Hello, Dear Reader! Welcome to (The New and Improved) Chapter 3. WOW you guys thank you for all the positive feedback! We writers thrive on feedback, even critical feedback, and it means a lot to hear from readers. So, more metaphysical treats for all!
Warnings: ALL CHAPTERS: Spoilers for AC, AC2, ACB, all DLC, and if you haven't at least glanced at the wiki for other canonical elements you should probably do that too. Also eventually there will be a lot of sex, some of it between men, so if you're not into that...then why are you reading an MA rated Shaun/Desmond fic? Not that I'm not glad you're here, but you should probably put some different parameters in the search options up there.
THIS CHAPTER: Mild violence and profanity. Again. Boy they sure do swear a lot.
I Know You Know: Chapter 3
While the most sensitive equipment was in the villa's sanctuary, underground where satellites couldn't penetrate, the Assassins didn't have to spend all their time down there. As long as they didn't have a cell phone or other device that could be tracked on them, they could go into the town if they wanted, keeping in contact using short-wave radios. And thanks to Lucy's assiduous scheduling, with sixteen hours a day of work broken by ten minutes for lunch in the middle, leaving nearly eight solid hours for sleep every night, everyone had the opportunity to trade an hour's sleep for time out in the town. Yet, until a week after Shaun's discovery that the bleeding effect lived up to its name in more than one way, he'd have put down good money that none of them would take an hour off for love or money. He could understand. This was the impending apocalypse they were trying to prevent after all. As deadlines went, that was the kind one tended to work hard to meet.
Not that any of them were getting eight hours of sleep a night, either. Rebecca spent her nights hunched over her workstation, programming drivers for Baby or making minute changes to circuit board layouts, muttering about better sync rates, reduced bleeding effect, and more organized memory timeline access. She'd also agreed to keep the monitors on after each work session so Shaun could have an hour of his own in the Animus as Guillaume. He knew he was crazy to keep using the Animus after seeing what the bleeding effect had done to Miles, yet somehow he couldn't make himself stop. And, damn it all, the man had been right. In the entire week since waking up with a five-century-old knife wound on his arm, Shaun had had plenty of opportunities to tell Lucy about it. Instead, he'd kept his mouth shut and his sleeves rolled down, and still eagerly awaited his turn to sit in the damn thing every night. It was like he was watching someone die of lung cancer and still lighting up once a day. Insane.
He sighed, staring at the masses of historical data open in tabs on his screen. It had been a long, slow, frustrating day. Not only were they no closer to the memory they really needed, smack in the middle of a corrupted sequence, but early that morning Desmond had stumbled on one of Sixteen's little gifts. The piece of code turned out to be a tag on a certain sequence, earlier than the one they were trying to get to. Rebecca tried to open it up, but no sooner had it loaded than Miles desynchronized and the Animus returned him to the blank white "waiting room," then spat him back into his most recent moment as Ezio. At first they thought the sequence was another corrupted one, but then Rebecca figured out Sixteen had attached a kind of password to it. Accessing it required completion of yet another, earlier memory.
So Miles, as Ezio, had been running around all of Rome, delivering messages, recruiting allies, completing contracts, and generally being extremely boring. There was literally no language, not even La Bella Lingua, that could make business talk sound interesting. The team had learned more in the past day about the minutiae of managing a cadre of Assassins in the Renaissance than they ever wanted to, especially Shaun, who'd been reading through everything he had on Rome in the years leading up to the memory Sixteen had tagged, looking for events that might be connected to Ezio to try to pinpoint the "key" memory.
He glanced at his screen and sighed. "Oh look, yet another meeting on the rooftop of somebody's palazzo. What are we doing this time? Grocery shopping for Machiavelli's grandmother? Helping Il Volpe with his gardening? Ooh, no, I know, we must be killing Cesare's bloody tailor."
"Shaun," Lucy snapped, "If you're not going to help, then shut up."
"Yeah, man, normally I find you kind of entertaining, but today it's just kind of annoying," said Rebecca. "Sorry."
"No, sorry, no, I understand," he said, rubbing at his eyes. It felt like the backs of his eyeballs were fusing to his skull from lack of sleep. "Just been having trouble sleeping, is all. Shutting up and getting back to work, now."
After his hour as the Chevalier each night, Shaun retreated to his cot with his laptop and did his damnedest to keep up with the vast amount of work he still owed the other teams out in the field. It wasn't out of a sense of duty or anything so noble as that. It was more that he'd found that if he worked until he could barely type "the" without misspelling it more than once, he didn't dream in French. He did feel a bit guilty on occasion that missions were being held up or canceled because he couldn't provide intel fast enough, but the others understood. At the very beginning of this whole mess, years ago, when the Station Heads were arguing about the wisdom of planting a mole in Abstergo, the Mentor did something that hadn't been done in sixty years and invoked his Final Decision privileges. Assassins weren't military and didn't really have "orders." Teams or individuals received assignments, but how those assignments were to be completed was up to them.
So while the goal had been to get the Animus technology, and with it the Apple, away from the Templars, the method had been hotly debated. But a Mentor could make a Final Decision, meaning that what he said, went. It was a risky move. The last Final Decision, made during World War Two, had met with unanimous support, but prior to that there had been several near-disasters for the Order when dissident members broke off to try to start their own factions. One Mentor, during the Civil War, was even killed by his House Commanders as he issued the decision, his orders only coming to light later when several messengers, not receiving a telegram saying to hold, delivered letters of instruction to the Assassins assigned to the task.
So when Will called all the House Commanders together, everyone knew there were orders coming down. Shaun stared at the page in front of him, something about tax collection, not really seeing it. Oh, Will. You could have come to me first. Before he took over as Mentor, Will had been the one who recruited Shaun into the Order in the first place. Following in his ancestors' footsteps, the older Assassin had taken a personal interest in the lives of his recruits, and he'd been the father figure Shaun never really had back in England. Will was a Medic, and as a Historian and fellow non-field-operative, Shaun had spent the most one-on-one time with him out of all his recruits. So the fact that the first he heard of the plan was when he received his orders had cut Shaun deep. Of all people, I'd have thought you would trust me to do what you asked, without being ordered. Even a text message would've been better than orders.
A hand waved between his face and his screen. "Heeey, we've said your name like six times," Rebecca leaned in, "You really that interested in this tax stuff?"
"What? Oh, Christ no, and I never want to meet someone who does find it that interesting. I wasn't really even reading it. Just…had some trouble sleeping last night, that's all. Couldn't get comfortable." Not much of a lie, that. I'm never comfortable falling asleep now that I know I could wake up someone else.
"Oh, ok. Well, listen, Lu and I need a quick snack break and this memory looks like it's on the fast track to boringville. So we're running upstairs for a minute, can you watch and make sure Dezzie doesn't spike into the red while we're up there?"
Stretching, Shaun nodded. "Sure. Great. You go, leave me here alone with the comatose wonder and no new history to educate him on. I'll just sit here in silence."
"Good. It'll be a new experience for you." Lucy was already by the door. Rebecca joined her. "If anything happens, don't touch anything. Come get me or Lu. We'll be back pretty quick though. Want anything out of the fridge?"
"An Aranciata wouldn't go amiss."
"'Kay, we'll grab you one. Remember, don't touch Baby."
Shaun held his hands up. The girls turned and left.
It got even more boring in the Sanctuary, something he hadn't thought possible.
On one of his monitors, Shaun pulled up the video feed from the Animus. It had two options, a first-person view that actually projected what the person in the Animus was seeing, and a third-person view generated by the computer. The third-person animation was decent, though some facial expressions still tended to fall into the uncanny valley. Next to the video was a set of vital signs readouts, monitoring things like brain activity, heart rate, and respiration, among others.
Shaun watched a few minutes of the memory, leaning his elbows on his desk.
Ezio had reached the top of the palazzo to find Il Volpe waiting there with a girl Shaun didn't recognize, about 20 from the look of her, wearing the black and dark red waist sash of a brand-new Assassin recruit, not even out of training. "I took the liberty," said Il Volpe, bowing to Ezio and indicating the girl. "She was defending her family's farmhouse against some bandits. Not of my guild, mind, just common thugs. They won, but she was vastly outnumbered at the outset, and not so vastly by the time I arrived. She shows great promise. But of course, the final decision is yours, and that is why we are here."
Holding out his hand, Ezio waited until the girl realized what he wanted and laid her hand in his, palm up. "Callused from work, good. You won't have as much pain learning to use a sword," he said. He took a slow walk around her. "Tall, that is good as well, gives you a longer reach in a fight and longer stride when running. Slender, good for shaking off guards in their bulky armor. What is your name, signorina?"
"Laura Boccanera. And may I ask yours?" Her tone was confident, almost challenging.
Ezio's mouth quirked at one corner as he tried to hide a smile. "Ezio Auditore, at your service."
The girl's eyes got as wide as saucers, and her hands came up to cover her mouth. "Oh, you are…you are the Ezio, the…what is the term? The new leader of the Order!"
Il Volpe laughed at that. "Yes, child, he is indeed our new Mentore. But don't let that fool you into thinking he knows what he's doing."
Ezio growled and shoved at Il Volpe's shoulder. "Better I than you, old fox. You'd soon turn us all into killers for hire."
"Are we not?"
Suddenly the Assassin's eyes got very serious. "No. We are not. We are occasionally paid for a death, it is true, but we take no contract solely because of payment offered, nor do we turn down a contract merely because of lack of payment. We work in the dark, yes, and we remind ourselves of that with every new recruit, but every time we must also repeat the injunction: To serve the light. Never forget that, Volpe. Now be gone, I must test this girl and you will only get in the way and make snide comments."
Il Volpe bowed deeply to Ezio and backed toward the edge of the roof. "My apologies, Mentore. Of course you are right. Come and find me at the "Inn" if you need my services." He dropped off the edge of the roof. The recruit gasped and ran to look over, but by then the wily master of thieves had disappeared.
"Magic!" She exclaimed.
Ezio laughed. "No, girl, though I see how you might think so. If you climb our ranks, you will soon learn to do the same. Now, before the test, I'm afraid I must ask your name once more. Volpe's comments distracted me."
"I am Laura, signore Auditore, Laura Boccanera."
Laura, Shaun repeated to himself, where have I heard that name? He did a search of his files for mention of an Assassin named Laura, or Boccanera, but nothing came up.
Ezio bowed to her. "Piacere, signorina. And please, call me Ezio. I have not been signore Auditore for a long time."
"You sound sad when you say that."
The master Assassin gave her a startled look, then let out a laugh. "Ha! Well, there is one part of the test done. You are good at reading what is behind the words of a person. We shall move on, then. What can you do? Can you swim, ride a horse, run fast? Can you climb? Can you use a weapon?"
"I can ride," she said, "and swim a little. I'm a good runner. I can climb, or I thought I could before I saw you and Il Volpe reach this rooftop. I am not trained in any weapons, but my brother is a member of the guard in our town and he taught me a bit how to use a sword. I help with the farm, so I'm strong. Is there anything else?"
Ezio shook his head. "No more questions. You sound like a promising candidate, but we shall soon see. Your first test starts now: Get down to the street without being seen. I will meet you there." With that, he took a running leap off the edge of the roof, landed in a roll on the slightly lower roof of the building next door, and flipped over its gutter, launching off to land in a large hay cart below.
The memory skipped erratically and faded out. According to the screen it hadn't ended, and Shaun stood to run upstairs and fetch Rebecca, but the Animus beeped and he realized Miles had ended the memory of his own accord. He walked over to the side of the Animus to help Miles unplug.
The man hadn't moved, hadn't sat up like he usually did. He'd only brought his free arm up to block his eyes from view. "Everything all right?" Shaun asked, concerned. Miles sometimes got headaches before the bleeding effect set in.
Miles nodded. "Just get me out of this thing," he said. His voice was hoarse.
"Right." Shaun walked around to Rebecca's chair and sat at her computer, typing in the command that disconnected the Animus from the user's brainwaves, like disconnecting an external data device from a computer. He wondered if unplugging the cord without disconnecting would cause the same error message to pop up on screen, "Warning: Your device was not properly disconnected…"
Without waiting for help, Miles ripped the cord out of his own arm and sat up, facing away from Shaun. He put his hands on the edge of the chair and rocked forward as if to stand up, then seemed to fold in on himself and Shaun bolted up, practically vaulting over the Animus to kneel in front of him.
Miles' eyes were shut tight and his teeth were showing in a grimace. Shaun's first thought was that he was in pain, but then he noticed the tears streaming down and suddenly he flashed back to the only other time he'd ever seen Miles cry, months ago, just after they arrived at the villa, and his voice had been so desperate as he wailed Laura, they had Laura and they were bleeding her…
And now here they were again, only this time Miles actually let out a strangled sob, and then another, and then he was really crying and the sound just about broke Shaun's heart it was so empty of hope. Hearing that come from the normally flippant, upbeat Miles, he realized he'd become used to the man's cavalier attitude, his easy banter, his refusal to get flustered when Shaun insulted him for his typical American ignorance of world events before the year 1776. The historian had, without even realizing it, come to think of Miles as an ally, a fellow Assassin, rather than an inconvenient barrier between him and his mission objective.
Reaching across the space between them, Shaun hesitated with his hands near Miles' shoulders, unsure if the man wanted comfort or to be left alone. He got his answer when Miles slid off the edge of the Animus and into his arms, holding onto him so tight he had to shift position so he could breathe. Miles buried his face in Shaun's shoulder and cried, and Shaun could tell he was feeling guilty. Not for Laura, necessarily, but for something. If there was one thing he'd learned to recognize in this line of work, it was guilt, mixed with a double helping of fear. This time, he knew, reminding Miles that all of it was five hundred years in the past wouldn't help.
Lucy and Rebecca came downstairs and stopped dead when they saw what was happening. Lucy started into the room but Rebecca put a hand on her shoulder and looked to Shaun, who shook his head. Rebecca nodded and led Lucy, protesting, away.
After some time, Miles' sobs quieted and he drew away a little, and Shaun let him go. When he took a deep, controlled breath, Shaun moved a bit farther from him and took a more comfortable position on the floor.
Miles looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed. "Well," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Well, go on," he said, rubbing a hand across his face.
"Go on what?" Shaun asked, confused.
"Say it. Call me a girl, a wet blanket, whatever you Brits call grown men who cry in the presence of other grown men."
Shaun shook his head. "No. None of that." He checked to make sure the girls were still out of earshot. "That was the Laura, right? From that night?"
Nodding, Miles stared at his hands. "The memories that come from the bleeding effect aren't always…in order, I guess you'd call it, with the ones you access in the Animus. When I had the dream-memory, Laura was just a person in the dream with some information and emotion attached. Ezio knew her, I didn't. And he wasn't thinking about much other than how she has…had…a kid, and how he had to save her. But seeing her like that, god, she was so young, and proud, and the way she looked at Ezio like he was her hero…and knowing what's going to…what was going to happen to her…it's too awful."
He looked up at Shaun and there was anger in his eyes. "It's all too awful. This war, this stupid, stupid war, chewing people's souls up and spitting out what little is left, over something that could literally prove or disprove so much about history, religion, philosophy, just everything, it's so horrible to think that Humanity would start a fucking fight over it, a goddamn vast fucking history-spanning war of epic proportions being fought behind almost everybody's backs. I mean, Jesus, Shaun, if we can't come together over something like this, is there really any hope for us as a species? Doesn't this make you think we're fucking doomed anyway, and it would be better to just give the hell up and let Vidic and his cronies blow us all up with the Temples, instead of try to get the Apple and prolong our useless little lives?"
Shaun stared at him. "Holy shite, Miles," he said finally, "You need a drink. A lot of drinks. And so do I, for that matter."
With a ragged-around-the-edges laugh, Miles levered himself up off the floor and offered Shaun a hand. "You're right about that. C'mon, there's a taverna in town that'll still be open at this hour."