It was just… weird.
Okay that was an understatement. It wasn't just weird it was fucking bizarre.No two ways about it. Desmond was cleaning out the little bits of his hidden blade of sand and dirt and fuck all else that managed to get into it at the dining table, and kept glancing into the living room. Ezio and Jake were on the couch, watching something that looked very much like a Bollywood movie, sometimes he heard them laugh. He squinted at them both and then turned back to his blade.
It had been about a week since Altair had come back and a week of… of Jake. Not Jacob. No, he said to call him Jake now, and Jake didn't like Hawk but that was okay since they hadn't really seen Hawk in a week either though Altair promised he wasn't dead or hurt, just after the first time they'd met afterwards Jake had punched Hawk in the face, and might have kicked him in the balls too…
At the very least it had been explained to him. Because this shit had to be explained or he'd go insane. Ezio had done that since after the whole… thing at the beginning Altair had left, muttered something about Hawk and Desmond had marked out a ten foot air cushion between Altair and Jake that Altair was freakishly aware of and always maintained since the whole, kissing… thing. He didn't really want to think too hard about this bit though.
So, it went something like this, and it still sort of hurt to think about actually, just like everything else in Desmond's life actually when he thought about it. Hawk had been using the Apple to let parts of Jacob's ancestors Bleed into him, ones that were helpful at any rate. It was going pretty well till apparently up till a few weeks ago, a bit before Dubai, at least on Jacob's end, though he'd hidden it from them. Ezio had berated him for that saying that since Jacob hadn't said anything this mess was really now his own fault as they could have fixed it before it got out of hand like this. But moving on. So Jacob had been Bleeding through, and more then Hawk thought. It had gotten to the point Desmond had been to when he'd been in Italy, before going to Rome, he saw things he shouldn't see and had bad dreams. Apparently he was sleep walking as well (which explained how he'd ended up in Desmond's room that one time). Like Desmond and Clay he had better days then others.
The day Altair showed up he'd been Bleeding a tribal shaman from Pakistan, badly, and been freaking out since apparently there wasn't just that shaman in there at one time, but others. Desmond didn't even want to comprehend how terrifying that must have been. To not just be yourself, but to not just be someone, but someones. He was glad he'd only ever lived through Altair and Ezio, two men, Hawk had been putting Jacob through a dozen or so. He'd seen what happened to men who went through that. They turned into Clay and tried to kill themselves. It made sense now why Jacob had become so withdrawn, not talking to them,doing as he was told, and in general being a hermit.
Altair's appearance that day had jostled his brain and all the others in there because apparently several of his ancestors knew Altair. That sort of made sense though as Altair was old and had known a lot of people, a lot of Assassins. It had been too much for Jacob though, and he'd passed out and then stopped breathing.
What Altair had done was do what he could. Desmond didn't want to know the amount of skill it had to take to do what Altair did. As it was Desmond could do plenty of things with the Apple, but he also couldn't do a lot of things either. He definitely couldn't do what Altair had done. He'd managed to fix Jacob. Mostly anyway. But like he'd said, he wasn't like Desmond. He wasn't like Clay either for that matter. Because the Bleed was from real Ancient tech, and not fake Ancient tech, the damage done was easier to mend, but not reversible. Never reversible. You could just fix it. What he hadn't counted on though was that the very fact that Altair messing with his head was the reason Jacob was now Jake in the first place. Yes he'd stopped the Bleed, all the Bleeding, from all of Jacob's ancestors.
Except
One.
That was really Altair's fault though. The very fact that Altair was even there was what made Malik just… stick. Though he supposed that given the real Malik's general personality and sheer bullheadedness for doing and getting whatever he wanted he couldn't exactly feel surprised at that after he got past the initial shock.
But like Altair had said. Jake wasn't like Desmond, and he wasn't like Clay. Clay and Desmond had either been themselves, or they'd been someone else, there was no middle for them. In Clay's case now it was weird because the Clay now was not the Clay he'd started out as. This was a different Clay that sometimes wasn't Clay and while he claimed to just be able to see the memories 'like on a TV' he knew it wasn't so, because he sometimes was someone else during training. He had a feeling Clay had a greater control of his own Bleeding and memories then Desmond's ancestors thought, and could turn it on and off like a light switch. In Desmond's case he was just Desmond. Altair had been able to stop the Bleed before it had gotten too out of hand and while he sometimes had strange dreams, or thought maybe he could feel others, not Altair and Ezio, pushing at the gates of his mind, he was very much still himself. He was even the himself he'd been before this whole stupid bullshit started. Sure he was a bit tainted, but that sort of happened. But he was never Altair, he was never Ezio, he was always just himself.
Jake wasn't that. Wasn't either of that.
Instead he was both himself, and all his memories and experiences and thoughts and feelings and vices and personality, and Malik, and all his memories and experiences and thoughts and feelings and vices and personality. At the same time. All the time. In that there was no 'Jacob' but neither was there really 'Malik'. But there was Jake.
And this was where Desmond's head started to hurt thinking about it all. Because he could understand being one or the other. But both? Both, at the same time.
At the very least it had given Jacob his scathing tongue back, and his sarcasm, though Desmond wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing. On the other he hadn't been able to move his left arm for about four days. Too much Malik in his head saying he didn't have an arm but he did have an arm and the Jacob knew he had an arm and it was just really confusing Desmond didn't know why he was doing this to himself it was sort of impossible to think about Jake and not nearly give himself a brain hemorrhoid.
So now they had Jake. Because when asked what he wanted to be called, as he'd told he was both Jacob and Malik and either of those names were just sort of weird to him at this point, he'd said Jake. Because he'd never been a Jake before, always a Jacob, and this seemed like a perfectly good time to be a Jake.
And now you see why this shit gave Desmond a headache. (And no he wasn't even going to think about the kiss thing thank you very much. He was sort of just pretending it hadn't happened. That Jake hadn't first kissed Altair and then him.)
He cursed when he dropped a screw and ducked under the table to go get it and found it against the table leg. From the living room there was some laughter and as he sat up he bumped his head on the underside of the table, though it wasn't till he was sitting upright that he dropped the screw again in surprise when he jumped. "Holy shit Clay," he said, hand over his heart, which was beating a bit quicker then normal. "You scared the shit out of me."
Clay chuckled, "Sorry," and sat down across from him as he went to get the screw from where it'd fallen, again.
"What's up?" he asked once he was right side up and put the screw with the other screws as he finished taking the blade apart so he could clean it properly. He realized he'd already cleaned it, while thinking about the whole Jake… thing, and was doing it again because he needed to be doing something. Whatever, his hidden blade could never be too clean, right? Right. Or that's what he told himself anyway.
"You seem distracted," Clay said. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. Honestly it's like everyone just got a new baby or something," and he chuckled. Desmond didn't share his amusement. "What?"
"Can you just… not? Maybe?"
"Not what?" he just seemed confused.
"Do this whole… thing," and he waved his hand as if to convey some deeper meaning whatever 'thing' he was talking about. He wasn't even quite sure what he meant himself.
"I'm not doing anything," Clay said and drummed his fingers on the table top a few times.
"You know what I mean."
"I most certainly do not."
"You just want to hear me say it." Clay didn't reply instantly and Desmond narrowed his eyes at him. "Weirdo."
"Hey now, that's mean."
"I've said worse about you."
"You have? When?"
Shit. Desmond needed to stop putting his big foot in his equally big mouth. "Well, okay, not you, but the you I knew, before you… I think," he tried to figure that out but really it didn't make any sense. Not really. Clay obviously had no idea what he was talking about. "In the Animus, you were there. You left part of yourself behind when you died."
"I did," Clay agreed. "To help whoever Subject Seventeen and beyond would be. Little things," he smiled pleasantly.
"And then… not ganna bring that up, seems weird, since I'm talking to you."
"You mean that I killed myself?"
Desmond winced, "You said it, not me."
"One prison and into another."
"What?"
"I can't really leave this island."
Desmond's brow furrowed. "But you do," he said.
"Not permanently, I can't."
"Says who?"
"Me."
Oh okay so it wasn't like the other old guys were locking him here. He'd have serious words if they had been. "What do you mean?"
"I only get one shot. If I die, that's it, I don't come back like the others do," he played with his hands on the table. "I-," he cleared his throat, "I'm afraid to die. For real. I've always come back, even when I thought I was going away for good," he laughed miserably. "You know how much it hurts to die," Desmond nodded, he did. "If I leave, I could just… disappear. Everything I've lived for- Everything I've done, or could do, will be for nothing. I don't have a legacy," he picked at his nails irritably. "I'm just a guy who can't die, and who knows the Truth that no one wants to know. If I leave…
"I get it," Desmond said, "It's okay."
Clay smiled, "Knew you'd get it. The other's think I'm silly."
"Yeah well, the others also don't pop up out of the ground after a few hours."
"Days usually."
"Days then, whatever. Point is, they're jaded assholes aren't they?"
"Gold plated more like," and Desmond laughed. "But what did you say, about me? The me before you met me, I mean?"
"Well. That you're crazy."
"I am," he smirked.
"Nothing really bad I guess. Beyond that. Though you helped me. A lot."
"Glad to be of assistance then," and he bowed over the table. "What else?"
"Well," he said slowly, "In the Animus, in the Black Room, you saved me. So there, you had a hand in making sure I'm here, indirectly though it was."
"Hmmm," and Clay steepled his fingers, gazing at them intently for a long time. Desmond looked back at what he was doing and finished disassembling the blade. He wiped and oiled it and was putting it back together when Clay spoke again. "That's good. Now lets see what I do next, eh?"
"I thought you weren't leaving the island?" Desmond said carefully fitting the blade into the sled.
"Well why not? I have a legacy now?" and he smiled widely at Desmond who stared at him for a few seconds before a smile tugged at his lips. He just chuckled and looked back down at his work, shaking his head slightly.