"Desmond?"

"H-hi?"

"When did—how—"

"I must admit: the boy's skills are impressive. I didn't even know he was here until he moved down to the first floor."

He was about ready to piss his pants. He was cornered by both Altair and Gilberto, and if he escaped with all his limbs, he'd be happy.

"How did you…"

When Altair looked at Gilberto, Desmond seized his chance, slipping out of the spot and running through the room—only to be caught by an arm in a soft grey suit. He tensed, waiting for something to happen, but Shaun only laughed.

"You're a remarkable young lad," the man said, and Desmond felt compelled to look at him.

The mirth in his eyes was so much different from the terrible laughter a few minutes ago. He watched as Shaun took his hand and kissed his knuckles gently. He blushed, cursing his inability to be a man, and the man just met his gaze and gave him that alluring smile. When it was like this, and the man was just turning on the charm, he was almost able to forget about everything. Besides, it wasn't as if he had said anything particularly bad.

"So intelligent and sneaky. I can't think of many who could outwit 'La Volpe.'"

He found himself smiling under the praise. This man wasn't as bad as just a few minutes before; otherwise, he wouldn't be saying such things. Besides, Shaun was right: he finally felt as if he was worth something. "Th-thanks. I-I had to learn to get around the monks."

"I do remember you mentioning them."

His gut was telling him he was headed straight for stormy seas, but with the way his heart was pounding in his chest, he wanted to stay just a little longer. This man remembered more about him than anyone else. He actually found his skills impressive.

"I've seen some of those monks. Paranoid bastards, they are."

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding. "But I did it!"

His heart was still beating ridiculously fast, but as scared as he was when Shaun had laughed, he felt slightly safer here near Shaun rather than waiting for Altair's fury. The man let go of his hand and smiled. It was such a warm smile that he couldn't help but melt a little.

"Indeed, you did. I'm sure you'll make an excellent thief."

He grinned, bouncing back a pace. "Yeah. I'm hoping that I get to read your library first."

Shaun laughed warmly, and he gave him a soft look. "Rest assured, Desmond, as long as you're here, my library is yours to read."

Desmond beamed. "That's awesome. I'm so excited. All of these books? They're so cool."

He squirmed as Shaun leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You're a remarkable young man, Desmond. It's a pity that others don't see what I see, but then again, not many of them have had almost fifteen hundred years to know how to see the true value in something."

"I know very well how valuable those skills are, Hastings. Leave my brother out of this."

He looked over his shoulder as Gilberto and Altair walked back over, and he yelped when Shaun wrapped an arm around his waist. He watched as the cane snapped at Altair's feet.

"And that's where you're wrong, Altair. This boy's mind could be carved into something most beautiful, but instead, it's going to be wasted on a life of thieving and petty revenge." Shaun sighed dramatically, and Desmond slipped out of his hold. "I can bring his mind about to its full potential. I can give him what he needs to excel."

Desmond backed up to leave the library. He didn't want any more confusion. He could have sworn he heard malicious undertones to what Shaun had said to Altair, but he couldn't see why Altair was so upset that Shaun was willing to teach him. He didn't understand. Perhaps Altair wasn't willing to leave, but Shaun was unwilling to let him stay unless he helped him find whatever book he had the pirates looking for.

"If I help you, he's coming with me."

He watched as Shaun's eyes lit up, whether with anger or excitement he didn't know, and that curl of his lips suddenly turned into something darker.

"Of course," the man hissed. "I would dream of nothing else."

Desmond fled back to his room, pushing the bureau and furniture in front of his door. He curled up under the blankets, hugging a pillow. He didn't respond when he heard Altair knocking at the door, and he didn't respond when the maid called him for dinner. He remained curled with the smell of Alex around him, until he didn't know when, when he heard the door being pushed open.

"What the hell did he put in front of this?"

He jolted, looking at the door.

"Desmond! Move this shit!"

That was Alex's voice. Without a second thought, he pulled the furniture away from the door and watched as it opened. Alex was standing there, a scowl on his face and looking just a little bit ragged, and before he knew what he was doing, he was hugging the man.

"Desmond?"

He felt a tentative arm wrap around him. He simply hugged tighter. He hoped the man wouldn't kill him. He hoped that Alex would, instead, protect him (from both Shaun and Altair).

"Desmond? What happened?"

"I'm sorry, Alex."

He let himself be navigated back onto the bed, and he curled against him. He sighed, pressing his nose against his shirt and inhaling deeply. The man reeked of sweat, the sky, and someplace far away.

"Desmond?"

It took a little more coaxing before he told Alex everything, including what he had overheard, and how he had slept with Shaun, and how he was horribly confused because Shaun didn't seem as if he had ill-will toward Desmond but simply wanted to help him. By the time he was done, he could feel the tenseness in Alex, and he knew he was going to die. He had overstepped the boundaries. There was silence, and for once, Desmond hated the silence.

Then Alex did something unexpected: he kissed the top of his head, hugging him tightly. "I won't let him hurt you, Desmond."

He heaved a sigh of relief.

"Why don't you come with me to dinner, since you haven't eaten in two days?"

"I…"

He yelped when Alex scooped him up and carried him into the dining room. Everyone was there, and Rebecca cheered mightily when he appeared.

"Des! Long time, no see!"

"Desmond!" Pariah screamed, and Kadar laughed. "More books!"

He grinned, climbing down from Alex's arms and walking over to the table. He sat next to Alex, across from Pariah, and he laughed when the boy squirmed.

"More books, right?"

"Of course," he said, and he noticed that Shaun wasn't at the table, and neither was Gilberto nor Altair.

He chose not to press it. He chattered merrily with the pirates until he felt Altair enter, and he looked, smiling at him. Altair's eyes met Alex's, and he thought for just a moment that the world would explode.

"So, you do still live."

Altair tensed, his gaze snapping to Malik. "M-Malik?"

"None other, idiot."

"I thought you had died—"

"I didn't—thanks to Shaun and my brother. Figures when you said 'I love you,' the entire damn ship blew up."

Altair frowned as he slid into a seat on the other side of Desmond. He couldn't help but grin, hoping that maybe it would turn out so that they would hook up. Come to think of it, Malik had said that Altair was in love with him. He watched them curiously, distracted only when he felt a hand on his lower back. He turned to see Alex looking at him, concerned, and he smiled.

"I missed you."

Alex smirked. "I know. I missed you, too."

Desmond grinned, turning his attention back to Pariah and the others as he kept half an eye on his older brother and Malik. By the time they were done, he didn't even have a chance to wish his brother good night before Alex was dragging him back to their room, and he was melting under familiar kisses and touches. By the time Alex was satisfied, Desmond had been milked dry and was sprawled out underneath his lover, breathing heavily. Alex was asleep, and Desmond was so tempted to, but he hadn't seen Shaun in several days. He hadn't been at dinner, and he was curious to know what was going on. He was also curious to see how Malik and Altair were doing. Still, he mused as he closed his eyes, just a few minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt.

When he woke, he was sore as hell. Sure, he thought, he didn't mind it. He liked the pain—the ever-present reminder of what happen last night—and he grinned as he thought about it. Yes, he surmised, he loved Alex. But, he was dying to see how the others were doing. He wanted to know about Altair and Malik. He stirred, slowly and ineffectively trying to pry himself from Alex's grip. The man eventually growled, opening one eye and staring at him.

"I want to go visit my brother."

Alex growled again and tightened his grip. Desmond flinched as pain raced up his back.

"Please, Alex? I want to see if he and Malik are back together!"

"Why—"

"'Cause they were lovers before Malik's explosion!"

Alex was examining his eyes, a sleepy look dampening the effect of the glare that was shooting his way. Eventually, Alex huffed and let go, settling back down. Desmond grinned and pulled on (Alex's) clothes, walking out into the hallway and wandering down toward Altair's room.

"No, I swear I don't."

He paused mid-step.

"Are you sure? He isn't to be found since the pirates returned."

He looked around for the source of the two voices. He followed his gut until he found himself hiding behind a wall as two maids spoke.

"Perhaps it was the book he was looking for?"

"Did you not hear the yelling last night? I highly doubt it."

"Perhaps we should ask that young man he's taken a shining to."

"Him? Oh! That might be a good idea—I heard the master showed him to the locked rooms."

Desmond frowned, slipping off. He wondered what was wrong with Shaun. It was a good thing he had been so exhausted last night, he thought as he crept, ignoring the pain. He swiped a metal pick from Rebecca's room—some sort of tool for keeping the Blacklight running. He slipped through the hallways, avoiding Cross and Greene just barely as he slipped through the passages to the room where Shaun kept the portrait. He picked the lock on the door easily and slipped inside.

Shaun was there, he first noticed as he hid among the clutter on the sides. He was hunched over, the book, undoubtedly, that the pirates had gotten ripped and mangled at his feet as if he had a fit of panic, then anger. The portrait case was open, and Shaun was staring at his feet.

"Outsmarted, again."

Desmond hunkered down, waiting through the silence.

"Damn you—damn you to hell, you damn fucking bastard!"

Shaun was on his feet, waving the cane as he stepped on the book, twisting his foot and tearing the pages.

"It's a good thing you're dead," he hissed, his eyes glinting dangerously, "or I'd fucking turn you into my bed sheet! Lovely thought, isn't it?"

He slammed the end of the cane against the floor.

"Blood had never tasted so sweet."

Then, all anger seemed to dissolve from him, and he smirked, crossing his arms.

"But, you see, I now have not only my pirates, but La Volpe working for me. Nothing stays hidden from that man. Curse me all you like, bastard, for loving and leaving, but you can't stop me from finding that book. I've outsmarted you yet again."

He squirmed a little—this hiding spot was uncomfortable.

"You see, good sir, I have the world's best tracker on my team now."

He paced over to the portrait and smashed the head of his cane against the glass, grinning like a devil.

"And I have one more wild card you can't get to."

Shaun was laughing, pacing back over and stabbing the cane through the entire book. Eventually, his wild laughter subsided into a soft chuckle, and Shaun threw his head back, staring at the ceiling.

"That's right," he murmured. "Ever just as sharp as you were fourteen hundred years ago. Desmond. And you can't do a single thing about it, because it's honest-to-God love he has for me, and the Empire cannot touch him."

By now, Desmond was hopelessly confused. He was curious if he was hearing the voices of some long-dead guy. Shaun spun around, pointing at the painting, walking toward it like a predator.

"And even if everything goes to shit on this next mission, Desmond—bless the boy's soul—will still be able to regal everything to me. He's an innocent civilian."

He was poking at the painting.

"And once I'm free of this—this! Your horrible restraint! This disgusting painting! I'll wipe you from every book I have."

So Shaun was trying to break his painting curse. Desmond couldn't help but wonder why.

"You've had a good run, Robert, luring that stupid artist and taking advantage of my vanity, but I'm not dumb. This painting is holding me back. Just wait until I'm free of it."

He watched as Shaun laughed, once, and paced to the door after pulling out his cane.

"Yes, Robert, I may have been stupid enough to sleep with you back then and take you up on your offer at immortality, but now I've got my own agenda—and this painting is causing me only grief."

He waited until he heard Shaun walk down the hallway, leaving the door open and storming off. He stepped out of his hiding spot, walking over to the painting. He was curious to know how he played into this, and just why he was claiming the painting had cursed him. He didn't know who Robert was, or why Robert cursed Shaun, but it must have had something to with the painting. He frowned, reaching out and touching it lightly. The glass was cool beneath his touch, and he studied it.

"Uncover the eyes, please," he murmured, watching as the blindfold was removed from the painting.

The eyes looked furious, and slightly smug, and he frowned. He wanted to know who Shaun had been talking to.

"Cover the eyes, please," he murmured as he walked over to the book, looking at the torn and rumpled pages.

He turned the pages carefully. He had heard of books like this one—cult magic. According to Shaun, it had been popular at the outset of tensions between the nations. Some of these spells looked interesting, but he had other things to store in his mind, and the spells were forgotten almost as quickly as he looked at them.

"How much of that did you hear?"

He yelped, looking up to see Shaun staring at him over the rim of his glasses, and he shrank back. Shaun was walking toward him slowly, and he knew he was in deep shit now. Perhaps he should have remembered some of the spells.

"Well?" he growled.

"I—I—"

He was going to die. He was sure of it. He was going to kick the bucket. Death by cane through the heart.

"Your curiosity is going to get you killed one day, boy."

He knew he should fight back, but his only chance at killing Shaun was through the painting, and he had smashed the head of the cane against the glass, and there were no marks on it. He could yell, but what could the others do save for get to him after he's dead. Shaun stopped, both hands on his cane, stance rigid as he stared at him. There was nothing scarier than this man right then.

"Well?"

"I—I—who's Robert?"

Shaun frowned, his eyes narrowing, and Desmond could feel him analyzing him.

"A-and wh-why am I impor-important? Your-r miss-ssion? W-what are you—c-cult ma-magic-c?"

Shaun inhaled deeply, tilting his head back and pressing his lips into a thin line. "So you heard most of it, then."

He pressed back against the wall. His gut had tried to warn him when he overlooked it in favor of the praise from that night in the library with Altair and Gilberto. He swallowed, watching as the man stood there, unmoving, watching. Finally, he had come to whatever conclusion he was thinking about, and Shaun huffed, adjusting his grip on the cane and gesturing toward the painting.

"Robert Sable was the man who commissioned it. He was the first man I slept with—offered me riches in exchange. He hired a man by the name of Leonardo, rest his soul. Painted it, got paid, and left. Robert was big into cult magic, and he offered to make me immortal. I took him up on the offer. He hid the book, but I didn't think twice about it. He caught me sleeping with another woman to pick her pocket as well."

Shaun snorted, looking at the painting, planting his cane in the book of spells as he stepped toward it. Desmond started creeping closer, his heart pounding. He froze under the look Shaun sent his way.

"Then, when the Third World War hit, I realized how much of a burden the painting was and hid it to protect it. After it was over, I decided it was time to start collecting the cult books Robert used to try to sever myself from the painting. Haven't had any luck."

"Why not?"

Shaun tensed, hissing, "Because of the Empire."

Desmond moved over cautiously to the cane—a weapon to defend himself.

"I've been tracking down his cult books that he hid so well—none of them correct!"

"And the Empire?"

"Yes," Shaun said, "ask the pirates. They've not had the most successful life." Shaun snarled.

"Why keep them under contract then?"

"Do you honestly they'd work for me otherwise? They could be doing anything they wish. Once I'm safe enough, I'll stage a coup d'état and get rid of the last thing in my way."

"Wait…"

"I think the Empire is hiding that book with the spell. If I can get rid of them, I can free myself."

"But what about the rest of us? We need the Empire to—"

"Desmond," Shaun snipped, turning around rapidly and facing him. "I'm about to tell you something extraordinarily serious, here."

He gave him a cautious look, stepping a little closer with his hands wrapped tightly around the cane. Shaun met his gaze.

"The Empire was designed to keep me in check."

He blinked, giving him a confused look. "But… You control it."

"That's what I believed, as well. I thought there was nothing—nothing save the painting, of course. However, I've scoured the entire earth for the one book I need, and I have been unable to find it. Robert's descendant was the first ruler of the Empire, and I realized I've been tricked. He didn't hide the book so well as I thought he did. It's hidden somewhere in the Empire's main castle, and even my spies haven't been able to find it."

Desmond pursed his lips. "So… I still don't get it."

Shaun sighed. "I won't be able to free myself from this painting until I get that spell. If the Empire has it, then it doesn't matter that I'm in charge. Robert's been hiding it from me in plain sight for hundreds of years. The Empire was meant to protect the spell book, which is what prevents me from doing anything too risky because I'm still attached to that painting."

Desmond watched him as he walked over to the book and nudged it. He was going to have to think on this. This was a lot of information to process.

"Why… why does it matter if you're attached to the painting or not?"

"Think of it this way, Desmond," Shaun said.

He watched as the man picked up the remnants of the book and tucked it under his arm. He followed the man out, watching him as he jammed the door shut to ensure no one would get in.

"Immortal or not, I'm tied to that painting. I don't want to continue worrying about a painting. I want to worry about myself."

Desmond was quiet for a few minutes as they walked back to the main part of the house, then he started nodding.

"Yeah, I get it," he murmured.

"Good. However, Desmond…"

He looked at him. Shaun seemed so much more relaxed now that his rant was out of the way.

"Don't tell a soul about this."

He grinned, shaking his head. "Don't worry. 'Sides, what good would it do me?"

Shaun chuckled. "No good for either of us, rest assured."


What do you think? Still any good?