A/N: I have (mostly) changed the original story for this. I enjoyed the transformation of this and I hope you all will as well.
Enjoy!
PROLOGUE I
To An Old Friend Of Mine
"What?" I asked, completely dumbfounded that this man had the audacity to request such a thing of me, considering what he'd put me through over the same subject years ago.
He let out an exasperated sigh, "I said: you are tasked with retrieving Desmond. Is that so difficult to understand?" he reiterated. The tone in his voice gave me a fairly accurate idea that he was irritated today. Then again, he always spoke down to me despite the high rank I held amongst my colleagues.
"No, Sir. However, I must ask, why me? Why not Stillman?" I inquired. I personally found the woman repulsive and never to be trusted, but I also didn't want to travel around the globe in search of my Mentor's son. My history alone was enough for me to know deep within that I wasn't well-equipped for such a tedious task.
"Lucy is busy with another mission and isn't even in the country! You know this! Besides, you and Desmond were undoubtedly close. Seeing you would throw him completely off guard—if you still have the same effect you did on him years ago." he spoke with that annoyingly sarcastic tone.
I rolled my eyes at his last remark, "He's your son, William." I reminded the man, crossing my arms, tired of his disparaging nature toward me.
"Are you questioning my orders, Vérendrye?!" he asked, his tone becoming more aggressive due to my evasive nature regarding the subject and completely mispronouncing my surname, as usual.
"Fine, I'll do it!" I caved in impulsively despite my better judgment, though the idea of finding Desmond overwhelmed my need to stand against William.
I didn't know where to start and I didn't know what to do. Then again, how could I possibly know? I was sent without any sort of lead, as William had seldom luck in finding Desmond after so many years. All I really knew was that at some point, I had to report back to William that I'd finally found his son. I had to admit, however, that it was impressive for Desmond to evade us for nine years when considering he never fully completed his training.
The first destination I chose was simply out of my own curiosity. It seemed to have been a favourite amongst other associates. New York City was enormous: bustling with vehicles and swarms of people going in every possible direction. I took the liberty of enrolling myself into Columbia University to study Journalism using my given alias, 'Faye Wolfe'.
I always found Journalism interesting. From a young age, I'd go around 'interviewing' people in my home town and 'The Farm', continuing to do so until I had nobody left to ask questions and there was very little to almost no difference in the majority of answers I'd receive. The only person that was different from the others was William's son, Desmond. He spoke about being more than what we were born for and seeing the world, having grown up in such a remote area, which was—quite literally—in the middle of nowhere. All he really seemed to know is that we lived in South Dakota.
Like Desmond, I was born and raised in a secluded town similar to 'The Farm'. When our peaceful home was attacked by enemies, we fled to 'The Farm' for refuge and my parents decided to stay, since it was so far away and seemingly impossible to find. Above all else, it was harder for any of the more curious children to get out.
In the process of attending university, I made my way into a group of 'friends' for the experience of living a partly-normal life. They would often invite me to nightclubs and bars, but I was adamant to secure my degree. Once I'd succeeded in that endeavour ten months later and landed myself an occupation for 'The New York Times' newspaper company, I finally accepted my friends' invitation to socialize for an evening. After all, I'd dreamt of truly living after being locked up for my entire life.
April 2012...
As we entered the 'Bad Weather' nightclub, I couldn't help but admire the lively ambience of the place. I looked around, making sure to stay with my group of friends. We sat down at the bar and I rested my handbag on my lap, much to my friend, Kayla's, dismay. She had a habit of sitting on my lap, but I wasn't in the mood to carry her weight on me this night.
"Des, what's up?" my friend, Kyle, spoke out to the bartender.
The bartender turned around and instantly locked eyes on mine. We were both frozen in place. It had to be him: the brown hair, brown eyes, his height, the tanned skin tone and that very familiar scar on his thin lips.
All of this time, he was right here in New York City. I was surprised, slightly, but remembering the type of person Desmond was, a part of me should have known that he'd choose to live in a place like this. How didn't any of my other colleagues find him? I suppose, nobody else would remember what he looked like as well as I.
"Desmond!" Kyle called out again, being the impatient, doll-faced, college-kid he was.
Desmond pried his eyes off of mine and looked to Kyle, holding his hand out, "What's up, bro?" he finally replied and shook Kyle's hand to greet him.
"This is Faye," Kyle spoke, pointing to me.
Desmond looked away from Kyle and to me again, extending his hand. I reached my own out and he held my hand gently, bringing it to his lips to kiss the top of it, eyes still on mine. I couldn't help but blush at his charm. He gave a soft smile before returning to what he was doing beforehand.
I couldn't believe that he was finally standing in front of me. All of this time, all of these years spent wondering where he was, what he was doing and if he was safe were put to rest instantaneously. I took out my secured phone to notify William that I'd found Desmond, but was abruptly stopped by Desmond's hand quickly resting on mine.
"No phones at the bar," he spoke, "It's time to relax." he told me. I assumed he had an idea of my intended actions.
He was so close to me, except for the stupid bar separating us, "I'm sorry." I spoke gently, putting my phone away.
"Give her that Shirley Templar, Des." Kyle spoke, pulling his wallet out from his back pocket.
"Shirley Templar, hmm?" I asked Desmond and he looked to me with a smirk on his lips and I couldn't help but smile myself.
Within a few minutes, the pinkish-red drink was in front of me and so was he, waiting for my reaction. I picked up the glass carefully, putting it to my lips without taking my eyes off of him, "It's delicious," I complimented his drink, placing it back down on the bar. I stayed quiet as I enjoyed my drink, my eyes never leaving Desmond. I observed and admired his swift movements: how creatively he mixed drinks and flawlessly manoeuvred around the bar. Once finished, I stood up and turned to Kayla, "Come outside with me, Kay." I told her.
I looked to Desmond once more. His eyes pleaded for me to not speak to William. I could feel that he didn't want his whereabouts to be known and if I were to be honest with myself, neither did I. Going back to 'The Farm' would devastate both of us and end our freedom. After looking at him for a few more seconds, I smiled and gave him a slight nod before walking outside with Kayla clinging on to me as she usually did.
I lit a cigarette, exhaling into the chilly spring air. Desmond was here all along. He finally made a life for himself, away from the chaos that was our Order. I was here, living my life as well. We'd dreamt of living on our own for as long as I could remember and we'd somehow managed to do it and find each other once again.
"What are you smiling about, Faye?" Kayla asked.
I looked at her, unsure of how to wipe the smile off of my face, "I don't know." I admitted, feeling like a complete and utter fool.
She gasped, "You're love-struck!" she exclaimed.
I hushed her, laughing, "How long have you known him?" I asked.
"Long enough to know that he's never reacted that way to anyone," she pouted, "I like him too, you know."
"Oh? Have you ever gone on a date with him?"
"Kyle would never allow that, Faye! Besides, he never really showed an interest in anyone until tonight."
I hummed in thought, putting out my cigarette and popping a mint into my mouth, "Kyle is way too protective. Are your parents even that strict with you two?" I enquired as we went back inside to the bar.
"Considering we're from Ohio, no. Kyle's just an asshole." she spoke, tiresome of her brother's controlling nature.
"I have nothing to say to that." I laughed as I sat down once more, looking at Desmond.
He approached me, forearms on the bar and leaning in closer to me, "Need anything?" he asked.
I smiled, "No, thank you."
He placed a shot glass in front of me, filling it with rum and doing the same for Kayla and himself. I looked over to see that Kyle and our other friend, Dylan, already had one waiting.
"To an old friend of mine. It's her birthday today." Desmond spoke as we cheered and I couldn't help but feel a warmth inside from the fact that he remembered. I mustered the courage to drink the hard liquor as Kyle asked the man who this friend of his was. Surely, Desmond wouldn't say anything truthful in response.
"Meghan." he spoke smoothly and casually.
My eyes widened and I choked on the last bit of the shot. Desmond chuckled as the others looked shocked at what just took place, Kayla asking me if I was alright.
"Sorry," I spoke, coughing, "I don't do shots very well."
Desmond smirked, "Not a party girl, hmm?" he asked.
I raised an eyebrow at his comment, "Not exactly," I spoke, coughing lightly once more, "Can I have another one of those 'Templar' drinks, please?" I requested.
"Shirley Templar." he corrected me.
I laughed as he smiled at me before preparing the beverage.
I frequented the bar just to see Desmond and despite having to be inconspicuous, we both knew the truth about each other. Regardless of our close bond as children, this reconciliation was more than enough to let me know that my feelings for him as a young teenager had grown immensely over the years and into more of a yearning. I could only hope he still felt the same way about me as I did him.
We never spoke about our history, especially in front of our friends and while I could call him by his name, there were several times he almost called me by my real name rather than my alias. Eventually, 'Faye' settled in his mind, but I could tell from the way he looked at me that he wouldn't forget that I truly was Meghan Vérendrye.
He grew up handsomely. His muscles were defined as well as his jaw, cheekbones and nose, though he couldn't escape those tell-tale genes of his. He seemed to like keeping his hair short and it complimented his features. He got himself a tattoo, as well: a tribal design covering the majority of his left forearm. It suited him. I didn't have any tattoos myself, but I wasn't against the idea of getting one. Perhaps a butterfly to signify my new-found freedom would be suitable enough.
I loved the way his words rolled off of his tongue. I knew he saw me watching his lips as he spoke, but given our history, I don't think he cared if I admired him to that extent. I felt like I was falling in love with Desmond all over again. When I wasn't with him, I was constantly thinking about him and when I was with him, my mind wandered to our past and present. I wasn't sure if he felt the same way about me, but everyone seemed to think so. The chemistry that I felt between us had often clouded my judgment, but I was following my heart. I just had to remember who I was and who I was supposed to be, even with him.
I don't believe that any of our friends knew how quickly the situation between Desmond and I had escalated. I never spoke about him calling me before bed or sending me a text message throughout the day. I was elated to find him and somewhat pick up where he and I had left off, excluding the physical contact, but a part of me was saddened by hearing him call me by my alias rather than my real name. I often wondered if I genuinely felt jealous of myself. I was jealous that 'Faye' was able to have him, but 'Meghan' couldn't. Perhaps the days of Meghan Vérendrye were over and it was 'Faye Wolfe's' turn to live. But how could I possibly leave myself behind? Could I really do such a thing with someone so important from my past?
≺) [ṃȧƌạṁeḤuɲʈǝrr]
