A month passed. Desmond heard nothing about the test he would have to take to prove himself an assassin. He knew it hadn't been forgotten. The looks he occasionally caught from the others were proof enough of that. And then, there was Darren.

As soon as he heard there was a chance of Desmond being made assassin he got mean again. It wasn't the same as when they were small- if it had just been Darren beating on Desmond, he could have handled it. He might even have welcomed a chance to beat Darren for once. But Darren's animosity now took a subtler form. Snide comments, derisive glances, the occasional whispered assurance that there was no way he could succeed. All perfectly calculated to get on Desmond's nerves.

As a form of stress relief, Desmond found himself doing an awful lot of complaining.

"And if I just punch him, I look like the bad guy." Desmond found himself, halfway through December, in the first civ tunnels under the school with Altair. His ancestor had been back in town for nearly two weeks, and at first, he'd found himself a little in awe, and embarresingly tongue tied. Altair was literally a legend among assassins, after all. But, when Connor and Lucy continued to take an 'it's your fault we told you not to' attitude, Altair started to seem like a good alternative.

"Maybe you should just punch him anyway," Altair suggested when Desmond stopped for breath.

"What?" Desmond stared at him. "That's terrible advice. I can't do that."

"Well in that case, stop complaining."

Desmond sighed. Altair's patience was also running out, apparently.

"have you tried talking to him?" Altair asked. "The assassins have always been a brotherhood. You should realize that you both work toward the same goal."

"He's not exactly the brotherly type," said Desmond. "More like he's just a jerk." He sighed and stood up- he'd come down to visit Altair straight after school, and it was nearly 6:30. "I should get going."

"I will walk with you," said Altair.

"I know how to get home," Desmond protested.

"I need some time out of the tunnels," said Altair, and his voice made Desmond swallow the rest of argument. Something about it just seemed so lonely.

-/-

It was a fifteen minute walk from the school, shortened to ten now that the weather had turned truly cold and hurrying home seemed a better idea than lingering. They walked in silence, giving Desmond a chance to examine Altair. There was no reason he had to spend all his time underground. He looked completely normal- a lot more normal than some of the people Desmond saw at school, honestly. He wore a hoodie, blue jeans, and scuffed white sneakers that crunched softly over the snow covered sidewalk with every step. He'd been born hundreds of years ago, but it wasn't like you could tell- at least, not until he needed to talk to someone and all the words he had were from languages that had changed a lot.

"Do you want to come over sometime?" Desmond asked. "Just, you know. Hang out. Somewhere with actual sunlight?" They had reached the street where the assassins lived, and stopped on the sidewalk to talk.

"Maybe." Altair looked a little surprised. "I-"

"Desmond!"

"Crap," Desmond muttered. He glanced over to see his father thirty feet away in their house's doorway. As usual, he looked unhappy. He made an apologetic face to Altair, and said, "I'd better go find out what he wants. See you around."

Altair waved and headed back up the street, where he was quickly swallowed up by the darkness of the December evening.

"Who was that?" Desmond's father demanded as soon as Desmond was inside.

"No one," Desmond lied. "Just some kid from school."

"You know you shouldn't bring people here," his father said. "What do you think would happen if he found out we're assassins?"

"Literally nothing," Desmond muttered under his breath.

"What was that."

"I said it's not that big of a deal."

"How much do you even know about him?" his father continued. "What if he turned out to be a templar spy?"

Desmond had to try very hard to keep from laughing at the idea of anyone mistaking Altair for a templar of any sort, but luckily his mother came into the room before he had to come up with an answer.

"There you are," she said, smiling. "Ready to go?"

"Go where?"

She turned to her husband and frowned. "Didn't you tell him?"

"I was getting to it."

"To what?" Desmond asked.

"Your test," said his father. "You ready to be a full assassin?" his tone made it clear he still thought the whole thing was a terrible idea. "Well pack your bags, you're going to Italy."

-/-

Desmond didn't actually pack any bags, but htree hours later he did find himself on a plane to italy on it's way out of O'Hare international airport, on his way to Italy. In the seat next to him sat Darren, the biggest down side to the mission. Desmond had actually felt pretty good coming in, considering he'd just been forced to bypass airport security (being an assassin, he didn't want to be tracked leaving the country). He'd been looking forward to this test for over a month, and the prospect of finally just doing it had him eager to get going.

The problem really was Darren.

As usual.

Desmon should have known he wouldn't be allowed to take this test without Darren. Everyone knew he had been waiting to be made assassin for a while, and from what he'd seen, Desmond had to admit he deserved it. And, he supposed, he wouldn't have actually minded if Darren was made assassin at the same time as him.

Unfortunately, he'd been told that he and Darren would be competing- they'd been sent to Abstergo's Italian branch (the same one Desmond had once been held captive in), to retrieve some sort of crucial information that apparently wasn't accessible from outside the building. The actual retrieval would be easy enough. Desmond and Darren each had what looked to be ordinary flash drives, although they had been assured the drives would do all the hard work of seeking out the files and creating copies.

The hard part, in Desmond's opinion, would be avoiding the bleeding effect. He'd had almost no problems since meeting Connor and Altair, but to actually be back there...

"Your dad told me to make sure the templars don't kill you," Darren said conversationally. "Because apparently nobody thinks you can-"

"Darren." Desmond took a deep breath to keep from yelling. "Can you please just give it a rest?"

"Fine," said Darren. To Desmond's further annoyance, he didn't sound bothered at all. "But I'll be saying I told you so after I have to drag your ass out of there."

Desmond scowled and turned to stare out the window. At the moment, the plane was stationary on the runway, offering an uninspiring view of tarmac and luggage carts. It was still better than looking at Darren.

-/-

Coming up next is one of the chapters I've been really looking forward to writing! I actually have it all rough draft-ed out and ready to type out, but it probably won't be up until at least Thursday, as I'm going to a dress rehearsal for a musical at my school tomorrow during my normal typing time. (In case you're wondering, it's called Three Penny Opera, which is based on Beggar's Opera, which is the show featured in ACIII... which may or may not be why I'm going in the first place. Don't judge me).

Or I might just type it out now. We'll see.