A/N: This is something of an idea I've had brewing in mind and sitting away on my desktop for quite a while. This story will be something of what I think what would have happened had Desmond chosen the other route to Vidic's ultimatum...with just a dash of time travel themes because I've always wanted to write one.
Disclaimer: The author does not own Assassin's Creed.
Florentine Overtures
Chapter 1
'Deep breaths. Take deep breaths.'
His mother's voice wafts over him.
'In and out, Des. You're going to be just fine.'
He tries to. Believe him, he tries, but his breaths are like barbed gasps, raking his throat and making the heaviness in his chest all the more powerful.
"You really have two choices. Personally, I have no preference, though the former is more… manageable."
'Sleep.' A voice commands him. 'Sleep and forget this all.'
But he can't. He fights it-unwilling to give in to the solace that he knows sleep will bring him.
It's because he's terrified of it-because, if he does give in-give in to the seductive lull of oblivion… he's afraid that he won't wake up from it.
And if he so happens to wake up, Desmond doesn't want to go through again what awaits him when he does.
"We could drug you into a coma or— hope for your complete cooperation. Truth be told, the only reason you're still conscious is because this approach saves us time."
'Don't you want to sleep?' Another voice asks quietly; curiously.
He shakes his head violently, nearly managing to lose his balance on his precarious position on the bed, but his grip on himself saves him. Hand shaking, he tightens his arms around his bent knees.
'Breathe in... breathe out...' His mother's voice says. It hushes the other voices for a minute, granting Desmond a small, but kind, moment of quiet. Out of all the others, hers is his favorite voice.
"So what will it be, Mr. Miles?"
'Calm yourself, Des. Be calm. You're going to be okay.' Desmond doesn't know if he's imaging it, but he can hear faint humming in his ears. It reminds him of an old folk song his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. 'Peace, my little bird.'
He flinches abruptly when he hears sounds from outside his room.
Heavy footsteps.
Armed guards.
He shivers, despite himself.
'They come for you.' Someone in his head speaks—rough and monotonous, but there is no mistaking the displeasure soaking the words. 'You have not slept either.'
He can't sleep, though. No, no, no. It was not an option.
His eyelids burn though, disagreeing, which makes him try all the more to keep them from giving in.
"Stay awake." Desmond murmurs to himself. His own voice is hoarse with disuse and contrasting starkly with the others' smooth baritones in his head. "Stay awake. Stay awake..."
"Live…"
He starts to shake.
Every fiber of his being is alerting him of a coming danger, but he can't move.
Not yet.
"…or die?
The door slides open.
They come.
And the moment they touch him, Desmond strikes.
"You think I'm going to cooperate with a bunch of nut jobs like you?!"
He incapacitates two before the rest recovers from their initial surprise.
He knows he could take the rest out-knows without thinking that the places he could hit and stab would make the lot of them regret doing this to him.
But his body is not ready for it—too weak to manage maneuvers of that caliber because his movements are sluggish, lagging behind his thoughts, and his grip is fragile, shaking from abuse.
Even while hunched over the bodies of the two armored men, sweat shines over his brow from exertion and his heart pounds fitfully against his ribs.
It's a losing battle and he knows it. So, Desmond isn't surprised when the shard of glass he had pilfered and had been wielding is knocked out of his hands by one guard while the other guard pistol whips him across his face with a gun. He falls to the floor, ears ringing loudly, but just before Desmond can shoot his hand out to reach for the fallen glass, a boot grinds his hand to the ground, forcing a pained cry from his throat.
In his vision, a familiar pair of black shoes comes to a stop in front of him.
Defiant gold eyes struggle to look up at the man's face underneath the heavy body pinning him down to the ground. When he finally manages to, the first thing he sees are familiar dark eyes.
They had always been so cold.
"Good morning, Mr. Miles." Dr. Warren Vidic says. He bends down, making a 'tsk' sound when he regards the two dead men. "My, what a mess you've made..."
Desmond can't help but feel savagely proud and his bleeding grin shows it.
Those eyes rake across his fallen form. With a pale face, bloodshot eyes, and grinning so manically, Desmond knows for sure that he probably looked stark, raving mad.
It's not too far from the truth, honestly.
"Lucy had hoped that you would have made good use of consciousness this time, but it appears not."
Desmond blinks, eyes glazing over momentarily at the name.
Lucy.
The name rings a bell in his mind. An image of the girl flickers in his mind—blonde and blue eyed.
"Time to get up, Desmond."
"Eat a bit more, please, Desmond. You need your strength."
"Let's get you cleaned up, alright? It's okay. Calm down…"
She had been nice whenever he did see her.
He blinks, and then the image of Lucy is replaced with that of a wrinkled face.
"'Good behavior,' hah!" The doctor huffs. "That silly girl..."
He takes something out of his pocket, and immediately, heart racing, Desmond struggles at the sight of the hated object, making the guard on top of him press down harder in response. A sharp pain erupts from his neck, and before his vision begins to dim around the edges, he sees Vidic pocket the empty syringe.
"This actually saves on time. We have a lot of ground to cover for the next couple days, after all..."
And in that moment, the drug takes effect. The voices in his head start screeching—screaming until they reaches a pitch where Desmond's teeth grinds in an effort to deal with the onslaught of excessive and pained noises.
It is starting—and it's terrifying.
Because no matter how many times Desmond has been through it, he could never get used to the feeling of his body shutting down against his will.
So he screams with them, thrashing desperately and angrily even with the heavy bodies wrestling him down and the drug working its way into his system—deafening them; numbing him—
He draws one last breath.
—killing him.
Desmond's vision darkens.
Vidic squats down and before the darkness finally takes over, Desmond swears he can feel a hand press down over his eyes.
"Sweet dreams, Mr. Miles."
"Death, it is then."
And then it begins again.
Downloading Drive... 33% completion…
Abstergo Industries Recording Entry #273
12:02:56
"Sir?"
"Hm?"
"The subject seems to be experiencing trauma in his room."
"Trauma?" A man in white allows the security guard to show him the live camera feed. "Oh, a nightmare, you mean. He should be fine."
"Sir...he's twitching on the bed."
"Vitals are fine. Elevated heart rate should pose no threat. This is natural." The screen flickers again. "Just watch to make sure he doesn't hurt himself in there. Otherwise, leave him be."
"Yes, sir."
55% completion…
Abstergo Industries Recording Entry #159
05:46:42
"—ridiculous! This was his choice! And we have better things to do then let him 'stretch his legs.' I don't want you molly coddling him!"
"Warren, Dr. Edwards agrees with me. He even recommended it! A healthy body is a healthy mind, which we need to have to get his genetic memories." There is grumbling at the end of the woman's argument from the man.
"Fine, fine. Just make sure this does not become too frequent a thing that would make us waste time."
"…Thank you, Warren."
"Just make it quick, Lucy."
67% completion…
Abstergo Industries Recording Entry #163
09:57:00
"Come on up. Easy now, easy…"
"What…who…who are you? Where am I—ahh! Nnng…" The young man on screen, sitting up on the Animus with the help of a woman, sways. His eyes are clenched tightly and a pained keen escapes his lips.
"Doctor?" The woman asks.
"Mild nausea and delirium is to be expected. Carry on." The man—Dr. Edwards— further away replies.
"D-Doctor? Am I…hospital? Where…agh…"
"You are in Abstergo Industries Laboratory, Mr. Miles."
"Oh… I… I…"
"Careful, Mr. Miles, careful!"
"I would have expected him more lucid than this." On screen, a scientist in the back says quietly, but not enough for the surveillance to not pick up on his and his co-worker's private conversation.
"Considering the poor guy's been in an induced coma for a couple weeks straight, I'm not." His co-worker replies conspiratorially. "Surprised he ain't as messed up as the last guy."
"The last guy?"
"Don't you remember? The guy who offed himself?"
79% completion…
Abstergo Industries Recording Entry #172
05:22:13
""Mr. Miles, what are you doing? It's time to get back into the Animus."
"Doc...I...I don't feel too good."
"Nonsense, Mr. Miles. You're doing fine. Come take your medications."
"But i-it makes them quiet. They'll l-leave and it m-makes my head hurts."
"It will pass, Mr. Miles."
"But...nggg, a-ah. I-I really don't w-wan-"
The handler looks startled.
"Mild relapse to Syrian ancestor's native tongue of Arabic… Bleeding Effect surfacing." A scientist watching the scene notes. There is a sound of a pen scratching against paper.
"I see. Come on, Mr. Miles, need you in right now before the higher ups get angry."
"Nnnng..." The young man winces, head shaking back and forth irregularly and body language showing resistance.
"Now, Mr. Miles." The handler's voice sounds angry.
"I… No! I'm not going back in!"
"Mr. Miles—Shit, guards! Get in here now!"
The screen shudders, static lapsing and relapsing, before fading to black to allow white font to scroll across the screen.
100% completion.
Data imported to external drive successfully.
When the body on the ground had finally lain unmoving, the remaining guards had hoisted Subject 17 up and taken him away.
From her place further away, Lucy had watched the proceedings quietly with a heavy heart. She had seen the violent display from her charge and it had taken every ounce of her not to interfere. Yet then again, she couldn't even if she had wanted to.
Desmond's choice hadn't only doomed himself—but it had also crippled her.
For despite being the assistant to the man in charge of the proceedings, her options were extremely scarce.
Instead, she watches the way the guards unceremoniously dump the young man's body on the horizontal machine. His clothing—a modest and simple white button up shirt that Abstergo had provided for him—is removed from his form to give room for the various wires and IV's being inserted into his skin. She doesn't have to look closely to see the numerous angry red sore spots dotting his arms and chest from the all too frequent act. Instead, she closes her eyes, breathing in deeply to calm the calamity in her heart.
It all reminded her too much of Clay.
"Mind his head, boys. We need that." Vidic says. Her eyes flicker to him. The scientist is crossing the room in great strides despite his stature, casting a look of displeasure in the direction of Desmond's 'room.' "And do clean his little mess up."
The grunts nod, and when the fallen guards are finally taken away, the scientist turns to her with an expectant look on his face.
"Vitals?"
"They're normal and all within acceptable levels." Lucy replies. Her tone is professional as always, face blank. Yet despite this, her eyes wander now and then, blue irises pitying the man in the machine.
'You anticipated a lot of things, William, but you did not anticipate this.'
Inwardly, she feels bad for the other. She had heard from her sources that William's son had run away from home at 16. It had been no surprise at the time. Despite the fact that Lucy had not known Desmond personally at all and that she had been raised outside the traditional Assassin lifestyle, the stories of his rebelliousness against his family's legacy had been infamous.
Especially if said family consisted of that of the Assassin's Mentor.
And yet it was rather sad, she thinks, that life had stolen him back in this way.
He's lying so listlessly, Lucy sees. The sight is familiar. She's seen this before.
Lucy blinks, and then for one moment, against every fiber of her being, Desmond's gone and instead, she sees Clay lying so frail on the Animus.
"Hey there, Lucy! What does Vidic have planned for me t'day?"
After all these months, his voice still rings clearly in her ear. His eyes, his grin, his voice…
They had all emanated trust in her—trust that he never should have given at all.
And it eats at her.
"Lucy, I want to go home."
She wonders when the Assassins will contact her once they know that Abstergo has Desmond.
She also wonders if she could do the same thing again.
"I can't allow you to leave, Clay."
"Don't get too worked up about him, Lucy."
Lucy starts. Her heart beats fitfully as her mentor regards her, a frown marring his face.
"Mr. Miles chose this."
'Oh.' Lucy relaxes slightly. Vidic brought that up often. But that reminded her…
"I've been meaning to ask. Have you seen the health reports? Desmond's psych evaluations and responses? They've all been declining."
"Expected." Vidic waves it off.
"Expected?" Lucy bristles. "The other scientists have agreed that Desmond needs less time in the Animus if we want quality memories! If this keeps up—"
"—then nothing." Vidic interrupts harshly. "Mr. Miles is only here temporarily, Lucy! You of all people should know this! Once we have all that we can take from him, then, we are done. Understood, Ms. Stillman?"
Lucy's lips press to a firm line. "…Yes, sir."
"Good." Vidic says curtly. "Now, if you would, please call down Dr. Ro—"
No sooner had he said that did they both jump at the sound of alarms blaring distantly, but in the general vicinity.
"What in the world…?" The older scientist murmurs, before moving to activate the intercom on his desk. "Hello? What in the hell is going on over there?!"
The alarms increase in volume, jumping from one building to the next, making just the smallest feeling of trepidation come over Lucy. It was possible for one alarm to aggravate another building's alarm system (it wasn't uncommon for some security prototypes to have these kinds of bugs after all) but Lucy had this feeling…
She blinks up when Vidic ends the quick call with a growl, face twisted in displeasure.
"It seems the lab will be closing early today."
"Early? Is it because of the alarms?"
"The Records department." Vidic just states. "It seems like there was an unauthorized data transfer that we can't pinpoint the source of."
Lucy could understand this. Despite being having greater motives, Abstergo was still a company. They were already in hot water with the US government investigating their US branches and freezing some Abstergo accounts. Unauthorized data transfers of certain sensitive information could put Abstergo in more dangerous positions especially if it were by their competitors.
"But the Records Building is nowhere near these laboratories."
"It's a safety precaution." Vidic gets up from his chair and collecting some papers into a folder. "We don't know if it was internally or externally made. So, the higher ups just want to make a thorough scan of all the surrounding areas to make sure that no…" Lucy doesn't miss the way Vidic's gaze flickers to Desmond for a moment. "…pests… are involved."
Lucy doesn't even blink. "I see."
"Yes." The old man breathes out deeply, before turning and walking towards the automatic doors across the room, beckoning Lucy to follow as he does so.
"And Desmond?" Lucy can't help but ask as she begins to follow him.
"I am told this is only a temporary evacuation. He's fine in the Animus." The doctor answers. "Besides, he's already had his 'break.'"
The blonde nods, but as the lights flicker off, Lucy can't help but steal one last lingering glance at Desmond before jogging off to catch up with her superior.
In her haste, she doesn't notice that just as the sliding door closes behind her, a figure had stolen itself right into the room.
"Are they set up?"
"Yes, in the northern and southern perimeter. We can trigger it once we're at a safe distance."
"Brilliant. And the teams…?"
"Safely out. He is still in there though."
"I'm sorry, Desmond." The apology is murmured softly in the empty room.
The figure above Desmond is dressed in pure white, hood pulled up over the man's bowed head. Though the sounds of alarms resound loudly outside, there is no sense of urgency in his tone or body language. Rather, the man seems calm; patient, almost as if he wanted to draw out his time with the comatose man in the animus.
In many regards, that is true.
"Is there any way-any way to save him at all?"
"I'm sorry, but with all that's been done to him, I don't think there's any way to reverse the damage. His mind is just too far gone."
"No…"
"They said that if we remove you from the Animus, you'll go insane." The man whispers. "Like your cousin, Clay, you'll…" The figure pauses, lips tightening.
In the man's ear, his communicator buzzes to life, giving the hooded man a short report from one member of his team.
"Preparations have been set. We're awaiting your signal."
"Make your way back to The Hideout."
"What about you?"
"The mental strain would be too much. At this point, he would need the Animus as an outlet for the mess of genetic memories in his mind. Don't you understand? He can't function at all without it!"
The man closes his eyes.
"I need to…say goodbye."
"…Understood, sir."
"Never, but—there has to be another way that you aren't considering! I refuse to—!"
"I care about him too and believe me, there is none!"
Systematically, the man begins to disable the Animus. He pulls the various plugs from their electrical sockets, and when the Animus no longer is alight, he moves to Desmond—carefully; painstakingly and gently, removing the wires and needles from the young man's body.
And all the while, the man's hands are shaking.
"BE HUMANE!"
"HOW CAN I?!"
And when he is finally left with Desmond—just his Desmond on the dais—does the parent allow himself to mourn.
"YOU'RE TELLING ME TO KILL MY OWN SON!"
"Desmond... I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you were born into this. I'm sorry that it has to be this way. And I'm sorry… that it has to end this way." The man's—William's—voice cracks in the end, hand caressing his son's dulled hair reverently—desperately.
Up and down, Desmond's chest rises, but even in sleep and disconnected from the machine, there is no tranquility on his boy's face. For a moment, William's hand moves towards Desmond's scarred and bared chest, before it falters and falls to clench tightly at the man's side.
"I know I haven't been a good father to you." The father says, faintly. "I've made choices that I'm not too proud of, but for you, this…I hope this is the right choice."
"He's been dead, William. Better it be truly by your hands than the Templars'."
William bends, touching his forehead with that of his son's for one final moment. He breathes in, taking in and imprinting his son's scent into his mind, before he shudders, body wracking as if suddenly cold.
"Find peace, my son."
And with that simple, whispered prayer, William is gone.
Abstergo Industries Recording Entry #147
03:40:12
"—Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone."
"Who's he talking to? There's no one in the room."
"Mr. Miles." One scientist speaks into a microphone, which carried his voice into Desmond's room. "Mr. Miles? Is everything alright?"
Desmond, if anything, becomes even more distressed. In a fetal position, his body rocks back and forth all the more, eyes squeezed shut and hands pressed firmly against his ears. "Please leave me alone. Leave me alone…"
The recording on the smartphone fades to incoherent mutterings.
The com cackles to life.
"Now, Mentor?"
Listlessly, the Mentor of the Assassins breathes in deeply, eyes closing as the static from the video cuts out. When they finally open, their resolve is thick; unyielding in their gaze at the tall, white buildings in the horizon.
And then William Miles speaks.
"Burn it to the ground."
A/N: I am not entirely sure where I will go with this (or even at all, considering the sheer number of time travel fics in the fandom, but we will see. Please tell me what you think so far! I appreciate all feedback and love hearing from you all.
nikaris