Desmond is entirely sure what to think when he sees Kadar has returned to the bar.
The bar is in a heavy lull that night. There is little movement between the handful of patrons and they all seem to slowly be sipping at their drinks. The bar is quiet enough that Desmond can hear the television tucked neatly in the far corner. Everyone seems to be watching it as it reports a bombing that happened during the most recent political scandal.
Desmond stopped caring about politics a long time ago – even before he joined the Assassins one of the many political resistances. It's fucked up and twisted. No one says the right things, it's all backdoor deals, and under the counter payments. Desmond's fond of telling his roommate that it's only a matter of time until the scales finally break and the city breaks out it chaos.
(The only real thing that gets him is that innocent people are dying. Desmond can't deal with any more death.)
Of course, Desmond has an inside look at the political situation. And the chaos would be organized and carefully crafted by either the Assassins of the Templars. Both groups have been manipulating the city for years preparing for the moment the politicians finally fuck themselves over so much that the spark of the people is lit.
Desmond is unsure of how he feels about the entire thing. If the current system collapsed, there would an opportunity for a new system to rise. Unfortunately, with the Templars and Assassins being the only strong options as future political powers, Desmond doesn't dare hope for any upheaval. Bill and his crew of old fools, for the Assassins, and Al Mualim and Warren Vidic, two of the Templars head honchos, show little promise as the 'leaders of tomorrow' they claimed to be.
With no drinks to serve and no glasses to clean, thanks to the molasses like business of the bar, Desmond leans back and sticks his hands in his pockets. He's surprised when he finds something in there. It's soft, obviously being left in there for multiple washes. He pulls it out, finding it to be a folded piece of paper, and takes care to not rip it as he peels it open.
The words are faded, but Desmond knows clearly what it says. Seeing it reminds him of the hope in Kadar's eyes when he had first given it to Desmond. Seeing it reminds Desmond of the way Kadar looked at him when Desmond called Kadar by his brother's name. Angry with himself, Desmond crumples the paper up and tosses it in the trashcan.
He leans forward on the bar and presses his forehead to the cool, and surprisingly not sticky surface. He stays there, focusing on breathing, and thinking of the words his father once whispered to him at night. A promise of a new world where Desmond didn't have to live underground and his education wasn't based solely on his financial standing. Desmond had believed in that new world. He had wanted it. The moment he convinced his father to let him join the Assassins, with Altaïr and Malik watching his back, Desmond joined the fight for the new world.
("It's my birthright!" Desmond had shouted at his father, fourteen with all the hope in the world. "You've been training me since I could walk for this! Malik is 17 and Altaïr's 16. It's our time now. We can take care of ourselves."
"Desmond – " his father begun but Desmond stubbornly cut him off, failing to hear the pleading warnings in his father's voice.
"We're the most promising students anyone has ever seen! You've said it! Our teachers have said it! It's time to let us join. We want to fight we are ready, Dad! We can watch each others' backs. It's not like we are going in this alone."
His father looked defeated and slumped down into his desk chair. He whispered something Desmond couldn't hear before nodding his head.
"Alright, Desmond. You're formal training begins tomorrow at the compound. Tell the others."
"I won't let you down, sir," Desmond says stiffly, hiding his excitement poorly.)
It had happened too quickly, joining young, living the life, and then everything collapsing on him.
It had broken him within three years.
Desmond had been seventeen years old when he became a disillusioned cynic with no real reason to believe in hope for the future. He was the same age as Kadar now when he gave up on it all.
(Still, Desmond finds immense comfort in the quiet and passionate words of his father. They remind him of a time when it was all simple.)
The door rings as it opens and Desmond looks up quickly, his old training slamming to the forefront of his mind. Desmond grips his hand on the bar to recollect himself, squeezing his eyes shut.
(Desmond hasn't quite been in his right mind since his last encounter with Kadar a few weeks ago.)
He breathes in and out. His heartbeat slows, which Desmond has been unaware of it hammering against his ribcage. He opens his eyes slowly and looks to the door. The patron has a familiar grey hoodie on, pulled up and covering their eyes.
"Kadar," Desmond calls softly, not completely registering what he's doing.
Desmond's brain is screaming as the wheels turn. Why is Kadar back? Desmond's only ever seen that much lack of self-preservation in himself. Desmond in their past encounters has treated the boy like shit. Why is he coming back?
Kadar looks up, his eyes guarded but there's a hopeful smile on his face. He makes his way across the bar and sits in the stool directly in front of Desmond.
"Nice to see you," Kadar greets sincerely, tugging down the hood – a gesture of immense trust.
(Desmond wonders if Kadar even knows that.)
"You look well," Desmond praises carefully after inspecting Kadar for any injuries, not really registering that he's doing it.
(Kadar's a kid in the Assassins. He probably has no one looking after him. Not with Malik's hands full with the case Altaïr has become.)
"Don't do that," Kadar hisses. "You're not my brother. You don't get to look after me."
Desmond holds his hands up in defense. Clearly Malik is a sore spot for Kadar.
"Why did you come back?" Desmond asks, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
"Your father once said he didn't believe that you are a lost cause. He thinks that you still have hope. I'm here because I want to know it that's true," Kadar licks his lips, a nervous gesture. "I sought you out because I wanted to know if the man was as great as the legend he left behind."
"I bet that I left behind something," Desmond mutters darkly.
"People admire you, Desmond. No one blames you for the Burning of the Courts. No one hates you for Lucy," Kadar argues.
Desmond stiffens. His entire body has solidified and he can only hear the heavy thrumming of his heart in his ears. Kadar looks up at him with large eyes filled with concern and admiration.
(No one should admire a cynical coward. No one should admire a broken man.)
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Theoretically, I do. I've read it all."
"But emotionally, you're lacking. Don't lecture me that it wasn't my fault, kid. It was my fault. I hit the button. Their blood is on my hands."
"Don't call me kid, I'm seventeen," Kadar mumbled petulantly.
"And you shouldn't be here, if you're only seventeen. Be thankful I haven't thrown you out yet," Desmond tells Kadar.
Kadar grins at him widely. He knows Desmond feels bad enough to not throw him out.
"I'm not giving up on you, Desmond," Kadar declares standing from his stool.
His declaration is loud enough that it disturbs the entire bar. Everyone's looking at them both with immense curiosity.
"I'm going to prove that this is world is worth it and that you have hope. I'm going to bring you back to your father. You are worth it, Desmond. People know that. You just need to see it. I will show you. That's a promise."
Kadar turns, tugs up his hood, and begins to leave.
"You can't break what's already broken, kid," Desmond calls after him.
Kadar doesn't reply as the door swings shut, the bell ringing again. Desmond doesn't understand Kadar one bit. The boy is hot and cold. He admires the boy's fortitude though, but it's not going to get him anywhere. Desmond's in an unreachable place now.
Although Desmond hates to admit it, Kadar's determination has warmed something in his heart. Seeing an impassioned youth reminds Desmond of his youth. It also makes him incredibly sad, knowing there is only one way out of this. And Desmond's not going to gain hope. Kadar is going to have to lose all of his.
Tearing his gaze from the door, Desmond looks around the bar to see everyone staring at him.
"None of your business, folks. Get back to your drinks," Desmond snaps, pretending to look busy and hides himself from their gaze.