You guys are funny...


It looked like an archeological dig when Desmond pulled up to the chain link fence. From where he was he could see a large rocky outcrop, his night vision sharp and he could make out the shapes of excavation equipment. He didn't know where the Templars had set up, but he'd seen similar outposts along the road. Apparently they were just digging at random, hoping to strike gold, or oil. So far neither of them had found anything.

This was the biggest compound he'd found though so far. Meaning something big was happening here. The Canadian border was about fifty miles to the north of them and they were deep in the middle of fucking no where. Like the other compounds this one had guards, and sentries patrolling the perimeter, but Desmond was under the illusion of invisibility. He remembered, through Ezio, how much effort it had taken to do what he could do with the Apple. For Desmond it was like breathing, he wasn't even touching it, and even Altair, for all his power, had to touch a Piece of Eden, if not constantly then every second or so.

He got off his bike about a hundred feet from the fence and climbed the nearest tree, moving with the wind that came off the outcrop in gusts. After so long trying to stay silent from his ancestors it was almost painfully easy to sneak over the fence. A sentry passed under him as he worked through the trees and he froze, barely breathing. But they gave no notice of any awkward sway of the branch that might have been from Desmond's added weight and he waited for the next gust before jumping to the next tree.

Desmond hit the ground on all fours when he made it past the fence. Here a good portion of the trees had been clear cut to make room for big machines that smashed, drilled, and flattened. Still invisible he walked towards the area where people lived. They weren't tents, not really, more like collapsable houses that were half cylinders sitting on top of the earth, with ribs holding them up. They even had doors. They'd been here a while and Desmond had a feeling this was the real compound and the others he'd seen were just to throw off the Templars. The others he'd seen on the way here weren't nearly as well manned or well organized.

He'd ridden around in the dead of night, all night, looking for this place, and now the sun was rising in the east, over the outcrop. People were starting to wake up now. He sat in one of the chairs at an outdoor eating area, dropping his invisibility as he drummed his fingers on the table top. People came out from their half cylinders, looking tired, frumpy, and headed for what was obviously the mess hall. Soon he could smell coffee being brewed and breakfast foods being prepared by the cooks for their brothers.

He was waiting for someone to notice him, and he knew it'd just be a matter of time. He bet they all expected him to be as far away from the Orders as humanly possible. They wouldn't expect him just showing up in their secret compound in the middle of the fucking woods.

The sun rose over the side of the ridge and more people started to move around. It was cool in the mornings and most of them wore sweat shirts, or hoodies, a few were in flannels, he didn't stand out in his white hoodie. Then they were serving breakfast and the tables around Desmond started to fill with people, a few asked if they could sit with him and he just smiled and said 'no problem', and they sat and ate breakfast. Desmond didn't get any breakfast. He wasn't hungry, and he was wide awake, as though the past four days hadn't happened, as if he hadn't missed almost a hundred hours of sleep. He was running on adrenaline.

Breakfast ended, people left, the ones sitting at his table gave him funny looks as they left. He didn't get up. Less then an hour passed after breakfast, everyone was off doing their jobs, Desmond was still sitting there. Waiting. Eventually someone did come and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't you have something you should be doing brother?" Desmond turned to look at the man. Early thirties, red hair, goatee, had freckles all over his face; not who he was looking for. But, they recognized him, because they suddenly recoiled, hand jerking off his shoulder. "You," he said, accusingly.

"Me," Desmond said in simple agreement, not moving, every nerve in his body firing. Everything seemed hyper real all the sudden, like he was looking at the world through an IMAX lens.

The man pulled out a walki talki, "This is Sully, we have an intruder at the pavilion," he said into it and it cracked when he released the button. He frowned deeply at Desmond, who just smiled cheekily at him like Ezio used to do when he knew he was in deep shit but was just going to escape anyway and piss everyone off. "You're in trouble."

"Wow," Desmond said slowly. "They let you think of that line all by yourself? Must be letting you off your leash," he said sarcastically, meanly, as more people arrived.

"You, how did you get here?" someone, a smart one apparently, asked. Desmond looked at her; late twenties, black hair, heart shaped face: so not who he was looking for.

"I jumped over the fence," Desmond said. Which was almost impossible as the fence was fifteen feet tall and lined with several rows of barbed wire. Not impossible, but not easy to do.

"This is who we've been looking for," Sully suddenly said, "That's Desmond Miles," and everyone was suddenly much more alert.

Desmond just grinned at them, "Hi," he waved. "I want to see my father, you know where he is?"

They'd locked him in one of the rooms of the weird half cylinder not-tents. There was a metal table, and two, uncomfortable, metal chairs, no windows. Desmond was slumped in one of the chairs playing with his fingers. The Assassins had stripped him of everything. Every weapon he had, including his hidden blade, even the tiny punch knife he kept in his back pocket, and his Apple. He wasn't worried about that though. They couldn't use the Apple, it only responded to some people and when Desmond was the one using it for so long it had started to tune in to only him. Or so Altair said since apparently it was more difficult for him and Hawk to use then others. If Altair had trouble with it it'd be impossible for others to do so.

He'd been here about an hour. His ass had hurt in that stupid metal chair and he'd walked around a little before just sitting on the table, feet on the seat of the chair, facing the door, which had a small window in it. He was waiting and kept fiddling with his gloves because it gave him something to do and he was bored.

Then, the door opened.

He blinked and almost laughed. "You have got to be shitting me."

"Hello Desmond," Shaun said in his now foreign accent. Damn. Once it had been so familiar. But he'd only own Shaun about two months, if that. Now he was a stranger, just like he had been when Desmond had first met him. He had a notepad with him and his hair was still styled in that perfect 'I'm a massive douche bag' hair style that didn't make him look nearly as much a douche bag as it would on other people.

"Hey," he said, entire face sharp.

Shaun swallowed, "Why don't you sit down, ey mate?" he asked.

"I am."

"In a chair Desmond. God you drop off the face of the Earth for a few months and come back a bloody heathen," he sighed, now in full 'Desmond's an idiot, I am not intimidated by morons' mode. Desmond just grinned at him and slid off the table and went around to sit in the chair facing the door. Shaun sat opposite him. "You… look good," Shaun said after a few moments of silence.

"Not slowly dying does that to people," Desmond said.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Shaun said, awkwardly. He looked at his stupid notepad, to stall, and then looked at Desmond again. "What are you doing here Desmond?"

"I came to see my father," Desmond said, "A little bird told me he was here," and Hawk had.

"Your father's been missing since Templars attacked your Farm, months ago," Shaun said. "Even before that we don't have a lot of records on him, he'd been MIA for a while."

Desmond's mouth went tight, "Where. Is. He?" he asked, leaning forward on the table. "I know they sent you in here because you're familiar to me, but I don't give a shit Shaun. You're one of them."

"So what does that make you you stupid prat?" Shaun snapped right back. "I'm not even born into this shit. So what does that make you?"

Desmond pulled back. He wasn't here to fight with Shaun. He was here to see his father. "I want to see my father," he said again.

"And I'm telling you you're fucking bonkers. No one's seen or heard from Andrew Miles in like ten years. Just after your dumb ass ran away apparently," he said hotly. "Now what are you doing here?"

"I've told you, twice," Desmond said with a roll of his eyes.

"So you're here to see a man who isn't actually here. Great plan."

"And what are you doing here?" Desmond asked right back.

"I'm stationed here. You were in my cell, I have access to the Animus data, I know more then most."

"Which is?"

Shaun sighed, "Not a lot. It sort of all went to shit when you left. Half the data we do have is corrupt. Becca has been working with techs since you ran away, trying to untangle the mess. It's like someone took a virtual sledgehammer to Rebecca's entire network." Desmond knew, somehow, Hawk had done that. He didn't know how, but the old man had. Protecting him, again. And Covering their tracks. "But we're not here to talk about me-

"If you finish that line Shaun I really will lose all the respect I had for you," Shaun frowned.

"Fine," he said. "Where have you been the past eight months? The last time we caught up to you was in New York City, and then we had intelligence of the Templars tracking you down in Michigan a little over two months. Where the hell have you been?" he asked helplessly. Desmond didn't answer. "You go back to Rome at all?" and Shaun leaned back when he saw everything about Desmond go sharp and lethal. "Okay, guess not," he said, swallowing.

"You know," he continued, trying to maintain his cool, "Becca and I got the short end of the stick for that shit you pulled. Running away, without warning. You got three people injured looking for you that day," Desmond just blinked at him, refusing to feel guilty. "Don't you care?" he stressed.

"I've killed people Shaun. Does it look like I care?" he asked bitterly. "You're just wasting my time. They're using you to stall until they figure out what to do with me. Cause no one knows what to do with me. They expected me to die in that chair, strapped into that machine. A worthy death they would say, I gave my life for the Order. I was never supposed to come out on top here."

"Don't say that, you were, we all were," Shaun said, and Desmond wondered how much he believed it.

"I give them till the end of the day to either figure out what to do with me or I'm going."

"Going?"

"Leaving. Here, and fuck you all on the way out."

"Desmond, I don't know if you've noticed, but you're pretty stuck here. They have two Masters outside that door." Desmond only shrugged. "You have no weapons, you're defenseless-

"I still have my hands," Desmond said. "Not like I've been idle all this time. I met some people, people I trust."

"Like you trusted us?"

Desmond smiled painfully, "I never trusted any of you."

Shaun's face went slack, "You stupid American!" he suddenly cried and looked like he was about to hit Desmond with his notebook. "Rebecca and I were worried sick over you when you went into a coma, and she looked everywhere for you when you ran. She didn't sleep for a week!" He'd actually never seen Shaun angry, it was interesting. "We were counting on you. And you let us down."

"Well tough shit," Desmond snapped and got to his feet, hands on the metal table, glaring down at Shaun. "I've been let down my entire life you stupid british dipwad. Do you have any idea the sort of shit I've gone through in my life? No. You don't. All you and all of them," he pointed accusingly to the door, "care about is what I can do for you. Well fuck off how about you try and figure out what you can do for me instead? Everyone needs me a whole shit ton more then I need you."

Shaun didn't talk for a few seconds, he was obviously trying not to fly off the handle like Desmond was. He didn't care. He was angry. He was so fucking angry. Not at Shaun exactly, but just at the whole thing in general. Being used and abused by these people and expected to take it. "We're just trying to help," Shaun said.

Desmond slapped the notebook out of his hands. "Fuck you," Desmond hissed. "I want to see the Mentor right. Now," and he felt a tingling on his right arm, though it was covered.

Shaun stared at him, "How did yo-

"NOW!" he yelled and grabbed the edge of the table and over turned it, sending it crashing into a wall. Just thinking about it, seeing him, made him see red. "I want to see him right now or I swear to fucking god Shaun."

"Or what?" Shaun asked, though he had a bit of a tremor in his voice. Clearly he was freaked out. Good. Good! They should be scared of him. Scared of what he could do, of how everything was just so fucking easy for him.

"Or I'll do something you'll regret," he growled. "Get. Me. The. Fucking. Mentor," and he'd never seen someone move so fast in his life as he banged on the door and called through it, the door was open and he barely waited for there to be enough of a gap for him to squeeze through before he was out of the room.

Feeling like he'd just completed an olympic event Desmond slumped into his chair. The table was still upturned, leaning funnily against the thin, curved, metal wall, and he took a deep breath before leaning forward and putting his head between his legs. His hands gripped his knees so hard he felt the bones in his kneecap grind and tried to get a fucking grip. He couldn't show this to his father. He couldn't. If he did then Andrew would win and he'd be just like his father. A fucking angry, cheating, abusive, asshole. He wouldn't be that. He couldn't. He refused to be like that. He was not his father. He wasn't.

He wasn't.