Altaïr loved his brother, he really did.

That said, he couldn't say he hadn't been surprised to hear that Desmond had found a job without lying. Because really, Desmond had sworn never to set foot in another bar ever again after The Incident, and he hadn't exact gotten a degree in college, either.

Altaïr doesn't want to come off as rude, though, (he really does love him—he'd be lost if Desmond hadn't swooped in and offered to help out when Darim was born) so he takes his time to think of a proper, genuine response instead of something along the lines of a sarcastic and here i thought [insert company name] made good decisions. Unless it's like, McDonald's. They'd have a very long conversation if it was McDonald's.

Point is, Desmond has a job now, and Altaïr can't help but feel a little proud of his younger brother. Half-brother. Moving on.

Maria is obviously taking the news much better than Altaïr is, which isn't surprising in the least. She rests a hand on his forearm and smiles towards Altaïr. Desmond's expression doesn't change in the slightest, save a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"That's great! When do you start?" she asked. She may be taking the situation better than he, but she was clearly left almost completely ignorant of how to spark a conversation with their newfound information. Not that Altaïr could think of anything to say. That is, anything she'd let him say.

Desmond shrugged. "Monday, at 9 AM. It's within walking distance from the bus stop, so don't worry about transportation." His ratty old car had finally died on him on the way home from his undisclosed meeting, which Altaïr is secretly thankful for. That car had been a hazard to society, in his personal opinion.

But back to the topic at hand, he decides. He passes a fleeting glance to his wife, as a silent plea for help. Desmond seemed to notice, unfortunately, try as he might to hide the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Altaïr coughed into his hand.

"Did you want to say anything?" Desmond asks a touch triumphantly. Altaïr shrugs.

"Props to you on securing a job," he says simply. Desmond's smile doesn't waver.

God, he really needed to improve his conversation skills with this...person. Brother. With his brother. It was kind of pitiful, really—he can barely talk to the one person who's been with him through thick and thin, longer so than his own wife. Or maybe he just...didn't need words. There had been plenty a time when the two of them had been content to sit quietly on their bunk as children with no exchange of words, not something he and Maria often shared.

Words weren't necessary, Altaïr concluded, not unless things were wrong in the worst way possible. He and his brother would be able to see when something was amiss in such a way though, he was certain. Words didn't need to be wasted between the two of them.

Desmond was talking to Maria again, which wasn't out of the ordinary. The two had always been close friends, and besides, Altaïr had never been the talkative sort. He was content to listen.

He wasn't listening in very closely to this particular conversation, however—something about some obscure sci-fi plot devices and concepts, if he was at all correct—instead opting to eat quietly and stare out the window.

It was raining, as per the usual, and again, as per the usual, the streets were absolutely packed with an assortment of multicolored cars, most of which being driven by better-off U-Dub college students and others by employees that actually worked and/or lived in the area. Mostly Amazon software employees in that sector. Three out of four cars sported some form of football related bumper stickers, be it Seahawks or Huskies or sometimes both. A Mariners baseball sticker came up in the tide of angry traffic every so often, but they were few and far between. And—oh, yes, the angry traffic. Most likely caused by yet another accident somewhere down the line. Seattle drivers forgot how to drive in the rain, sadly enough.

The usual sight, he concludes.

That is, until a navy blue umbrella catches his eye. Or, more accurately, the unnaturally familiar woman underneath said umbrella. He watched her for a few moments more before she disappears behind a corner and into the throngs of rain-soaked devil drivers. Where had he seen her before? He'd only gotten the briefest glance at her face, but…

He furrows his eyebrows with a slight frown. "I swear I have seen that woman before," he mumbles.

Maria and Desmond have since moved on to a different topic altogether. Horror games, by the sound of it. Neither of them seem to have noticed his mumblings.

Where had he seen that woman before? It's almost painful, knowing her face yet not being able to remember anything about any woman of that appearance short of that very encounter.

Desmond shudders at a teasing remark of Maria's. "P.T. was even freakier than Jacob's ex-girlfriend, okay? You can't blame me for being creeped out by it."

Altaïr's whole frame stiffens at the strangely convenient mention of the exact person he had been trying to remember.

Pearl Attaway.

"A masterpiece, nonetheless," Maria replies. "A true shame they had to cancel–"

"But she's dead," Altaïr blurted. Both his brother and his wife turn equally confused looks in his direction.

"Who?" Desmond asks after a prolonged silence. Maria is watching him with a perplexed yet concerned expression. Altaïr shakes his head.

"I swear I just saw Pearl—you remember her? you guys just mentioned her, that's the only reason I could put a name to her face—just...saw her walking down the street."

Desmond is silent, and Maria grows more confused than concerned.

"But—as you so politely said earlier—she's dead. She was killed years ago," Maria states cautiously. "You could just be seeing things, Altaïr. Did you sleep last night?"

He shakes his head again. "No and yes. I'm fairly certain that was her, and I did sleep last night."

"But...she's dead," Desmond urges. "Dead as in, killed in that freak accident four years ago. We went to her funeral and everything. You saw her body, man."

"Exactly," Altaïr replies. "But I saw her walk by just now." Was that her, though? Or did that passing woman happen to look eerily similar? It wouldn't be a first—there'd been that Ezio guy from Italy that had been a disturbing look-alike—and such a look-alike of Attaway was infinitely more likely than Jesus himself descending from the heavens to resurrect a woman that had been discovered post-mortem to have cheated on her fiancé.

Altaïr frowns slightly and shakes his head yet again. "...You're right. Probably someone else. Either that or I'm crazy."

Desmond snorted. "When are you not?"

He can't argue with that.

~o:O:o~

The building he'll be working at is crisp and tidy, almost painfully so. There's several other employees milling about, all dressed in work-appropriate attire. No ties. Boeing had started that one, and it was just a thing in Seattle, now.

He's following a redheaded woman around said building, who goes by the name of Melanie Lemay ("Please, Melanie is just fine!"). She's talking fast and a bit too enthusiastically for his liking. Hard to imagine a woman like her would be part of the whole net Starrick has woven.

"And these are your new coworkers! Desmond, say hello to Shaun, Rebecca, and Stephanie!"

He lifts his hand in greetings towards the three others; he recognizes Stephanie—Stephanie Bishop, if he remembered correctly—from his interview. She was one of their original moles and was the reason he'd been able to get the position without raising suspicion in the first place. Rebecca would be the one in front of the monitor with her massive headphones. She'd be the one Bishop told them about—the possible ally, if he was correct. Then that would make Shaun the difficult one. Quote unquote, "difficult". He'd learn for himself how true that really was.

Shaun frowned at Desmond in response to his greetings. "A new one, Melanie? Can't you pull from the 'qualified' department more often?"

Oh, yes, he would be difficult.

"Steph will be taking over from here on out, alright? I'll see you later today, then!" Melanie seemed almost eager to dump him here with these people. Desmond couldn't decide whether to blame that on a strict schedule, irritation caused by himself, or a fear of the other man. Best assume all three along with the assumption that she'd mastered the art of emotional masking.

Needless to say, Lemay was out of the office in a heartbeat, leaving Desmond alone with an ally, a possible ally, and a probable rival/frenemy. Not terrible odds, to be honest. For what, he didn't know. Anything short of a shooting, maybe.

Bishop approaches him in stride once Lemay disappears down the hall. She claps him firmly on the shoulder. "Welcome to the team, Des."

"You know each other?" Shaun's accent is very strongly British, that much was obvious. Desmond couldn't see his face, but he was probably still frowning. "Seems a bit catastrophic, yeah, to have one of Bishop's friends here, don't it?"

"Oh, quit it, Shaun, the guy just got here," a new, raspy voice says. There's a noticable clunk as Rebecca places her headphones on her desk and she approaches Desmond. He shakes her hand when she holds it out in greetings. "Rebecca Crane, I'm the tech-savvy one according to Shaun. Don't mind him, by the way, he's just British. Being difficult and rude is part of his nature."

Desmond snorts slightly at her joke and Bishop chuckles alongside him. Shaun looks to be absolutely molested.

"At least we have decent tea and education," he mutters. Rebecca only laughs in response. Yeah, they'd need to get her on the team for sure.

~o:O:o~

so yeah we have stuff going on

was altaïr hallucinating or did he indeed see the deceased miss attaway?

what happened between jacob and pearl, and how did she die?

is she dead?

also, how much does desmond know about starrick and what the hell is starrick planning?

most of these are questions i need to remind myself of at midmight as i write this

keyword: most

but yes! this is kind of a boring chapter, sorry

more action coming as soon as i sort out malik and his brother tho so

yeh

thx for reading, comments are more than appreciated (they are well loved i read all the reviews i get on any fic like ten times over) and yeah!

yall are great, ily all

-ostrich