a long time, but surely there is someone who has needed the work you have done. Or will need. Just as we need the janitors and the artists, your job is important."

They had arrived back at the altar.

"The Father has blessed you, child. There is a reason for what you are doing."

Shaun looked the man in the eyes.

"It may not be apparent for years, but I can tell that your faith has been tested quite heavily."

The priest cupped his cheek and kissed his head.

"The Lord is with you, Shaun. Remember that. He watches over his children like a shepherd. Tell me, do you own a Bible?"

"No, sir, it was burned by the people I work with."

The priest frowned and patted his shoulder. "Then hold on, I shall be back."

Shaun watched the man walk off, his back turned to Desmond. Once the priest was gone, he could hear Desmond shift.

"I knew we couldn't trust you, fucking Templar bastard."

Shaun, for once, didn't have the strength to respond.

"What, don't have a response now that you've been caught? Wait till the heads of the Order hear about this."

Shaun closed his eyes. He felt empty, but it was a relief from all the anger and frustration that had been building for so long. "Then kill me."

There was silence. Then, "What?"

Shaun turned and gave him a tired, empty look. "Then kill me, you prejudice son-of-a-bitch. Anything could be better than this shithole of a life."

Desmond looked surprised as Shaun turned back around and closed his eyes. "

You know, my dream as a child was to grow up, get married, and have a litter of kids? Now, I can't even go outside, let alone begin to date someone. Kill me. I won't struggle. Here, let me help you."

He pulled off his sweater vest and began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"At least then I can see my father again."

He pulled his shirt back and turned so Desmond could see his chest, and he looked him in the eye as he held his shirt open.

"Well?"

Desmond seemed frozen to his seat. Shaun gestured again and waited.

"Are you going to kill me since I'm a Templar?"

Desmond was just silent, beginning to look uncomfortable.

"I believe in Christ as my savior and the one, true God. Therefore, I must be a threat to the Order and a Templar, and I must die. Please, bury your blade in my chest. I don't mind: it's not as if anyone will notice."

"Shaun…"

"Come on, you pansy. Finished what you started with Lucy, and kill me."

"I didn't hurt her on purpose! I couldn't control myself!"

Shaun gestured to his exposed chest. "Okay then, don't hold back here, either."

He gave a nonchalant shrug and looked at the newer assassin. "Well?"

Desmond shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I…"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about doing this."

"Shaun, I…"

He waited patiently. While he hated how stressed and overworked he had been, now that he had a partner to help with archiving, he now had time to think, and he knew it was dangerous. While he had been busy, he hadn't the time to miss his family or think about them—it was only "Do this," or "Help them." Now that he could think, he was beginning to struggle with depression as he thought about all the stuff that had happened. It's easy to be cynical and sarcastic when the underlying cause is depression.

He was staring at Desmond, who was squirming under his gaze. He watched the assassin without much interest, their breathing the only noises in the room. Finally, Desmond sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry. Just button up your shirt. I'm not going to kill you."

"Are you sure? Honest, I wouldn't mind. And I'm sure they could find another to replace me easily."

Desmond scowled at him. "I'm not gonna kill you."

"But since I'm a Christian, I must be a Templar, and therefore, I am a danger to society and all the assassins around me. Because I am a danger, I cannot be trusted and must be a spy, and the Order kills Templar spies because it puts their fight in danger. So, by the power of reasoning, I must die to protect the Order. I won't fight you."

"What the Hell is wrong with you?"

Shaun sighed and looked toward the Heavens, silently thanking God he felt so devoid of emotion right now. He looked back at him. "It's called 'depression,' Desmond. Many people suffer from it, and given what has been happening in my life right now, I'm not entirely surprised I'm suffering from it, too."

"Oh, come on, if I can do it—"

"You were born and raised to be an assassin. Compare that to me, and you're comparing apples to pigs. There's no similarities."

Desmond opened his mouth to speak but shut it. Then, as Shaun stuffed his hands into his pockets, he spoke.

"If life is so bad, why do you still believe in God, then, after he's done all this shit to you?"

"Because he has blessed me many times, and saved me countless more."

"Yeah… sure…. You're blessed even though you're depressed, stuck in a job where you aren't recognized, are hunted obsessively, and have had to give up on your dream."

He smiled bitterly. "Hope is all I have left, Desmond. It is the only thing that has kept me from committing suicide. And as long as I have faith in God, I will have hope."

"Why?"

"Why? Why what?"

"Why do you keep hope, then, if everything looks so bad?"

"It is the curse of humanity to hope for a better life."

"Isaiah fifty-eight, eleven," they turned to see the priest holding a book. "'The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and strengthen your frame.'"

Shaun buttoned his shirt again and folded his sweater vest as the priest approached him, kneeling on one knee and holding out the Bible.

"Keep your faith, Shaun. For just as faith brought Job vast prosperity, so too, shall the Lord reward your faith. Read Psalm forty-two and forty-three. I hope that they will help you."

Shaun nodded once, slowly, and reached out to take the book. He gave the priest one more tight hug, thanking him, and turned to Desmond, tucking the Bible away.

"Ready?"

Desmond looked nervous, but nodded. As they left, Shaun took one more look at the priest, who was watching them with a sad hopefulness.

"Remember, child, there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. God bless."

Shaun felt the beginning of a smile tug at his lips as he clutched the Bible tighter under his shirt. Desmond was quiet on the way back, and Shaun's mind sifted through the night at the church. He felt better after his breakdown, and the cool night air was refreshing. As they entered their hideout, he paid the others no mind and went straight to his room, changing into pajamas and settling in his bed.

He was engrossed in the Bible, a certain feeling of nostalgia filling his soul. He felt closer to home, and he could hear his mother reading passages to him. It wasn't until he felt his bed dip that he jumped from his thoughts, hoping it wasn't Lucy or someone else. When he saw Desmond, he allowed himself to relax a little, and scowled.

"What do you want, you insufferable git?"

Desmond frowned and looked almost nervous as he shifted on the edge of the bed. Shaun knew that look: it was the one he always had before he asked a question.

"Why do you keep your faith?"

Shaun sighed, pulling his glasses off and closing the book. "Didn't we already have this discussion?"

Desmond looked at the far wall. "Well, yeah, but it was kinda—it didn't make much sense."

"Of course it didn't. Nothing ever does for you."

Desmond frowned. "Look, I'm just curious, okay? I mean, yeah, I saw your point that maybe every Christian isn't a Templar, but I wanna know why you believe if you've seen how corrupt it is and heard the speculation that the Pieces of Eden are what caused all the 'miracles.'"

Shaun sighed and straightened, adjusting the pillows against the wall. He licked his lips and rubbed his chin. "It's hard to explain. And perhaps it's all just a frame of mind, but having such a belief is helpful."

"Really?"

He moved so Desmond could sit on the bed and face him. Shaun sighed and bit his lip, trying to decide how to proceed.

"Yes."

He made an irritated noise and looked at the ceiling as if it were holding the answer. Desmond was looking at him expectantly, and Shaun scratched his chin.

"It would be easier just to show you, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd have to believe as well. It gives you—it gives you a certain, inexplicable calm when you're frightened, or courage when you need to fight. There's an unequaled happiness I get in singing hymns or reading the Bible. The only way to understand is to believe."

Desmond's face twisted into one of contemplation. Shaun was getting irritated as he tried to figure out a good enough explanation for him.

"Aren't you gay, though?"

Shaun raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't that illegal according to the Bible?"

Shaun looked away, staring at the far wall.

"Well, yes."

"So then…"

Shaun sighed. "There is a reason I never made it past second base with Kate."

"So, you're never going to have a relationship with another guy?"

"I may, but don't doubt I won't feel guilty."

Desmond looked confused. "Then why would you…"

"Because all men enjoy feeling loved."

Desmond was quiet, the look of confusion getting worse. Shaun watched him closely. They were silent for several minutes before Desmond spoke again.

"If… If I gave it a try, would you…"

Shaun gave him a look, raising an eyebrow.

"Try what? A gay relationship?"

"Um… Believing in God. Would you help me?"

Shaun chuckled. "Of course."

Desmond looked shocked. "Really?"

He nodded. "It would be irresponsible of me as a Christian not to, like a farmer planting his seeds but not taking care of them."

Desmond nodded slowly. "When will I feel it? I mean, those feelings you described?"

Shaun let a small smile slip. "You'll know, Desmond. You'll feel him within you."

Desmond looked horrified. "Like, the Bleeding Effect?"

Shaun laughed. "No, no. Nothing of the sort. It's pleasant. You'll just know."

Desmond looked doubtful, but Shaun set the Bible to the side and reached for Desmond's hands. The newer assassin jerked at the contact, but let Shaun fold their hands together.

"There are certain things you must accept if you want to become a Christian. You must acknowledge that you are a sinner and that you need God's forgiveness."

"What kind of sinner?"

"There are Ten Commandments that we should live by: we shall have no other gods before him; we shall not make ourselves an idol and bow to it; we shall not use the Lord's name in vain; we shall remember the Sabbath and keep it holy—"

"The Sabbath?"

"Sunday. The day of rest."

"Oh…"

"We shall honor our mother and father. We shall not murder, commit adultery, steal, lie, or be jealous."

"Shit, that goes against everything the assassins are."

Shaun nodded. "Yes."

"And he'll forgive you despite this?"

"He's not going to be very happy, but he will forgive you if you are truly sorry."

Desmond blinked several times, looking down at their hands. Shaun waited patiently, letting Desmond process the information.

"Is that why—is that why you try so hard to get out of assignments?"

A smirk tugged at Shaun's lips. "Yes, Desmond. Spot-on."

Desmond nodded once, slowly, still staring at their hands. He swallowed loudly. "What else do we need to accept?"

"You believe that God raised Jesus from the dead, and that Jesus died for our sins so that we may not need to offer a sacrifice at the temples anymore."

"But the Shroud is what—"

"Through God's power, Jesus was brought back to life."

Desmond's jaw audibly snapped shut, and he nodded.

"You must believe that Jesus is the Lord, and that through him alone you will find salvation."

"But you just said we can't have any other gods."

"God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are three parts of one."

Desmond growled, frustrated. "How?"

"They just are."

"There's no explanation?"

"None. My apologies."

Desmond was quiet, still thinking and looking at their hands.

"Anything else?"

"Ask the Lord into your heart, and receive him as your savior."

"How do I ask him?"

"Through prayer, the base of communication with God."

"And how to I pray?"

Shaun smiled softly. "There was a devotional my mother helped me through as a young tike that told me how. Remember the phrase 'ACTS': Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication."

"Okay?"

"Adoration: tell him how much you love him and praise him. Even he enjoys it. Confession: confess your sins, and ask him for forgiveness. Thanksgiving: count your blessings and thank him. You'll find you have more than you expected. Supplication: this is the most important part."

Desmond nodded, looking remarkably serious.

"Just talk to him."

Desmond looked confused.

"Like you would to a best friend."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Desmond blinked.

"Care to try? I'll start us out."

After several long seconds of silence, Desmond nodded, and Shaun bowed his head and began his prayer. He went slow, and as he relaxed while praying in front of Desmond, his tongue loosened, and he began talking as if God were his best friend. Once he was done, he guided Desmond through a prayer. Desmond faltered along, slowly becoming comfortable with what he was doing, and Shaun couldn't help but feel good about it. When he closed with an "Amen" and settled into the bed, he waited for a barrage of questions. He was surprised by Desmond's serious stare and lack of words. He met his gaze levelly.