Hey, was the descendent of Arno Dorian ever revealed? I didn't think it was Desmond, but if this fic works out, I might make a sequel for Unity - with Desmond reliving Arno's memory. I just don't know how it might work out if its not already in his DNA.
I know it's a little too forward thinking, since I haven't even started with Edward yet, but I'm hoping to write Arno and give credit to his character, to emphasize his virtues/flaws as well as make it apparent that he is not an expy of Ezio - I firmly believe he isn't, but you know. It's a popular opinion. I'm currently playing Unity right now, so maybe that's why I'm so focused on it at the moment. I'll have to return to Black Flag for this.
This chapter is mostly dialogue and character stuff, but it also serves to set up future elements of the story, so I hope it's not too boring :)
Chapter Seven
Sharing is Caring
"...Elliott?" Desmond croaked.
"Yeah, man, it's me!" Elliott laughed, tapping his chest with his hands. He was shorter than Desmond, but his voice made it sound like he was the biggest guy in the room. "Don't tell me you forgot already. Where the hell you been, man? You walked right off the planet!"
"Uh, yeah," Desmond blinked, shook his head. Get a hold of yourself man. Act casual. He has no idea. "I, uh, went to see my family. Just got back here last week. Right before the Flare."
"Yeah, nasty stuff, right?" Elliott nodded, still smiling. His hair was shorter than Desmond remembered. A little thinner, too. The grin was the same, though, bright and innocent, unmarred by the dark bags under his eyes. Elliott always looked a little tired, whether he pulled an all-nighter or slept for twelve hours.
Desmond jumped when Elliott clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, you should come over to my place! It's not far. We gotta catch up, Des. So much shit happened since you were gone."
Desmond threw up his hands, trying to step away. "Uh, no thanks, man. I, uh, don't wanna impose…"
"Nah, man, it's fine! Seriously, it's less than a block away. Come on! We can catch up, and I'll show you how to make a martini."
"I already know how to make a martini."
"I know, but when's the last time you made one, dude?"
Desmond appraised Elliott for a second, considering the offer. He wasn't anywhere near the warehouse, and after just killing a man, he didn't feel safe leading the authorities to his hide-out, if they could figure out where he went. He was already wasting time as it was, just standing here and talking. He needed to get out of the subway.
And besides, he really did want to know if Elliott was okay. He wanted to know what happened since he'd been gone.
So with a sigh, Desmond relented. "Okay, fine. Just for a few minutes. I can't hang around for long."
"Alright, man!" Elliott clapped his hand on Desmond's shoulder, making Desmond wince a little. Physical contact made him antsy for some reason. Even Elliott noticed, withdrawing his hand with a bit of hesitancy. He must've seen something in Desmond's face, because he asked, "Des, are you okay? I don't mean to be an asshole, I just - you are okay, right?"
"What? Yeah, I'm fine." Desmond shrugged off the concern, turning away so he didn't have to keep looking Elliott in the eye. "Let's, uh, just get going. I'm not getting any warmer here."
And just like that, Elliott was already off, another grin on his face. "Yeah, no shit. I heard that this was going to be the coldest winter in New York on record. Un-fucking-believable, man. School's been closed three days in a row. Well, not uni, that's still winter break, but I mean, like, regular schools, the little kids, lucky bastards. I never got three days off here in the city…"
Desmond followed Elliott silently as they left the metro station. He thanked Minerva or whatever's in charge of this fate stuff that Elliott was easily distracted, because Desmond was not in the mood to be talking about himself. He was really humble like that.
He wondered how much Elliott knew. They hadn't seen each other in months, not since Desmond was kidnapped by Abstergo. He didn't think the Templars would hunt his friends, the normal ones; it honestly hadn't occurred to him until now. But then again, why would they? Desmond wasn't stupid enough to tell anyone about his upbringing, his past. The Farm, the stories, the conspiracy theories that were, for all intents and purposes, the truth.
Except Assassins didn't believe in truth.
Desmond had lived three lives and he still didn't know what 'Nothing is True' really meant, especially in this day and age.
"...Des? Yo, Desmond, you there?" Elliott's voice jarred Desmond out of his reverie, and he stopped before running into the hand waving in front of his face. "Hey, man, welcome back to Earth. My place is on the fifth floor - the elevator's broken, but those stairs really work your quads."
Desmond looked up, finding himself in an entirely different place than he last remembered. He couldn't remember how he got here from the metro...it was all just a blur. He could see ghosts flitting at the edge of his vision.
But the building they stood in front of was familiar. Desmond had been here before; the red brick walls and the barred windows - Hell's Kitchen wasn't the nicest place in New York, but considering the places he's been in, it looked like heaven. He even recognized the unreadable graffiti tag on the left from the door.
"Damn, this place hasn't changed a bit," Desmond said, more to himself than anyone else.
It earned him a strange look nonetheless. "Well...yeah." Elliott snorted. "I mean, it's only been a couple months. You make it sound it's been years."
"Oh," Desmond made a face, realizing his mistake. He felt so off-kilter, like he was walking in a world with gravity too light. He didn't move right, think right; he didn't quite fit in it anymore. He spent so much time in the animus - years in Syria, Italy, Turkey, it was startling to think that he had done it all in a span of weeks, on a table, in his head. "Yeah, um, I guess it just feels like I've been away for forever."
"So you finally went to school, huh?" Elliott smiled, opening the front door and allowing them inside the foyer. Snow and mud soaked the floor mat, and made squishy noises as they crossed. "I knew you could do it, dude!"
"Uh, school?" Desmond had no idea what he was on about.
"Yeah, man. That's why you were away from the whole semester? You always said you wanted to get out and learn a trade or something, and not be a bartender for the rest of your life." Elliott said, reminding him of a conversation that Desmond could barely remember.
He had said that? Desmond had completely forgotten having any other dreams outside of running away and being free. He pressed a hand to his head, muttering, "Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense, I guess."
It was certainly a much better excuse than whatever Desmond might've come up with, which probably would've been something stupid like: I got kidnapped by a crazy world-dominating secret society who want my DNA to help them in their dastardly plans.
Yeah, that'd go over well.
As they started climbing up the narrow staircase, yellow-stained wallpaper and the smell of nicotine permeating the air, Desmond felt as though he took a step back in time. After being here a few times before, it seemed so wrong to see that nothing had changed. Desmond's like had been turned upside down, inside out; he'd lost friends, he'd fought wars, the world almost ended...and it seemed to affect almost no one else.
He supposed it was a good thing, in the end. The Assassins were silent, unseen, while their actions spoke for them. Elliott was no doubt plenty aware of the solar flare and all it did to the world. He just moved on it from it, like everyone else. The world doesn't just stop so you can think and ponder at the meaning of life. There were jobs to do, money to pay, families to take care of.
It was a little discouraging, but Desmond had to remind himself that this was what he was fighting for. Peace. Happiness. A sense of contentment. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than the planet ablaze and humanity turned extinct.
They came to the final landing, where Elliott led to the door of his apartment. They passed an elderly woman just as she opened her door to get out; when she saw them, her eyes widened and she quickly stepped back into her apartment, slamming the door shut.
To any naive mind, it may have seemed that she had forgotten something, but Desmond's suspicions were confirmed when Elliott said, "Don't mind Mrs. B. She's been acting all antsy around me ever since she learned my parents are from Egypt. She's completely harmless."
"Yeah, sure," Desmond replied, keeping an eye on the door as Elliott unlocked his own. He sincerely hoped that was the case, and that the woman wasn't suspicious of him, perhaps recognizing a wanted poster or something. Had the police already found the body of the Follower? Had they found footage of Desmond in the subway, started posting it on the local news?
…Hm, probably not. It had been less than an hour. Not even the NYPD could assemble something that fast for a simple murder case.
As he fiddled with the keys and turned the knob, Elliott pushed open the door with a grand gesture, grinning. "Mi casa es su casa. Welcome to my humble abode, Lord Miles."
The theatrics had Desmond cracking a smile, such a bizarre feeling. He'd forgotten what it was like to feel happy. Damn, I really need to lighten up, Desmond thought to himself, running a hand over his head and pushing off the hood. He tried to relax his shoulders as he crossed the threshold, sneakers scuffing on the welcome mat, a warm blast of heat bombarding him. "You still haven't fixed your radiator, man."
"Yeah, well," Elliott shrugged casually. "What're you gonna do? I'm not exactly a handyman, and the landlord's on vacation. At least it's winter, when I actually need it,you know?"
Elliott's apartment was rather cramped; although what could you expect from a college kid in New York City? The kitchen and the dining room were one and the same, with a round table against the far wall with an assortment of chairs, none of which matched. In the other room was the bed, which unlike Desmond's actually had a boxframe and, you know, clean sheets. The desk with the massive computer array was mashed right next to it, underneath the window. It all looked as Desmond remembered it, but for one thing.
"What happened to your TV?" He asked, stepping further into the apartment. Desmond felt a bit like a stranger, unwanted, even if Elliott's behavior said everything otherwise.
"Oh, I sold it," Elliott said with a wave of his hand, checking his fridge. He pulled out two beer bottles, handing one to Desmond, who took it gladly. "It's no martini, but its better than nothing. Hey, I got some leftover Thai, you want some? Nah? Well, anyways, I got rid of the TV 'cause I already got, like, Netflix and shit on my computer, and I don't watch the news anymore, so I figured might as well get some extra cash and sell it."
Uncapping the bottle, Desmond took a sip as he stared at the blank space on the shelves were the TV, something that had been old, boxy, now occupied by a toolbox and what looked like a small drone with propellers. As he knelt down to check it out, he asked absent-mindedly, "You don't watch the news?"
"Well, you know," Elliot said, waving around a fork he pulled from the sink. It seemed clean. "Not cable news. I use the Internet, like the terrible Millennial I am. It's too biased now, man, you can't get the truth without someone covering it in political bullshit. It doesn't help that Abstergo owns, like, half of the media new stations, either."
Desmond jerked his head up, surprised. Elliott knew that? You usually didn't hear that kind of talk outside of conspiracy theorists. He decided to play dumb. "Really? That sounds kinda crazy, Elliott. Are you sure?"
"Hey, I may be a slacker," Elliott said through a mouthful of noodles, walking to his desk and slumping into the seat. With Styrofoam plate in his lap, he reached over and turned on his computer. It whirred to life, four screens blinking on in sync. "But I do my research. I'm not kidding, though, when I say you can't trust them. Abstergo's into some weird shit."
Desmond was about to comment on that, too (just how much did Elliott know? What had him on this road for truth? Desmond didn't remember him being so concerned about it in August), when Elliott jerked his chin and said, "Like the drone, huh? I just got it. I've been using it to send messages to my friend a couple blocks down. We're testing to see if we can get remote navigation to work, so we don't have to use the controller anymore."
"What? For class?"
"Nah, just for fun."
Somehow, Desmond wasn't surprised. He just smiled as he spun one of the propellers with his finger. "And how's that going for you?"
"Well, the first three crashed, if that tells you anything. I'm not flying it over cars again until I'm sure I get it right first." Elliott said, utterly a huff of annoyance. "And if I can find a frequency that Abstergo isn't watching. They keep cutting power from the drone, with their crazy remote satellites."
"They can do that?"
Elliott nodded, then made a face. "Well, probably not anymore. The Flare kind of fucked up their satellites, but I'm sure sending up some new ones is their top priority now. Either way, right now they're in the blind, and I'm not going to waste that kind of opportunity."
Desmond couldn't help but smirk at that. It was nice to share this sense of rebellion with the Templars, even if Elliott had no idea what was really going on. It would probably be best if Desmond kept an eye on him, just to make sure he didn't attract any unwanted attention. Templars were really good at finding those that stuck out from the norm. And Elliott wasn't exactly normal. Not dangerous, particularly, but Desmond couldn't deny, he saw potential.
"God, I just feel so stupid now." Elliott just started laughing, earning a questioning look from Desmond. Elliott just closed his eyes, shaking his head, smiling. "When you left, I actually thought you were kidnapped. Ha, fucking nuts, right? I mean, it seemed sane at the time, you basically dropped off the planet for all I knew. You should've given me a warning, Desmond. So I didn't make a dumbass out of myself for putting up missing person signs for someone who wasn't even missing."
"Sorry," Desmond ducked his head, feeling a little ashamed even though he knew it wasn't his fault. But had Elliott really tried looking for him? Desmond didn't think anyone besides the Assassins really cared when he was taken. "And thanks for defending me, by the way. From that weirdo on the subway."
Granted, it wasn't for lack of trying. Staying off the grid also meant not having any friends. It seemed worth it, at the time; that Desmond would give up anything to keep his freedom, or whatever version of it he thought he had.
But now? Desmond was starting to think this time could be...different.
"Hey, it's no problem," Elliott shrugged, looking a little smug. "I can take a hit. Why didn't you try to stay in touch? An email would've been nice."
His excuse, though, was kind of lame. "I'm not, uh, very tech savvy."
"Dude, if you can't figure out email, there is no hope for you." Elliott snorted, twirling his fork full of noodles. "After the Flare, I didn't think I'd ever see you again. Anything happen? Did you ever talk to your dad again?"
"Oh," Desmond blinked, surprised by the question, and even more surprised by his answer. "Uh, yeah, I-I did. Back in October."
"And?" Elliott raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"And...we talked." Desmond turned his attention back to the drone. It was hard to look at Elliott. It was still hard to think about sometimes. "I understand him better now. And he knows why I did what I did. I think."
This last part was uncertain. To Elliott, it might seem that Desmond was talking about running away; for Desmond, it was his choice to sacrifice himself in the Temple. While Desmond didn't regret either decision, he knew that both were rushed, and while the first had been settled, the second had not. There just hadn't been enough time...Desmond wished he had longer to talk to his dad, to explain himself, to at least say good-bye before he died.
His personal feelings about his father were still a tangle of anger and resentment, but it wasn't as strong as it used to be. It was still there, obviously, but not as overwhelming, and it didn't pound at Desmond's head like a thousand unspoken words.
But those words had been said. Well, more like shouted. And some fists had been thrown. Catharsis had been reached. It wasn't perfect by a long shot, and William Miles was still a total asshole, but Desmond didn't feel so alienated from him anymore. His dad didn't feel like this aloof man impossible to please, impossible to fully know.
They were on equal footing now. And there was an undercurrent of love there now, a sense of family, of belonging, that Desmond couldn't deny. It even made him smile, a little bit.
Speaking of family...his dad was going to be so pissed when he found out Desmond was alive this whole time and never told him.
"And that's...good?" Elliott guessed.
Desmond paused to think about it, before nodding. "I think so. It's better than it was before. Not great, but better."
"Where's your dad now?"
Desmond frowned, standing up. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since I left for the city in December."
That was one of the problems Desmond still had to solve. He had no idea where his team went after the Flare happened. There was no way they were still in New York, that's for sure. And not to the Farm, either; he was pretty sure the Assassins had relocated a few years ago. Would they have left the country?
He hoped to find answers soon. It was partly the reason he sent that email to Shawn and Rebecca in the first place; he hoped they'd try to reach him, find him somehow, because he was barely treading water at the moment. Desmond had no idea how long he could last in New York on his own this time, especially considering the tense air between Templars and Assassins now.
"What? How can you lose track of your own dad?"
Desmond went over and flopped on the futon, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "He's not exactly your average, stay-at-home soccer dad, Elliott. He…he moves around a lot, you know. For his job."
"What does he do, exactly? You never told me."
"Insurance recovery," Desmond popped off another lie. He wasn't even sure what that was, only that he heard it on the radio earlier today. It seemed like a good cover; insurance was always a boring, unremarkable office job, right?
"So he finds expensive stuff people stole?" Elliott looked mildly impressed, and didn't seem to notice the brief look of panic that crossed Desmond's face. "That's pretty sick, bro."
"Yep," Desmond muttered, sinking further into the sofa. He really hoped none of his lies came back to bite him in the ass. "Pretty sick."
Desmond ended up hanging out there longer than he meant to; the two of them spent most of their time talking, catching up, with Desmond walking the tightrope between telling lies and the truth, just the right mix to keep it believable — Desmond tried to steer the topic away from himself, which was mostly successful since Elliott had his own stories to share. He showed Desmond some of the work he did the previous semester on his computer, coding and software that didn't quite seem like mechanical engineering to Desmond…although he didn't know much about engineering to begin with.
Along with the drone, there were other personal projects Elliott was working on, like converting old tapes onto .mpgs; turning a Roomba into a personal butler (it even had a voice command); and fitting a snorkel with an air-filter, for infinite underwater breathing time. The last one was still in the testing process, and none of these had anything to do with Elliott's classes, but all impressed Desmond nonetheless.
"Dude," Desmond remembered saying at one point, punching Elliott in the shoulder. "You're, like, a modern day Leonardo Da Vinci."
"What? Isn't he a painter?"
"Yeah, but he did a ton of other stuff, too," Desmond nodded, grinning. He knew all too well what Leonardo was capable off, all the things he could make. "Did you know he made like a proto-airplane flying machine? It's so cool."
"But it couldn't actually fly," Elliott reminded him.
Desmond blinked, slightly taken aback. He had been so caught up in his memories of flying over Venice in that rickety little thing, avoiding flaming arrows and coasting over terracotta roofs that he'd forgotten it wasn't actually a part of the history books. He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to say something without sounding like an idiot. "Oh…right. Well, I still think it's cool. His other inventions actually worked, you know. He made an armored car, like a precursor to the modern tank, which shot canons and everything!"
But Elliott just shook his head, throwing Desmond a weird look. "How do you even know all this stuff? I didn't think you cared about history."
"I, uh, picked up an interest." Desmond glanced at the computer screens, a little embarrassed. He was starting to sound like a fanboy, the way he was going. But he couldn't help it; meeting Leonardo had been one of the best experiences in his life. "At school. They offered a lot of good history classes."
"You like history and you can't do email?" Elliott snorted. "You sound like you're from another time period."
"It kind of feels like it, sometimes." Desmond said with a smirk. When he glanced out the window, he was startled to see that it was completely dark out. "Oh, shit, I gotta go."
"What? Why?" Elliott looked disappointed.
Desmond wasn't a fan of being outside at night, especially when the Bleeding Effect had him seeing ghosts everywhere. He got up, dropped the empty beer bottle in the recyclables, and grabbed his cast-aside jacket. "'Cuz it's cold, man, I don't want to be out there forever. And it's just gonna get colder when the storm rolls in."
"Oh, yeah. I heard we might lose power again. Hey, be careful out there, Des! I can't protect you if you get attacked by another weirdo again."
"Right," Desmond smirked, almost wanting to show off his blades just to prove a point. Instead, he made for the door, pulling his hood back on and casting one last wave. "I'll keep an eye out. Thanks for the beer!"
Fun fact: Leonardo is also my favorite ninja turtle :D
