A/N: Many things (some large, others small) have been changed in this story due to concerns that some readers have had-which are perfectly okay because after looking back at it, I perfectly agree.) As such, while it is not extremely important to go back and re-read the chapters, if you do happen to, you may find some extra dialogue and/or detail. Of course, none of these changes affect the storyline drastically, but it takes into account many people's reviews.
Which I love.
But I've kept you long enough.
Disclaimer: This author does not own Assassin's Creed.
Binary Duality
Chapter 10
"Step away from him."
William "Bill" Miles is not a patient man by any means. Those well acquainted with him are well aware of his attitude towards anything less than what he deemed satisfactory. The two qualities-along with his cold exterior- are many things that put off people when they meet the patriarch of the Miles Family and de-facto leader of the North American Assassins. He could be called arrogant and an overconfident sort of man at first impression that no ally from overseas would readily accept as a leader but it is the fact that he is already so in control himself and the ongoing of the outside world that makes people pause and reconsider their earlier evaluation of him. One could conclude that William Miles was ambitious then—with the bearings of a dictator.
But if that was so, then what fueled his drive? Duty? Power? If any of his colleagues thought so, he never corrected them. No matter what ever happened, the real answer never changed.
He did it for his family.
Because of all the intricate strings he held in their organization-of all the things that he precariously gathered, planned, and created, the most precious thing to him had always been his family. Everything he had become and created was for them; always for them.
It had not been like that at first truly. HIs obligation as an Assassin had always been for the determination to put an end to the Templars once and for all for the good of the world. It was a goal his father had, his father's father had, and the ones before them. He had been continuing their line of work out of obligation and thought that maybe his generation could do what his ancestors tried so hard attain. It was one-sided in that way, he supposed. However, when Desmond was born...
William's grip on his pistol tightens and through the faint red coloring the edge of his vision, he wills himself from emptying the entire cartridge into the other man's fucking skull. Instead, he breathes out forcibly through his nose and digs the barrel none-too-gently against his son's assaulter's head.
"Now."
"Hey...fancy seeing you here, Dad." Despite knowing that this wasn't the best time for any kind of smart-ass comments, Desmond can't help that slip out. It's really the only thing covering his shock at seeing his dad after nearly 10 years.
"I wish it had been under better circumstances." His father mutters, casting just the briefest of glances at the immediate area with a grimace before leveling a glare at the man manhandling his son. He digs the barrel of the handgun into Altair's temple again, making the Syrian yield obligingly to the insistent prodding. "Move. Now."
Slowly, Altair yields, keeping eye contact with William as he raises his hands in the universal surrender gesture and steps back carefully until he is just four steps away.
Altair's mind calculates it would take no more than three to disarm the other, but he knows when and when not to act. This—Altair thinks, eyeing Desmond and the older man that shared his hereditary features—is one of them.
William breathes easier when Altair steps back, but his weapon does not waver nor do his eyes leave Altair when he speaks. "I thought I raised you better than this."
Desmond doesn't quite know what his father specifically means by, 'this, (his head is starting to spin just a little and he's pretty sure that he shouldn't be seeing double right now) but he forgoes it with a jab of his own. "Yeah? I distinctly remember a whole lot of 'training' and a whole lot less of so called, 'raising.'" His stomach does a weird flop. "Unless that had been the new parenting fad going around at the time."
His father releases a tense breath along with a sharp look in his direction and even though Desmond hasn't seen his dad in years, the action does make his mouth snap shut by instinct. (Oh, doing that did not feel good for his head.) Somewhat pleased with Desmond's acquiesce, William turns his attention to Altair who had been quietly watching the whole exchange warily.
"Altair Ibn'La Ahad." William acknowledges, making Desmond start and Altair's eyes widen a fraction.
"Wait, you know—?!"
William raises an eyebrow, giving his son a sidelong glance. "Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy are my people, Desmond. You really think they'd keep this hush hush?"
Desmond winces and swallows thickly. "Well, no...but..." He sighs. "He's not part of this."
That just makes William scoff. "'Not part of this?' Given that he voluntarily 'came' here via a POE, it complicates and certainly makes him part of this." William pauses as a police siren wails in the distance. Sighing in displeasure, he holsters his firearm-sparing the Syrian a sharp look conveying him not to try anything lest he risk bodily harm. "But this is not the place to talk. Police have been swarming this area like wasps for whatever reason."
Desmond laughs nervously, leaning against the brick wall behind him for support when his vision swims for a second. Altair goes to move towards him, but stills when William beats him to it and lends a steadying hand to his son's shoulder. "Yeah...about that..."
William stops and narrows his eyes as he regards Desmond seriously.
"Explain."
"Can I take a rain check on that?" At his father's questioning look, Desmond grins weakly, squeezing one eye shut when a wave of nausea hits him hard and makes the saliva that had been collecting in his mouth sour. "'cause I think I'm either gonna pass out or throw up." Desmond pauses for a second, ignoring his father's alarmed face as he reiterates. "Actually, I take that back. Might do both." His body lurches. "Definitely both."
And he promptly vomits on his dad's shoes before his vision fails him.
"Alright, not only are Desmond and his watchdog late coming back here, but so is our special guest." Shaun groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "And this only confirms that our special guest is dear old dad. Please tell me I'm wrong."
"I don't think I can do that, Shaun." Lucy says sympathetically with just the slightest bit of amusement shining through her calm facade. "Even if they did meet up by some chance, this isn't something Desmond can escape from now that he is an assassin. I mean, our leader is Bill. Their paths would cross eventually."
"While that is true, it's more of my trying to fulfill a request from Mrs. Miles. From what I'm told, Desmond and his dear old dad don't have the best relationship-which really, isn't surprising considering he took an un-chaperoned eighteen hundred mile walk." Shaun runs a hand through his hair, before briskly making his way to his desk and computer. "I've got a bad feeling, Lucy. I haven't been able to reach his bloody cell. Oddly enough the GPS on it says he's still in town…" Shaun makes a noise in the back of his throat when he sees the blinking dot on the screen. "In a very… questionable part of town."
"Is that…the red light district?" Lucy asks incredulously over Shaun's shoulder, making the Brit squawk.
"What in the hell are they—?!"
"Guys, shhh!" At the urgency in Rebecca's voice, Shaun and Lucy simultaneously look up, turning to regard the raven-haired woman to see what she is so focused on. The woman is hunched over a desk further away, both hands pressing buff headphones against her ears.
"Is that a police radio?" Lucy asks and is promptly shushed again by Rebecca.
"It helps to have one." Shaun answers in a lowered voice. "Got us out of trouble more than once."
His attention is focused on how intent Rebecca looks, however. Her irises are twitching back and forth as she mutters under her breath all the while scrawling something on a notepad. Shaun can already see the cogs in her mind moving as she rapidly translated the incoming Italian.
Something big must have happened for the police radio to be alive with angry Italian chatter. For as long as they've been in the Hideout, the Tor Te Treste had been relatively quiet. There wasn't much crime in their area compared to the more urban cities. Really, the last time the police frequency had been so active was that one time when they had that knife wielding maniac running around the public marketpla-
Shaun blanches.
"Rebecca! Becca! What's going on?" Lucy questions, lips pulled down in worry. "What-?"
The only answer Rebecca gives, however, is sliding the notepad that she had been scribbling on towards them.
"Second...crazed knife wielding maniac on the run...described as a medium build hooded male in late 20's." Lucy reads, her uncertainty turning into incredulousness. "Accompanied by a possible hostage and/or accomplice?!"
It takes Shaun a great amount of restraint to not bang his head on the nearest wall.
"Desmond!" There is a rare instance when William's mask breaks and the worried father that hid behind the assassin's exterior shutters out at the sight of his son collapsing. Fear, just as fresh and potent as when he'd first discovered his son's disappearance from The Farm cripples him for a moment, seizing his heart painfully before he pulls it tightly inward and lets professionalism slide into place to check over his son. Altair, whom had managed to catch Desmond before he hit the ground, holds Desmond's head steady as William cards the younger assassin's hair back to examine the wound.
Altair is about to alert the other man of the bandages in his back pouch when the air seems to still around them with the arrival of a crunching noise. He's reminded of trader carts treading through gravel until he finally catches sight of the sleekest of dark metal pulling up across the mouth of the alley and slowing to a stop with an unhurried, shrill sound that makes Altair's teeth itch.
He applies a firmer grip Desmond's body, body shifting towards the direction of the nearby fire escape. Between fight or flight, the latter is a smarter move given their situation.
William doesn't recognize the car and as he slowly rises to his feet, his hand moves to rest over the pistol hidden in his coat. A firm look is shot at Altair, and Altair doesn't miss the clear message of, 'take Desmond and run' in the elder man's eyes if the situation turned unfavorable.
However, when the passenger window of the automobile rolls down and a familiar face pokes out, William lets himself relax.
"'lo there, Bill!" The man drawls, a lazy grin stretching the grays of his face. "Need a ride?"
There is a faint, phantom throbbing in Altair's head. He's honestly not quite sure if its source is from his shared link to Desmond or the insufferable artificial smell of pine in the automobile's airspace. His hand moves up to massage his temple and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Desmond's father and the strange man that had ushered them into the vehicle watch him in a half-curious-half-measuring way before returning to their hushed conversation.
Not for the last time, Altair wishes he could understand them. He is irritated that he doesn't know what they are talking about, but at the very least, he is comforted that in his Eagle Vision, the man does shine an ally blue. He idly wonders where they are going but it's not like he could ask and receive an actual answer. Instead, he focuses on cataloguing the two men.
Desmond's father has the air of a leader, Altair notes. (The thought of 'leader' reminds him of Al Mualim and though it has been a weeks since that fateful day, his once father-figure's betrayal still aches his heart.) He's able to infer that the elder is an assassin despite not seeing the signature absence of a ring finger. ('Perhaps we share a different mark these days.') Altair eyes the butt of the gun visible from its holster of William's jacket, knowing that though the man is past his prime, he is obviously still able. From the lines down his face that set a severity to complexion to the hardness in his eyes, William Miles is not a stranger to hardship.
His companion, however, seems like a stark contrast. The man is easier with his smiles-and even then they appear more like indulging smirks that reminded him of Malik on his snarkier of days. Despite the laid back and easygoing nature that the man exhibits however, Altair isn't as foolish as to write off the other assassin completely. There was a sharp, calculating steel in the man's gray eyes that Altair had witnessed when the other man had assessed him.
The word, 'Masyaf' enters their conversation suddenly, and Altair can't help but raise his head curiously at that.
The strange man meets his questioning gaze with raised eyebrows, trading a look of just a mild sort of skepticism to William before shrugging and acknowledging Altair with suddenly an almost giddy sort of grin. He sticks his hand out and to Altair's surprise, speaks in perfect (albeit slightly odd and accented) Arabic.
"Peace be upon you. The name's Gavin Banks. Nice to meet you, friend."
Blinking down his surprise at the greeting, Altair nods respectfully, clasping the proffered hand with his own and shaking firmly.
"And unto you, peace. I am Altair Ibn La'Ahad. It is nice to meet you as well and I thank you for your aid."
Gavin grins wider at that, and beside him, William seems to roll his eyes. He receives a jab of an elbow from his friend for that.
"Hey, can you really blame me? It's not every day that I get to meet a legend in the flesh!" Gavin laughs. He switches to Arabic. "So, it looks like I picked you guys up from quite a tussle back there." He jerks his head towards Desmond's unconscious form. "What happened to the kid?"
Altair hesitates for a moment, lips pursing unhappily before explaining their brief training, Desmond's accostment while on their way back to the Hideout, and the subsequent meeting of Desmond's father. There is an expression on William's face that says that he knows more than what Altair is letting on but is not willing to pursue at the moment. (William's entire demeanor screams 'displeased leader' to Altair, and instinctively, Altair is wary and not looking forward to when the elder man is ready to approach the subject.) If Gavin recognizes the look, he doesn't speak of it. Rather, he hums under his breath, looking at his nephew-(the kid was pretty much his nephew, really) - pensively.
"I saw the kid puke back there. He could have a concussion. I'd have Chewy take a look at him, but I told the crew to leave port for a bit as to not arouse suspicion."
William waves him off, opting to lend a parental hand to steady Desmond's veering head when the car turns a corner. His thumb carefully slides over a particularly bloody bump. "It's nothing serious. He just needs rest. I've already contacted my people to make arrangements, however."
The car lurches over a speed bump, making Desmond's head bounce on William's shoulder. It's enough to jostle the novice awake and cause a miserable groan to fill the car.
"Ugh, my head..." Desmond hisses roughly. In his mind, he feels a distinct and familiar twinge that feels like a 'hello-welcome-back' and returns Altair's greeting ('This is still really weird, but-okay.') by nudging Altair's shoulder with his own minutely.
"Well, blunt force trauma will do that, kid." Gavin remarks lightly.
"How are you feeling, son?" William asks instead.
Desmond cracks an eye open before squeezing it shut again when that just makes his head flare in pain. "Like I really shouldn't be conscious right now. Where...?" His eyes sweep over the enclosed space of the car, taking in his whereabouts slowly before they settle on Gavin and squints. "Hey... I know you..."
The gray haired man smiles and waves a hand pleasantly. "Gavin Banks. I'm an old friend of your dad."
"You were-goddamn, ow!-" Desmond bats his dad's hand that had been gingerly examining his aching head. "-at the Farm. What are you doing here?" Desmond glances up pointedly at his father, a wry expression on his face. "What are you both doing here?"
"Business reasons." William mutters gruffly, removing his hands in displeasure. There's an odd note in his voice that Desmond can hardly grasp at before the man gives the former bartender a meaningful look, gaze going to Altair with an almost sour expression, before settling back on his son. "And a favor. Your mother has been worried."
Desmond jerks as if burnt at that and clutches his dad's arm quickly. He is only mildly aware of Altair tensing at the spike of alarm/fear that jolts through his own mind before it is soothed over when he recognizes the cause. "Is she—?!"
"She's fine." William informs him hastily, eyes softening just slightly. "She's safe."
"As safe as any arms dealer is, really." Gavin mutters under his breath. He goes to reach for a pack of smokes (guiltily, of course, because what would Saeko-obaachan say?) but stops when he realizes how culturally insulting that would be. (The car was a rental, after all.)
"You're sure?" Desmond presses, swallowing thickly. "I mean— Vidic said—Mom and the rest of the people at the Farm didn't break into and attack Abstergo to get me out right?"
"Whoa there kid." Gavin holds up a hand, leaning forward with a serious expression on his face. "I'm going to go on a limb here and assume that this 'Vidic' character was the man in charge of your incarceration, but what's this about an attack on Abstergo?"
"On the last day that I was in Abstergo-before Lucy got me and Altair out- I heard gunfire and Vidic said that they were people from the Farm that had come to bust me out."
"Desmond." William places a steadying hand on his son's shoulder, a frown on his face. "There's no way that could have been possible. The Farm was evacuated hours before it was razed, and even then, we couldn't have possibly mobilized anyone to your location." He adds skeptically, "Especially in broad daylight."
Gavin snorts.
"Good." Desmond bites out, before hastily reiterating. "I mean, I figured as much, but if that's the case... then what was that gunfire I heard?"
The car slows to a stop before anyone can answer, effectively pulling their attention as the divider screen rolls down and the driver quietly informing them that they had arrived to their destination.
"We're here! Hideout, sweet hideout!" Gavin sings. He's the first to jump out of the car and stretch his legs before opening the car door wider and ushering the other assassins out. "Come, let's get Mr. Hastings to take a look at you."
"Oh, yay." Desmond grouses. He's looking forward to that.
As Altair gets out of the car, he spares a calculating look at the elder assassins. He hadn't missed their silent, tense exchange at Desmond's question.
"This whole thing doesn't sit right."
In the comfortable silence of the space not too far from the younger assassins, William is more than inclined to agree.
"I told Adriano not to retrieve Desmond." William begins steadily. "The gunfire that Desmond said he heard—it couldn't have been his team. I didn't authorize any rescue attempts at all. Whatever he heard, it wasn't from our Order."
Gavin rubs his chin thoughtfully. "I'll have someone try to get the audio file if not the security footage of that—assuming they haven't scrubbed it clean yet."
"Please do. Something about this just doesn't add up." William shifts, attention going to study the other assassins for a moment. His gaze lingers on his son the longest and Gavin wonders what William is thinking for that flash of anger and regret to cross his face like that.
"What's more- they also knew the location of the Farm. We've been careful-very careful, since the Purge."
And Desmond, Gavin thinks, a 16-year-old at the time, most likely had not. "You think the kid could've—"
"No." William turns his head away. "After nearly ten years of being gone, Desmond seemed perfectly happy to never mention it." There's a bitter edge to his voice. "Why start now?"
"The missus said that you all evac-ed on Ms. Stillman's warning, right?"
"That's right. She informed Rebecca and Shaun here and then they sent an alert to us."
"She worked under this Vidic character, right? The same guy who found your son at-what was it-the Bad Weather?"
William grimaces. "Don't remind me."
Because really, a bartender? His son had run away from home to become a bartender?
"It's not a bad place, Bill!" Gavin laughs. "A birdie told me that the owners' been missing their bartender. Said he made a mean," The aged man smirks, "Shirley Templar."
"If that didn't tip them off, I don't know what did." William says dryly. "It was lucky that Lucy was the one to retrieve him when they found him."
"Good timing for the Templars, huh?" Gavin murmurs, his lightheartedness fading. "Especially considering what those sons of bitches did to their last guest."
William's jaw clenches at the mention of that before his brows crease as the information fully registers. "The timing is actually perfect."
"Hm?"
"The same day that Lucy breaks Desmond out of Abstergo is the same day that the Farm is burned." William says slowly.
"Don't forget this supposed," Gavin makes air quotes. "'attack' on Abstergo to get the kid out which also happens at the same time, more or less."
The unofficial Mentor ponders it for a moment, before sighing irritably. "We're missing something, but what?"
"Bill." Gavin sets a firm hand on his long time friend's shoulder. "Give it time. We'll figure it out." A slow grin crawls up his face. "I'd call the missus if I were you, though. Maybe she's got some leads, 'specially with her connections."
At the thought of his wife, William's posture relaxes slightly.
"Perhaps."
"So, here I was on my way to the harbor when what do I hear from my people at the local station? Another crazed maniac running around this city who happens to match the description of the Abstergo kidnapper that the media's been calling for just days prior!" Gavin sighs theatrically. "What a coincidence, huh?"
"Coincidence implies a situation in which events happen at the same time in a way that is not planned or expected. This-" Shaun presses down harder than necessary, making Desmond yelp and Altair wince minutely. ("Oh, really Desmond, don't be a baby.") "—is definitely not unexpected."
"More like a pattern now, if anything!" Rebecca chirps, pulling up a chair which William nods in thanks for.
"On the upside, it's four less stitches than before." Lucy says, smiling sympathetically but there is just the slightest of strain in the corner of her eyes.
"Three." This is accompanied by another grunt from their novice assassin ("Gentle! Please!") before Shaun is finished, backing up a bit to remove and throw away his bloodied surgical gloves. "The vomiting is concerning, but that's the only sign I'm seeing of a possible concussion." Shaun adds, answering William's unasked question. "We'll watch him in case though."
"I see." William says calmly, despite the minute tightening of his hands as he eyes the messily shaved patch of stitched skin on his son's head. "That was a stupid stunt—going out like that in Templar territory."
Desmond's lips curl, his jaw locking. "It wasn't—"
"It was my suggestion." Shaun says quickly. He doesn't react to Desmond's startled look as William's attention goes to him. "Under a...request... I was asked for Desmond to not be present at your arrival. Unfortunately, it seems you got to him first."
William frowns before he seems to connect the dots and a half-exasperated-half-fond expression crosses his face. There was really only one person who had the gall to request that. "Of course."
"Wait, you all knew my dad was coming?!" Desmond demands in annoyance.
"Well, we didn't know exactly who was coming at first." Lucy placates calmly. "But it doesn't matter anymore."
"What does matter is we get you trained." Williams says firmly. "And that means a more rigorous Animus regime considering how I've seen how your current pace is barely teaching you enough to defend yourself."
"Hey, can I help it if shit happens?" Desmond scowls, temper rising at his father's patronizing tone. "I'm getting there anyways. Altair's been helping."
William balks at that. "From what I hear, I beg to differ."
"Your dad's got a point, kid." Gavin voices honestly, intervening before Desmond can retort. "You wouldn't believe the amount of calls I've had to make to 'clean up' Altair's alleyway rampage and dispute any witness reports."
("But really, how many?" "Like, nine.")
"In any case, what is your plan with your unintended guest?" William asks instead, keeping his temper at his son's attitude in check. From what he had read from Lucy's most recent messages regarding Altair, the Master assassin was very attached to his son—uncomfortably so. While it makes the paternal side of him raise its hackles, the more logical and strategic side of him cannot help but wonder at the possible advantages of it. Lucy could provide no reason why or how of Altair's coming as her report ended with the Syrian clamming up during that questioning, but whatever the case, William's instinct tell him that there is little that he can actually do (if any) to make the Syrian leave Desmond alone.
As such, perhaps there is some use in the living relic.
"Nothing that you have a say in." Desmond snarls, eyes narrowing as if he knew exactly what William is thinking. It hadn't been hard to miss the contemplative look in the old man's eyes when he looked at Altair and there was no way in hell he was going to let his father use Altair for anything. Either way, while Lucy, Rebecca, Shaun, and him had had not officially talked about Altair's purpose for being in their time was, there had been an unspoken agreement between them that while the modern assassins would take charge, Altair would remain a spectator and unofficial (to Shaun's everlasting glee) watchdog in case things went south. Besides Lucy, their group had little combat skills (that Desmond knew of, at least) and having a Master assassin on their side was beneficial.
Altair didn't seem to have any qualms either with that arrangement. However, he did shoot a troubled look at Lucy, which Desmond couldn't help but feel mildly concerned and confused about. Had something happened between the two? (Because honestly, he had expected Altair to be unfavorable towards Shaun because of how snippy the brunet was, but Lucy? She had rescued them, after all!)
"Think of Altair as a tourist." Desmond continues, shrugging haphazardly. "Once he's done doing his thing here, he'll be on his way." His stomach drops strangely at the thought.
"And that 'thing' is...?"
"Oh, you know, this and that. Whatever Master assassins do." Desmond shrugs, not budging a bit when his dad glares at him.
The Mentor frowns deeply, extremely displeased with the vague answer. Gavin, on the other hand, has a very intrigued look in his eyes.
"You are able to go back to your time whenever you want?" Gavin inquires at Altair, leaning forward in his chair in fascination.
Altair hesitates at the question. While he knows that the elder assassin means well, something tells him that it perhaps it isn't the best idea to disclose information of the piece of Eden in his care. Instead, he shrugs noncommittally, the corners of his mouth shifting upwards slightly when the other immediately deflates.
"Your ancestor is a tease." Gavin bemoans, shooting a half-hearted glare at Desmond. "Think of how happy Emmett would have been. He's always dreamed of punching Hitler in the face." Gavin pauses. "Well, he was high at the time, but I'm sure that's pretty close to the top on his list."
(Behind him, Lucy mouths, 'Emmett?' questioningly while Shaun and Rebecca can only shake their heads with her same boggled expression.)
"I don't think it works like you think it does." Desmond chuckles, and holds his hands up in faux surrender when Gavin looks ready to inquire more. "Not that I know for sure either! I was pretty much delirious with my Eagle Vision when Altair popped up."
"Eagle Vision?!" Gavin and William exclaim at the same time, varying degrees of surprise on their faces.
"Uh, yeah." Desmond blinks. "You know about that?"
"Your dad's crap at it, but I can manage it, though it is particularly draining." Gavin tells him with a sigh. It had taken him a long time with a lot of training and practicing to draw out and maintain his own special talent. While the skill was unbelievably useful, he wasn't as young as he used to be, and extended use of it often left his eyes strained and energy waning. He was the only assassin that he knew of in the brotherhood who had ability and it alleviates his mind that he wasn't the only one any longer.
He chances a glance at William, expecting to see pride in his old friend's expression, but is surprised to see instead dismay and—was that concern?
'Well that can't be good.
"When was this?" William asks finally.
Desmond rubs his neck uncomfortably. "After finishing the last memory in Abstergo, I went back into my room and my vision just went weird. All of the sudden, I saw things that weren't there before. It was all over the walls—weird symbols and messages."
Behind, Lucy goes very still.
"I think they were written in blood." Desmond grimaces, a phantom anxiety settling over as he remembered that unpleasant experience and the sickness that had ensued. "Next thing I know, I'm puking my guts up and Altair is there in the flesh, teaching me how to make my vision go back to normal."
"The Bleeding Effect could have facilitated that development." Shaun muses out loud, hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
The elder assassins, however, are more focused on another detail.
"Did you say there were symbols and messages on the walls?" William asks curiously. "Would you be able to recall and illustrate them if needed?"
"I think so, but not all of them" Desmond answers slowly, eyebrows creasing in thought. Truth be told, he'd rather forget all about the haunting images, but whatever they were, he got a sense that they were somehow important.
William breathes in deeply and exhales a long sigh. "Please do. Shaun, I want you to analyze what Desmond can recall and see what they mean. They could have been…" He trails off distantly.
Shaun doesn't miss a beat. "Of course."
"Thank you." William pauses and for some reason, Desmond has a bad feeling. This is confirmed when his dad speaks again. "Now, if you would kindly—I need to speak with my son privately."
Desmond's mouth curls. He hates being right.
There's a long, tense silence when everyone clears out. Desmond doesn't miss the sympathetic looks that the modern assassins shoot his way since they are well aware of Desmond's past with his father.
Desmond tries not to fidget under the feeling of his father's gaze, feeling an unexplainable mix of irritation and anger churn in his chest as the seconds tick by. He feels like he'll say something he'll regret if he meets his dad's eyes and as such, keeps his eyes firmly trained past his dad's right ear.
Despite running away all those years ago, never once did Desmond expect to never see his family ever again. It wasn't a fantasy that he dared to indulge in and now that he was involved in the Assassin-Templar conflict, avoiding his family was no longer an option considering how chin deep—drowning—they were in it.
Sometimes, Desmond wonders what would have happened if he had bought the entire thing from the start. Would he have continued his father's rigorous training regime, building himself to become another soldier in an age-old war? Would it have made a difference? Would he himself have made a difference?
Would he have been happy?
Desmond doubts the last part. He never would have discovered mixology, which he really did genuinely enjoy. He never would have met Lucy and Altair. He never would have met Rebecca and Shaun (the latter whom, despite being an utter jerk, was starting to grow on him like some sort of spore mold.)
Questions like that—he's happy to avoid thinking of altogether. He doesn't regret leaving the Farm, after all.
And yet…
"We looked, you know."
Desmond blinks out of his reverie at the quiet statement. He knows where William is starting at.
"Your mother noticed you first from our bedroom window." The unofficial Mentor continues and Desmond's heart squeezes painfully. He remembers that detail and how he had forced himself to ignore his mother's screaming to come back. When Desmond chances a glance, he sees his father looking away, mouth drawn and expression unreadable. "We tracked you down as far as Indiana before your trail went cold."
Desmond keeps silent.
"You popped up again in the Pennsylvania Department of Licensing system." The older man's mouth ticks up in a ghost of a rueful smile. "Motorcycle license."
Desmond winces. IDs, he could fake, but there were little means he had to fake a fingerprint. At that time, he did not think it would have had such significance. Considering their technical capabilities, Abstergo could have easily found and traced him just from that. It's probably how Abstergo found him in New York as he had had to go through the DOL again.
"Where are you going with this?" Desmond asks instead. He still doesn't make eye contact with the older assassin, instead moving his eyes to focus on the mysterious dark stain on the hems of his father's pants. ('Oh wait, that's where I upchucked. Cool.')
"Why did you run away?"
Of course that is the first thing his father asks, and Desmond can't help it; he laughs.
"I think the right question is why I didn't sooner." Desmond says once his laughing fits cedes to humorless chuckles. "Think about it dad, we were hiding in the middle of nowhere, isolated from the outside world, and basically believing that people were out to get us. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought we were Amish." Desmond stops to give a mildly ashamed expression. "Actually, I take that back. I'm sorry, that was disrespectful to Amish people everywhere."
"Desmond." William's jaw clenches. "It was for our safety."
"Fat load of good that did!" Desmond hisses. "I'm lucky that that didn't make me mentally fucked up because seriously, that was a shitty environment to grow up in!"
His father scoffs and says sarcastically, "And you grew up just great on your own, huh?"
"I think I came out fantastically, considering the circumstances."
"And meanwhile, your mother—"
"Don't." Desmond snarls, body jerking forward with such a force that makes his still healing shoulder scream in protest and his head pound. "Don't you dare bring up mom."
His dad raises an eyebrow, a vaguely unimpressed look crossing his face before he shrugs it off as if deeming it irrelevant.
Which, really only pisses Desmond off more.
"I didn't come here to argue with you." William says before Desmond can get a word in. He folds his fingers together and there's a gleam in his eyes—a darker shade of gold than Desmond's own—that Desmond recognizes is purely reserved for 'business.'
Desmond crosses his arms, scoffing. "Good job."
William barely bats an eye.
"Shaun has told me of your deal with your…cooperation… with our plans. All I ask," The gray haired man silences Desmond's attempt to interrupt with a stern look, "is that you extend that agreement to me. You must understand that Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy work directly under me. As such, I do not want you fighting against me at every turn. I want you to listen and trust me in my decisions of your group. We have, after all, a common enemy."
'Tall order.' Desmond thinks. "And what's in it for me?"
"I would say mutual respect." William says simply and the term reminds Desmond of eavesdropped business deals between people and his dad behind thick, oak doors.
A ceasefire.
For now.
"Fair enough." Desmond acquiesces. He twitches a little (ignoring his father's scrutinizing expression) when he feels a nudge in the corner of his consciousness that Desmond is somehow able to distinguish as an, 'are-you-well-what-is-happening' sort of message. He had forgotten about Altair and their strange 'mind voodoo thing'. (He really has to think of a better description of that.)
"I want to add something else to our agreement." Desmond says suddenly.
William leans back, a measuring and half-interested look on his face. "I'm listening."
"I want your word that you'll keep all plans or ideas about Altair to yourself." At his father's raised eyebrows, Desmond carries on firmly. "I was serious about what I said about Altair being just a spectator and there is no way in hell that I'll let—"
"Done."
"—him get caught up in—wait, that's it?" Desmond blinks.
"I don't particularly trust him considering what I walked in on—" Williams begins.
"—Which wasn't what it looked like—" Desmond interrupts quickly.
"—however, you are not 16 anymore." Gray eyebrows crease. "And despite my feelings on the matter, I will...allow..." His father grimaces as if the words were increasingly hard for him to let out, "you to handle it on your terms as per our first agreement."
Desmond feels like a weight is lifted off his shoulders and he breathes easier. "Thank you."
"Of course, I'll have to add in my own demand now." William continues neatly. The best use for Altair, he knows inwardly, is of a silent blade to protect the younger assassins-something that the Syrian is already doing anyways and suited his plans (his peace of mind) just nicely. Let Desmond think he has the better end of the bargain. It would only work in his favor, anyways.
It is also a good excuse to request that thing.
Warily, Desmond nods.
"I want…"
"That…is an odd term to your deal."
Desmond shrugs, leaning against Lucy's desk as he and Altair watch William speak to said blonde. Desmond is mildly curious as to what they are talking about (their posture reflected a familiarity to each other, meaning that they must have been fairly well acquainted) but makes a note to ask Lucy later. A couple feet away, Rebecca is in an enthusiastic conversation about Baby with Gavin while Shaun gives the occasional nod or roll of his eyes. ("He rolled his eyes there." Altair reports. "Huh, that makes it a 1:3 ratio now!")
"You're telling me." Desmond sighs. "I mean, he could have asked for worse, and I'm glad as hell that he didn't but 'making up my time away by contacting mom'? That kind of came out of no where."
"Do you not have a good relationship with your mother?" Altair frowns.
"No, my only beef is with dad. I just…" Desmond struggles for words, shoulders slumping after a moment of trying and failing. "It's just been a while, you know?"
Altair hums; a wistful expression crossing his face that somehow makes Desmond feel like he's said something wrong, before it shifts to a neutral one. "Indeed."
There is a pause, before...
Altair frowns. "What does bovine have to do with anything?"
Desmond can't help it; he absolutely laughs.
"So! Do we need to prepare some rooms for you guys or is this a short pit stop?" Rebecca asks by the time Desmond and Altair join the group.
"A short one for the both of us, unfortunately. I got my crew waiting for me and Bill here…" Gavin trails off.
"Errands and the likes." William says blithely.
"What exactly do you do?" Desmond asks Gavin. While Desmond had seen Gavin at the Farm for years before he ran away, the man was really the only one he could remember who came and went frequently through their lands, which was odd considering the isolated nature of the Farm. At that time, he hadn't been interested enough to ask about it as he had still been in the mindset of everyone on the Farm being crazy (as such, he had figured that Gavin was probably an old friends who cared enough to visit his dad and didn't have the heart to stop when his dad went nuts) but now that he knew that they really weren't crazy, well…
Gavin considers it for a moment as if he had never really put much thought on the position he had attained. "I'm a… well, in a supplier position, I guess you can say. If there's any team that has needs, I'm one of the guys that'll pass the message along if not help get it for you."
"Gavin currently co-mans a mobile headquarters for us with his crew, as well." William acknowledges.
"The Altair II." Gavin states proudly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as he spares an amused look in Altair's direction. "After the brightest star in the Aquila constellation and, well, that guy over there."
Altair blinks when attention is suddenly placed on him, not quite understanding why until Desmond leans over to repeat it in Arabic, to which Altair promptly gives an utterly brief, but entertained chuckle.
"What happened to the first one?" Lucy frowns.
"Well, Susan got to it before me and after an interesting altercation with Japanese whalers, half of it is currently at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean and the other half resides as décor on the Altair II." The older man cheerfully. "Susan is the captain of the Altair II at the moment as unfortunately for me, I do not have the… appropriate qualifications." His phone gives a cheerful chirp, a message flashing on the screen that makes Gavin crack a grin at because of the sheer number of carefully polite and impatient verbiage in it (which basically equated to Susan's own form of cursing to get his ass moving.) "Speak of the devil."
"We'd best get moving then." William says lightly. "I'll be in touch."
"In the mean time, Desmond, Altair?" Said assassins look up at Gavin's call of their name. The elder assassin gestures at a couple cardboard boxes on the ground filled at what Desmond can identify as various electronics with jutting wires. "Mind bring these out to the car? I'm afraid my back's not as it used to be."
"Uh, yeah! Sure!" Desmond assents while Altair nods, having already pieced together what the elder wanted.
William waits until the two are out of the room before he speaks in a low tone only meant for one particular person's ear.
"Lucy?"
"Yes?"
"The cell that you gave Desmond... Do you still have its current GPS location?"
Lucy blinks for a moment before she straightens in understanding, her blue eyes flashing like a predator. "Of course."
"Excellent."
'I'm going to have to make more arrangements, aren't I?' Gavin sighs when he sees the calculating gleam in the other man's eyes, but it's with an exasperated sort of amusement that is really only used when he it involves Bill. The other man is quiet, but Gavin has known Bill his entire life. There is a victorious air around his best friend and just underneath that, a contentment that Gavin can only assume had come from talking with his son.
Though Gavin knows that while William may not have patched up everything with Desmond, it's a start—and he's extremely proud and happy with that.
Bill had never quite been the same since Desmond ran away. Whatever softness that Bill had in him left with his son and Gavin knows that while Bill wasn't the best father-figure in the world, there had never been a doubt in his mind that Bill didn't love his son. Gavin won't say that that justified William's actions over the years, but it's not to say that he didn't understandwhy.
He'd been there when Desmond had been born—seen the wonder that had bloomed across the Miles patriarch's face at the infant. It's a memory he keeps close to his heart, serving as another reason why he fights as hard as he does for their Creed and his best friend.
Gavin blinks and images of the desperation and sheer determination in William's person over the years after that day flash underneath his eyelids, and he has to shake his head to dispel the imagery that makes him both admire and pity the man—because there are few who can break someone like Bill.
'And one of them has a problem with authority.' Gavin inwardly laughs though a part of him fears the day if that ever happened.
"Recognize this area?"
The inquiry snaps Gavin out of his reverie and he looks over at the text on William's phone, leaning back with eyebrows raising high when the name sparks familiarity.
"Broncato territory." Gavin appraises, recalling the information the Florentine assassins had once given him. "I heard they've been going off the tracks since their new management."
"Hm..." William hums levelly, which Gavin translates as Bill-speak for, 'I will have a long chat with their Boss and sort this out in the most 'diplomatic' way possible.'
Gavin snorts.
And he thought the Missus was the vengeful one of the Miles family.
He really should have known better considering how prior to picking up Altair, Desmond, and his best friend, Bill had been eluding Abstergo personnel after exacting his own personal revenge on the company.
'Troublesome lot.' The pepper haired man thinks fondly and across from him, William smiles.
A few hours later when Desmond is tucked away in the Animus 2.0 and Altair is at their makeshift shooting range, Shaun is confused and not quite sure what is going on in his life anymore.
Because really, why had there been a fruits basket in front of the Hideout?
And why in the hell had it been sent with a written apology from a notorious Italian mafiosa?
A/N: Gavin's a cool guy. I like to imagine that he doted on baby Desmond and was often given the duty as babysitter by Desmond's mom while at the same time, giving William mild heart attacks whenever he did.
While it has been a long time (more than a year now since I last updated BD,) I want to make it known that I do not intend to stop writing Binary Duality. Despite any long, long, long, breaks I may take, I will always be writing something Assassin's Creed-esque. (Maybe some Watch Dogs too actually because that game is cool.)
I read all my reviews, and while I do not get around to replying to all of them (which I really should be doing) I do very much appreciate every one of you. I am both sincerely thankful and happy that you've kept up with me even after my long periods of not writing. I'm also honored that some would even go as far as to ask if I am well and alright. As such, thank you. Thank you for everyone who had reviewed, fav-ed, alerted, and dropped a PM—for supporting me for so long and still. I sincerely appreciate it all.
Until next time!
nikaris