A/N: Don't kill me. I promise, promise, promise, swear on my life, that ShaunDes will happen. These things take time. And drama. And unnecessary complications. Natch.

SEE YOU TUESDAY, BITCHES. (ilu)

Sometimes Shaun wondered if Desmond was actually flirting with him, wondered if he was letting himself get carried away listening to the Italian flowing sensuously off his tongue, wondered if he really was so god damned desperate that even Desmond seemed like good company. Rebecca seemed to want nothing more than to spend her spare time with Lucy, and he figured she was long overdue a change in companions; no doubt his company was a bit strained after so many years. He knew he was sour, dour, and generally unfriendly, which made Desmond's persistence all the more intriguing, and possibly appealing. It didn't hurt that Desmond appeared to be openly impressed with Shaun's rapid study of the language, effectively stroking Shaun's ego. He'd gone beyond the need for notebooks and note cards for the most part, and did his best to converse with Desmond in Ezio's native tongue, relying on Desmond's knowledge to fill in whatever gaps remained.

For all his many intellectual talents, however, he was a lousy cook, and the too-soupy mess of tomato and soggy noodle that was supposed to be lasagna gave testimony to his failure as a culinary artist. He wished he wasn't so hungry, that he hadn't even bothered, had just let Desmond order a fucking pizza or something. But no, he had argued that they couldn't risk driving out to pick it up, and couldn't risk delivery, so Desmond had thrown up his hands and told him to fucking make something then, damn it, Christ, if he was going to be so damn difficult about it, while Lucy and Rebecca just watched them bicker, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

So he had. It had taken far too long and it looked disgusting, but it was something, and at least it smelled the way it was meant to. He hoped.

"I think the girls may have had the right idea," he moaned dramatically, prodding the mess swimming on his plate with his fork, his Italian coming out heavily accented because at that moment he could not be arsed to even try to get it right.

"Hm, it's not that bad," Desmond mumbled around a sloppy mouthful, smirking a little when Shaun gave him a look of unqualified disgust, then shrugged, swallowing. "What? At least it's edible."

"Lots of things are edible, Desmond. That doesn't make it palatable." A growl escaped his stomach, a loud complaint that had him digging into his food despite his objections; surprisingly, it was more bland than anything, and maybe the noodles were almost sickeningly slimy, but like Desmond had said, it was edible.

"I wonder if Leonardo was a good cook," Shaun mused, then washed his depressing dinner down with a mouthful of some cheap, equally uninteresting and barely-palatable beer, eyebrow shooting up when Desmond choked.

When he managed to clear his throat, Desmond gave a little helpless smile and said, "He cooked for Ezio a few times, you know."

Shaun perked up. "Oh? And how was it?"

A thoughtful expression came over Desmond's face, then cleared. "Heh, a bit like this, believe it or not. Maybe it's something about you geniuses, huh?" He snorted a little before Shaun could comment on that. "So, we get to talk about Leonardo tonight?"

Surprised, Shaun asked, "What do you mean?"

"I dunno," Desmond shrugged. "Just, almost every time we talk you ask about someone different. First it was La Volpe, then Antonio, then Paola, then Teodora. . ." He shrugged again, and once more Shaun was struck by the things Desmond remembered.

"Well, I suppose so, then."

Desmond leaned back in his chair, pushing his cleared plate away. "He's Ezio's closest friend, I can probably tell you a few things."

After a glance at his own half-finished lasagna, Shaun did the same. "Well, how does Ezio feel about him?"

Desmond stared at him a moment, and Shaun couldn't quite pick out the expression that struggled to make itself known on his face before he raised his eyebrows and said, "Ezio probably trusts him more than anyone else. Best friends, you know."

Shaun felt as though he was missing something, that Desmond was withholding information but was pretty sure if he pressed, Desmond would either clam up or evade the question as he so annoyingly tended to do when uncomfortable. He tried another avenue of inquiry. "Is it true that he's celibate?"

"I-I don't know." Desmond seemed truly taken aback by the question, as though he had never even considered that; Shaun must have forgotten to mention it in the database. "He's never mentioned it, and he's never really had any other guy friends around, at least that Ezio knew about, not really." He frowned a little at that, then said, "He could have been, I guess."

Shaun hummed, considering a few things, such as Desmond's apparent reluctance to discuss the matter, and the answer that did nothing to clear up that little mystery. Shaun personally doubted it, but until he had evidence, his suspicions were worthless. Not that he could do anything with those suspicions were they given a solid foundation, but as a matter of academic integrity, he thought it important nonetheless.

"Leonardo might be celibate, but Ezio is definitely a bit of a womanizer, yeah?" Now, that startled look on Desmond's face at the change of topic was almost endearing, if exaggerated, though it could also have been the abrupt switch to English that caught Desmond off guard, as Shaun was bloody tired of tripping over his own words.

"W- What makes you say that?"

"Oh, honestly Desmond, don't be so thick, it's not becoming. It was more or less a rhetorical question, I suppose, considering how obvious the answer is."

Desmond looked strangely amused. "You think so, huh?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't ask that. The man clearly got around." With a roll of his eyes, Shaun waved his hand somewhat derisively at Desmond. "You're probably the same way, though. It would explain you not noticing the glaringly obvious."

"You think I'm the same as Ezio?" Desmond managed to choke out through a very sudden fit of laughter that Shaun thought was entirely unwarranted.

Affronted for no good reason but the sneaking suspicion that he was being laughed at, Shaun snapped, "It's not that much of a stretch, considering how you flirt with Lucy and Rebecca. Being a bartender must have been just one roll in the hay after another for you." All right, so perhaps he was being somewhat facetious, because Desmond had a great laugh and the grumpier he seemed to get about the matter, the harder Desmond laughed.

"Not . . . not as much as you'd think, really," Desmond said between laughs, much to Shaun's everlasting skepticism. Seeing the look on his face, Desmond said, "No, seriously, unless I was planning on moving like, the next day, it didn't happen."

Shaun shook his head. "Those poor women," he said, and Desmond was laughing again, and Shaun was not delighted by his ability to inspire such a reaction. He was not.

Then Desmond got a sly look in his eye and asked, "Well, what about you?"

"What about me?" Shaun responded, with no small amount of contempt; he couldn't possibly be compared to someone so cavalier as Ezio or Desmond. He had standards.

"Well," Desmond said again, drawing out the word, and grinning, "that accent is pretty hot. You could probably get anyone you wanted."

All Shaun could do for a moment was gape before embarrassed heat flooded his face, and he sputtered indignantly, "Oh, thank you so much for exoticizing me, Desmond, that is very classy."

Still grinning, Desmond stood and walked to the kitchen door, ruffling Shaun's hair on the way. "You're pretty cute when you blush, too, Hastings."

"Are- are you flirting with me?" Shaun exclaimed, ducking away from Desmond's hand, twisting in his chair to see Desmond lean against the door jamb, looking unnecessarily mysterious.

"You said yourself I'm just like Ezio, what do you think?" Shaun didn't realize he'd been left to take care of the dishes until Desmond sauntered off, so, swearing (bloody wanker) and glowering, he began to clear the table, setting the plates in the sink with just enough force to be noisy, effectively communicating his irritation.

"Whoa, what's got your panties in a twist?" Shaun jumped a little, then peered over his shoulder to see Rebecca in the doorway, leaning just the way Desmond had been just a few minutes ago, and Shaun forced his thoughts away from that because he couldn't handle it if Rebecca saw him blushing.

"You do that on purpose, don't you?" Shaun asked, turning the water on.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me."

While he soaped up a dishrag, Rebecca came to stand next to him, back against the counter. She grinned at him. "Nah, you're just getting soft. Need help?"

He waved a soapy hand at one of the dry towels in a heap on the counter, then passed a now-clean plate to her. While she dried, he muttered, "I am not getting soft. And my panties aren't in a twist," and he scowled at that phrase, "Just annoyed. Desmond left me with this whole mess to take care of, swanning off to do whatever it is he does."

"What's the deal with you two, anyway? Are you . . .?"

"Are we . . . what?"

"You know," she said, elbowing him in the side.

"Ow. And no. My god, no, we are most certainly not. That. At all." Of course they weren't. He shook the soap and water off his hands after passing the casserole dish to Rebecca, having opted for pitching the leftovers rather than subjecting anyone else to that disappointment of a meal. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he thought a moment while she shrugged and dried. Since they were on the subject of that. . . "Actually, speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Yes." Her quick reply caught him off guard, as did the way she looked at him, drying her hands on the towel then setting it aside.

He shifted, turning to face her full-on, raising an eyebrow. "'Yes?' You don't even-"

"Oh, shut up, Hastings," and then she leaned in on tip-toe and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Ah. Right," Shaun said when she backed away, and he reached up to fuss with his glasses and, with any luck, hide the blush that had bloomed on his face once more.

"You're pretty cute when you blush," Rebecca teased. Shaun just groaned in embarrassed exasperation, because of course she would say that, and now his blush had very little to do with that kiss at all.

Neither of them noticed when Desmond appeared in the doorway, then retreated once more with a closed expression masking his face.