This fic is based on this post; reddstiches. /post /80245838856 /desmond-miles-is-alive

Take out the spaces and wa-la! And now, the story!

Maaan, he needed a vacation. Desmond was soooo happy he thought of it when he did. For once, that piece of Eden shit actually benefitted him. And here he was, vay-cay, for life. The rest of his life, as he wanted it. Just as it always should have been. Now why hadn't he ran down here in the first place? Fuck going to New York, New York didn't have white sandy beaches and some killer waves. Kinda funny, if he sat juuuust right, he could see this dark line out in the horizon over the ocean.

"Gracias" he says to the server, bringing him another margarita. He lowers his sunglasses and clicks his tongue while giving her a wink. The server, short, dark skinned, curly brown hair, curvy in alll the right places, giggles as she sets his drink down.

"Enjoy, señor" she says to him, and away she goes. And oh, Desmond does. He picks up his new margarita and takes a sip, so refreshing. He really should pick up some Spanish, wouldn't hurt to learn it while he was down here. After all, he had a lot to do, so much to see, and all the time in the whooole world to do it. He'd work his way through the rest of Mexico, see what it had to offer. There weren't Mexican Assaassins, where there?

See, Desmond was a brilliant man. Sitting there in the airport of São Paulo, it occurred to him that he was at a fucking airport. He could really get on just about any plane he saw, and he could just leave. And never come back. Fuck that the end of the world was nigh, he could just, leave. Who was gonna come for him then? Hell, if he stayed out of sight long enough, Twelve-Twenty One-Twelve would have popped up, boom goes the dynamite, nothing left to worry about.

But he couldn't do that. no. As much as he fucking hated this end of the world, Chosen One, only savior bullshit, Desmond couldn't just leave Becca and Shaun to save the world on their own. Oh, and, his dad too, he supposed. Couldn't leave them alone, nope, they still needed him.

SO HE HAD ANOTHER IDEA! The answer and cause to all their problems. The Apple. That stupid golden orb of fucking upness. Desmond had excused himself from his friends, Apple in tow, and waited until he was way out of sight before pulling it out to make Number 2. He hadn't really thought it was gonna work, but when he saw Number 2 standing right next to him, like looking in a mirror, he knew he finally did some good.

"Number 2" Desmond addressed his clone. "Do you know your mission?"

"Save the goddamn world from space wizards" Number 2 had replied, his voice absolutely pitch perfect.

"Now remember, don't seem toooo enthusiastic about it, okay?" Desmond instructed. "Lemme see dat face" and Number 2 huffed and sighed and groaned and made the perfect "Do I have too?" face.

"Excellent!" and Desmond handed him the Apple. "Get to it buddy, I'm counting on you. "And when ya save the world, send me a postcard"

"Aye aye, Captain" Number 2 had saluted, and ran off to re-join the team. At the time, it was a very brilliant plan.

Sitting on the beaches of Cancun, it was still a brilliant plan. Why? It was fucking New Year's Eve, and here he was still. In hindsight, he's not sure how Number 2 is supposed to send that postcard, but the kid's probably busy being earth's savior and all that. Maybe one day he'll see Number 2 again. Maybe not. The best thing to do is just lay low, and maybe in the end, he'll send that card instead.

But for now, Desmond's gonna relax. Relax, and drink his way into the new year. New year, new life.

And it's all good.