Desmond has been learning to fight since he was six years old. He's not exactly sure why, but his parents really want him to, and all the other kids do it, and it's not really fun but he doesn't mind it either. Today, when he's had breakfast with his dad (his mom's out on business somewhere, again), he heads out for the field on the edge of the Farm where he and the other kids meet every morning. There's five of them in his age group, six to ten year olds that have known each other pretty much since they were born. Desmond sits down cross legged on the ground between two of the other kids.

They're a small, easily distracted group, and Desmond knows their teacher is usually frustrated with them. They'd rather play tag than practice fighting, and when they're supposed to learn climbing they just play hide and seek on the obstacle course instead. It's actually a lot of fun.

But today, something is just… it's different. Their instructor, a man even older than Desmond's parents, shows up a little late, and announces that they're going to be working on climbing today. And after about ten minutes of everyone pretending to pay attention, all of the other kids run off to play but Desmond…

There's this wall that they're not even supposed to touch yet, because it's like ten feet high and hard to climb. Desmond doesn't even know how many times he's been told to stay away from that wall, it's for the older kids, it's too dangerous for kids like him that don't know what they're doing. But Altair is standing in front of the wall, watching Desmond.

"Are you going to learn?" he asks.

Desmond wanders over. "I don't really get why we're supposed to learn all this stuff," he says. He's not really complaining—he just doesn't get it.

"It's important," Altair says. "Let me show you."

He holds out his hand, and for a second Desmond just stares at it. For some reason, Altair doesn't have all his fingers. Then he shrugs, and nods, and puts his hand on Altair's.

Instantly, the world changes around him. Desmond cranes his head upward, mouth falling open in surprise as the Farm just seems to fade away. Instead, they're in the middle of a desert somewhere, with tall stone buildings all around. Desmond doesn't understand anything that's going on, but he recognizes Altair. He runs through the city, climbing, fighting, moving like no one Desmond has ever seen.

"What is this?" he asks, still staring.

"A memory of mine," says the Altair holding Desmond's hand.

The… memory Altair pulls out a sword as a group of angry faced men swarm him, and to Desmond's surprise he is able to easily hold them all off.

"Why are you fighting them?" Desmond asks.

"For the same reason you should be learning to fight," Altair tells him. "Because there are people in the world that want to take away things like free will."

"And we can stop them?" Desmond asks. "Really? I mean… you're…" He gestured around them, at the memory Altair. "You're good at this. I'm just a kid."

Altair gave him a very small smile. "And that's why you need to practice."

"Desmond!"

He blinks and shakes his head, Altair's memory fading from around him like a fog. Somehow, he's not standing at the bottom of the wall he's not supposed to climb anymore. He's at the top, on the little platform there, and everyone's staring at him. All the other kids, and their teacher too. Desmond looks down at his hands, and they're shaking and freshly calloused.

He doesn't remember getting up here.

After about fifteen seconds, his teacher climbs up next to him, and crouches down so he's looking Desmond in the eye. "What just happened?" he asks.

"I don't—" What did happen? He was with Altair, but they were in a memory, and Desmond was just standing there. How did he… what?

"How did you do that?" his teacher asks.

"I don't know what I did," Desmond says. "What did I do?"

"You just climbed straight up here," his teacher said. "Where did you learn to do that?"

But Desmond just stares at him, confused. He has no idea.

-/-

Cal hasn't been able to spend more than a couple of months in the same place since the day has dad killed his mom. Even before then, they'd moved around a lot, so it sort of came naturally to him anyway.

He's been in this particular city—Chicago—for six and a half weeks already, and it's time to move on. He's sort of looking forward to the ride, to zoning out and trying to figure out what exactly he'd seen under that bridge. He'd managed to get a little work in his last couple years here, so he heads to the train station for a ticket instead of trying to hitch a ride out of the city. But while he's browsing for tickets, he notices all at once that there's someone standing next to him.

"Arno," he said quietly, glancing over at him. "Uh… right?" The man is wearing a long blue robe of some kind that should look stupid, but somehow fits him. Cal can see bits of metal glinting on weapons underneath.

Arno nods, sort of smiling. "What are you doing here?"

Cal smiles too, and gives a little snort of laughter. "What am I doing?" he asks. "Look, what are you doing here?"

"I don't really know," Arno says. He doesn't sound upset about any of this, and it's sort of calming. Cal hasn't felt really calm in a long time. "We're just here."

"You and Aguilar?"

Arno nods, and after a second, he says, "Where are you going?"

"I haven't figured it out yet." Cal goes back to the list of available tickets.

He's still studying the list when someone puts a hand on his shoulder. It's a large, heavy hand, and Cal tenses. His eyes flit to Arno, almost instinctively. Arno turns, and studies whoever it is for a second. Then he says, "Large man. Bad hair. Muscles, but he smells like a drunk so he's probably not a fighter."

The way he says it, Cal can tell Arno thinks this is supposed to be encouraging. But all he hears is big and drunk, and Cal's not a fighter either. He's been in his share of fistfights, but those were with kids his own age.

He turns around, and sees a guy at least six inches taller than him. "You here alone kid?" he asked.

"Uh—no," Cal says. "No, I'm… here with my family, I just—"

"Uh huh." The man gave Cal a smile that made his skin crawl. "Listen, why don't you just come with me? A kid on his own in a city like this…. Anything could happen."

"I told you," Cal says. "My family's just…"

"Yea, sure. Come on—"

And that's when Arno moves. It's like nothing Cal has ever seen before, a flash of violence that is sharp and somehow graceful. Cal watches, awed, as Arno makes just three sharp movements, and suddenly he's on top of the man, somehow pinning him down even though he's about half as big as the drunk. He—

And then suddenly Cal's the one on top of the drunk. He's panting like he's just done something athletic, and Arno is nowhere to be seen. Cal turns his head, and sees a crowd of two or three dozen people just… staring at him. He scrambles off the man and just takes off running before anyone can call the police.

-/-

Everyone wants to know how Desmond got up that wall, but he doesn't know how he got up that wall. He was watching Altair climb, and then he was on top of the wall himself. That's all he knows, and he's not going to tell anyone that. The worst part is when his teacher has asked all his questions, and then the mentor (who Desmond has never talked to before) has asked all his questions. Because that's when his dad comes into the office where Desmond is being questioned.

He kneels down in front of Desmond, and gives him a look of absolute disappointment. Desmond cringes, and looks down at his hands, folded on his lap. "I don't know how I got up there," he said. "I don't, Dad, I promise."

"Well, Desmond—Hey, Desmond, look at me."

Desmond looks at him. It's not a lot of fun.

"Six people saw you climb that wall. How did you do it? Have you been practicing?"

"No."

"Desmond!"

He flinches back as his dad suddenly raises his voice, and curls up a little bit. He doesn't like being yelled at.

"That's not good enough," his dad says. "Desmond, you must have been practicing, which means you must have been going in places you know you're not supposed to be."

And that's the point where Desmond's dad just stops listening to him, and launches into a huge lecture that leaves Desmond blinking back tears. It lasts for, like… forever, and when Desmond is finally allowed to leave, he whispers sorry, sorry, sorry and runs home as fast as he can.

When he gets there, he throws himself on his bed and buries his head in his pillow with a miserable flump.

"I'm sorry to have caused you trouble."

Desmond turns over, and sees Altair standing there.

"Did you make me climb?" he asks.

"I… think so," Altair says.

Desmond frowns up at him. "Why?" he asks, voice cracking. "Why did you do that to me?"

"It wasn't intentional," Altair says.

"What?"

"I didn't make you do that on purpose." Altair sits on the bed next to him, and puts his hand on Desmond's head. It's a little awkward, but not really in a bad way. Everyone else is mad at him, after all. "I'm… sorry."

"Why are you here?" Desmond asks. "Why are any of you here?"

"I don't know," Altair says. "All I know is we're here, and we're here because of you."

"I didn't ask you to come," Desmond mutters.

"No," Altair says, sounding absolutely serious. "But we are here regardless."

"But why?"

"I don't know," Altair says. "But we will figure it out."