Disclaimer: No I don't own Assassin's Creed in any shape or form if I did I would make him avoid both the Assassin's and Abstergo in his game. (The game I said I would make if I did own Assassin's Creed in the last chapter)

Guide:

"mimic" = normal speak (plain text)

"mimic" = Isu speak (Bold and Italic)

"mimic" = Desmond/other speaking in a different language (Italic)

'mimic' = Desmond's thoughts (apostrophes)

Author's note at the bottom of the work.

Mimic

Chapter 2: Learning to adjust/Medic madness

I wish I could say that I awoke fully rested to the song of birds and sunshine pooling through the window. Unfortunately, I can't. I wake up to the sound of a young assassin stomping down the stairs to the basement. I sat up quickly and wiggled myself between two boxes.

"Unbelievable. Why does the den master have to send me down here," I hear the boy – for he was barely a man—grumble as he threw a sack over his shoulder and promptly stomped back out the basement with the sack over his shoulder. I hold my breath until I hear the door slam behind him. I breathe a sigh of relief that I was not discovered. I wince at what might have happened if he did. 'Does not matter now,' I think to myself.

I pull myself up from the ground with my left hand and sit on the crate that I had taken shelter behind. My body aches from sleeping on the ground and it feels as if my stomach was eating me as a punishment for not feeding it. Pulling up the blanket that I had used the previous night I stuff it into my messenger bag as well. Starving I take out the bread I had stolen last night and quickly devour it not caring that it was dry and a bit stale. I was too hungry to care. With the bread all eaten up and the crimps scattered on the floor, I realize that I was still dreadfully hungry.

'This is a storage room, isn't it? there must be something that I can eat,' I say to myself. I quietly go throw half a dozen sacks and box's taking everything that is useful until in the last box I find different bags containing dried meat and fruit. I take as many as I can fit in my bag and is surprised when the entire box is emptied into my bag. I decided that I would worry about that at a later date, first I would find more things of value may be some knives or more herbs for healing.

I head for the boxes on the shelves. They look as if they might contain something more than cloth, blankets, and feathers. 'Well, at least I know where Malik kept getting all those feathers. I wonder if all Bureaus have sacks full of feathers that are used to mark their targets,' I think.

I step on to a bunch of boxes that act as stairs to the shelves. 'Was it luck that had them arranged so perfectly or something else?' I wonder. I open the first box and find paper, ink, and quills. I take some of them and a leather-bound book that's paper is empty of any and all writing. The next box contains throwing knives, daggers, rope, pouches and a blade cleaning kit. I take all of that and put it in my bad. It still isn't heavy at all and I start to feel concerned.

My eyes dart around the room to see if anything else that I can take might be useful. I spot tucked away in a corner behind more boxes and sacks – 'Honestly I think how much stuff is in this room' I wonder—is a rack filled with blades. I test each one by giving it a few swings. It feels off since I am doing this with my left hand instead my right as all of my ancestors were right-handed except Haytham he was ambidextrous like me. I do this until I find a blade that doesn't leave the part of me that is my ancestors snarling in disgust. "Okay," I say, "let's see if this will work." I place the blade back in its scabbard and I slide it into my bag. It fits...

?!

'How does it fit? That isn't possible. A messenger bag shouldn't be able to hold three sets of clothing a blanket and bags of food even less a broad sword,' I think hyperventilating in shock and panic. I don't realize that I dropped my bag until my pole rolls out and Juno's hologram is back.

She forces me to sit down and runs her hologram fingers through my hair. "Hush, now my cipher. Calm down there is no need to fear youngling," she says in a manner that a mother would when comforting her child. A knot forms in my throat.

'Maybe I'm just reading this wrong,' I convince myself. Juno continues to stroke my head and holds me close until my breathing evens out and I am no longer having a panic attack.

"Better?" she asks and I nod. We sit there for a while longer not saying anything. Until I do.

"How?" I ask.

"You will have to be more specific," she says in a chasting tone.

"How is my messenger bag holding so much and not feeling like it weighs anything?"

"When translated into your language it is a subspace. Each Isu has one built into us. It is part of our biology and since you are more Isu now I decided to give you the same perk accept I couldn't build it into you so I created a potable subspace in the forum of your messenger bag," She says calmly as if she was talking to a confused five-year-old.

"So I was to reach into the bad how would I get my stuff back," I ask.

"You merely think of it," she says as if it the most obvious thing in the world.

"Okay," I nod. "Does it work for other people too or?"

"No," She snarls as if the very notion offended her. "It works only for you as I incorporated a blood recognition technology into it. It works for you and you alone. Any fool that tries to use it will end up with a vaporized hand at the best or dead at worst."

"Okay," I nod carefully not to do anything upsetting to her.

"Is that the only question you have?" she asks.

"Well, no. Why did you make me wonder?" I wonder.

"As I said before, to extended your life span. And to give up a better chance at abating. A younger body is abler to handle virus than attacks."

"Okay," I say nodding to the logic behind her answer. "Then how old am I exactly?"

"You are your human equivalent of 19," she says simply.

"Okay," I say taking a deep breath. 'That was like six years that has been shaved off.'

"Any more queries or it that all?" she asks and I can swear that I hear a fond note in her voice.

"Yes," I say, "That is all."

She nods and says, "Goodbye, my cipher." She disappears. I breathe out and rub my eyes. I get up and put my apple back in my bag and sling it over my shoulder. As I walk to the door I see a bow with its bowstring wrapped around it and quiver filled with arrows. 'Why not?' I shrug and despite the oddness, I feel at the action I slip it into the bag.

Walking to the door I press my ears against it. I don't hear anyone and decide to risk it. I open the door slightly and peak out. I don't see anyone. I come out and quietly close the door. I hear clashing coming from the courtyard and watch hidden in the shadows. My brown robe helps me hide better. As two assassins'—well novices really – practice sword fighting. I notice that the smaller one's balance is off and that his technique is lacking as well.

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING," yells the Dai and both of them look at him before they shoot out through the opening in the roof faster than should be possible. The Dai shakes his head and turns back to his desk. As soon as I see him occupied in the books behind him I slink into the courtyard and out through the passage. The air feels wonderful and as I breathe I notice that the air tastes cleaner as well.

I walk through the streets taking in the sights of Jerusalem. It is still early the sun is yet to rise, but the sky has already become a grey-blue shade. It is peaceful and I allow myself to relax. 'Altair never had the change to just look and explore this city for fun. I don't even think he would ever spend his time like this. Just wondering about. No care in the world, well, sorta,' I think to myself. I watch as the sun rises and people start to move around the city. I start picking the pockets of passing merchants and rich looking folks.

I see a merchant struggling to lift a sack and I walk up to him. "Excuse me, Sir, can I assist you with that?" I ask him.

He looks surprised but gives a nod. I take the sack from him and sling it over my left shoulder. "So where does this need to be?" I ask.

He gapes at me. "You are so strong," he says in awe.

"Uh, thank you, sir. Now, where does this need to go?"

"Oh, just follow me." I follow him until we come to a stand. "Just place it here," he says gesturing to a stand. I place it down next to the stand and he gives me a calculated look. "I am not certain if I should trust you, but I still have many crates and sacks that I need to carry here. If you bring them to me I will pay you 27 copper coins."

I am surprised at his offer but I agree. "I will do it," I say. He points me to the area where there is a stack of three boxes and many sacks. I quickly manage to bring him all the sacks, but then I need to stop and figure out how to carry all these boxes. I try to pick up them up with one hand, but it fails. Eventually, I tip the box slightly to the side and put my left arm underneath the box. I tip it back again and wince at the weight crushing my arm. I pull it up to my chest. It slips from my arm and my right-hand flies up to stop it. I cry out in pain. My knees buckle underneath me and I drop my head to my chest.

Strong arms pull the box from my hands and grab my right wrist. I give a quiet scream. The owner of the hand lets go and places a hand on my back instead. "Deep breaths. Breathe," says the owner of the hand. His voice is smooth and calming. I manage to breathe until the pain is gone. I look up into the dark eyes of the man who helped me. He is a little blurry from the tears in my eyes.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Altair?" the man askes.

"What?" I question looking at him in confusion.

"Sorry," he apologizes, "I thought you were someone else."

"That is alright. No harm was done," I say to him and I realize who he is and why he would think that I am my ancestor that lived in this time. He was Malik Al-Sayf. I take a deep breath in shock. He looks at me with his dark serious eyes. It feels as if he was tearing through my soul and pick apart all my secrets.

"Excuse, me," I say. "It was lovely meeting you, but I need to get these boxes to my employer's stand."

"Where is it?" he asks pulling his gaze from my eyes.

"Over there," I say turning and pointing at the stand. "Why?" I ask turning back. I see him with all three boxes in his arms. "Wait. Stop!" I cry. "I need to carry them."

He gives me a hard look and I swear that his eyes flitted to my chest area. "You are obviously injured and I have some time to spare. Accept my help," he says giving me a look that tells me not to refuse. So I don't. I walk with him as he carries the boxes to the merchant's stall. He puts them down and I bend down to move some sacks out of the way.

"Thank you, for your help," I say turning to him only to see that Malik has disappeared.

"Ah, you have done a wonderful job. You have brought everything here and before the market opens as well. Thank you, ahm. Sorry, you never gave me your name," the merchant says clasping me on my right shoulder. I give a quiet gasp of pain and consider his question.

"Desmond," I say. Here Abstergo wouldn't find me. Here I was safe from them.

"Ah strange name you have Desmond," the merchant says.

"It is foreign. My mother was more Italian than Syrian," I say – it is sort of true alter all my mother was both Ezio and Altair's descendant.

"Oh," says the merchant sounding positively – 'Heaven help me'—delighted. "So you speak Italian then," he asks.

"Yes," I reply barely noticing how I slipped into a different language. "I also speak English," I admit.

"That is fantastic. It is rare for me to be able to speak in my own language to someone," he admits with the brightest smile I have ever see.

"Ah, uhm. That is nice, but people will start coming soon and you will need to set up before they arrive," I say trying to get out of here.

"Oh, yes. I will pay you more if you will help me set up," he says and I am convinced that he is only saying that to keep me around to talk to him.

"Okay," I agree. I spend the next few minutes—felt like hours—helping him set up and listening to his chatter with me giving a comment on what he said now and again. The first customers appear and there is such a rush that I cannot talk to him to get my money. So I wait.

Suddenly a scream tears through the crowd. "Please someone help. My husband is wounded. He was shot by bandits," I hear a woman scream and I run toward the sound of her hysterical screaming. My messenger bag is already open and I am ready to pull out whatever I have that is needed. I push through the dense crowd, but people refuse to move.

"MOVE OUT THE WAY. I AM A HEALER. MOVE," I scream and people move. I see the man he has a nasty wound over his chest and an arrow is in his shoulder. I push the last of the people out of the way. I kneel at the woman who was holding her husband. I see a horse standing behind her and faintly note that that must be how she got here as the market wasn't that far from the gate.

She looks up at me and begs, "Please help."

"I will," I say. "I need water, boiled water, the strongest alcohol you can find and honey. I don't care how you get it, but get it now or your husband will die," I say with as much force and gravity that I can manage. It must have worked because she and another random woman run off. I inspect the chest wound. 'It is deep, but it isn't bleeding too bad. It will need stitches though,' I think as I pull out a knife of my bag and cut away the shirt on him.

'The arrow through will be trickier to remove. Luckily it is a normal arrow and if I am careful won't cause too much damage, but I do not know if it hit anything vital. It doesn't seem as if it has hit any arteries or bone, but I might be wrong,' I think as I continue analyzing the wounds. I faintly realize that a bowl of boil water is placed next to me along with a jar of honey and a bottle of alcohol. I pull a cloth out of my bag and dip it into the water. My right-hand squeezes the water out and starts cleaning the cut. I pour some of the alcohol on his wound and he hisses. I lift the bottle to my lips and take a swig—it is terrible I will defiantly have to make my own alcohol if I was to stay here. I can faintly hear the murmurs of people in the background, but I don't have the time to process that now. I have a patient's life to save.

My left-hand pulls out a needle and thread and I place the cloth back into the water. I thread the needle after I place it into the water and I wash my hands with that water too. The man is unconfused and I am thankful because I don't have time to administer something to numb the pain. I start stitching up his chest wound and somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel pleased with how neat and tiny the stitches are. The wound is stitched up and I smear honey over the wound. "Help me lift him up," I say and someone lifts him just enough for me to bandage his wound. "Lay him back down," I order and the person does.

I move to the arrow next. I check his pulse and it is still strong. I breathe a sigh of relief and check to see if he is breathing right. He is. I break the wooden part off. I pull out my knife and sterilize it in the water well as sterilized as I can get it and I wince. 'This isn't going to be petty,' I think and start to remove the arrow. Somewhere I hear groans of disgust as I use the knife to remove the arrow. I manage to get the arrowhead out and I quickly use the cloth to clean most of the blood away. I take the bottle of alcohol and pour it into the wound. Cleaning the remainder of the liquid out of the wound I sterilize the needle again and start to stitch. I apply honey on the wound after I am done stitching the man up and the person who assisted me the first time helps me bandage him again.

With a gasping breath, I feel my muscles relax after saving this man's life. Sound returns to me as I break out of the tunnel vision I was in where I could only focus on saving the life of the person that was under my hands. My right arm starts to not just ache but absolutely burn with pain as the adrenaline wears off. I stand and smile while the people say nice things and leave. I can't focus on their words the pain is just so bad. People are gone and my legs buckle underneath me. I hear the woman exclaim in shock.

"It's fine," I say. "I'm just tired. You need to change his bandages every night and at noon at least. Boil water and mix powdered willow bark or black pepper into the water. Soak the bandages in them and spread more honey on the wounds before bandaging them," I tell her offering my best fake smile and giving her a bag of dried basil leaves. "Have him eat or drink this with warm water. It will numb the pain."

She nods. "Thank you, very much. We don't have much, but here," she says pushing a few coins in my hand. Before I could protest she leaves and I collapse. I feel a hand on my shoulder. It is comforting. I look up and it is Malik. I realize that it was him that helped me with the bandages.

"Thank you, again for helping me," I say.

He nods at me. "Malik," he says and for a moment I wonder why he said his name. He must have seen my confusion because he tells me, "My name is Malik."

"Desmond," I say and he gives me a look.

"Sounds foreign."

"Because it is."

"So you are a healer?" he asks me.

"Yes I am," I reply and I move to pick up my stuff. He helps me pick them all up and I place them back into my bag.

"Thank you," I say and he offers a small nod and leaves.

"That was amazing Desmond," the merchant says as I walk back to his stand.

"Thank you," I say both for the compliment and my money that he gives me.

"I did not know you were a healer."

"No, you did not."

"Do you have a place where you practice?" he asks with genuine curiosity.

"No," I say. "I came into the city yesterday," I answer him.

"Oh, what made you come here then."

"My last practice went up in flame."

"Oh," he said. "Does that mean you do not have a home."

"No, I do not," I sigh.

He smiles suddenly. "Then you, my friend are very lucky there is an abanded home in the poorer district of the middle district. I doubt that the owner would ask much if you were to put up a practice there," he says with such conviction.

"Show me," I say and that is how I find myself sealing the deal with a man who really wants to get rid of the house. I am told by the merchant that I got it at a bargain. He leaves and wishes me good luck.

I find myself standing in this dirty old house with a broken door, a leaky roof, stairs to the second floor that sounds as if they will break if you walk on them, and some cheap ugly furniture. But none of this matters because I have my own house and furniture. I have a bed and I am content.

First thing I do after buying the place is to break down the door and steal some cloth to make a drape to act as a door. I go buy a broom and sweep the entire place, before drawing buckets and buckets full of water to wash the entire place. It takes until a few hours before the market closes and it is fine because it is mine and I don't have to live in fear of my father finding me or of Absergo finding me. I go back to the market and buy myself a pot and some bread. I eat the bread and use the pot to boil water with which I can clean myself. I clean myself and it feels wonderful to be clean again. I fall into my bed. The mattress is made from straw—I had to go find fresh straw to fill it with—and a creaky bed frame, but I fall asleep happy or at least content.

Mimic

Date: December 14, 2003

Place: Somewhere in New York City

Person: Desmond Miles

Age: 16

I can't help but gasp at the buildings. There are so many and they are so tall. I walk through the streets and stare at the people. There are just so many. I shiver and pull my jacket closer to me. "How is it that when it is snowing the air isn't that cold, but as soon as it stops it feels as if I am freezing?" I wonder out loud.

I don't pay attention to where I am going as I trudge through the snow. I stop as I feel my stomach growling. I count all the money I had pickpocketed from passerby's. 'It would be enough for me to get something to eat and something warm to drink,' I think not noticing the shadow that fell over me.

"What is a kid like you doing here?" asks a voice making me swing around. I see a large with his three companions. The way they look at me sends chills up my spine.

"I'm not a kid," I say trying and failing to sound intimidating.

"Look, kid, give us what we want and we will leave you alone," says one of the large man's companions. He says it with a cruel smile and I can do the math and understand what he implies by the tone of his voice. I turn and run hoping that there was a way out of this alleyway that I so stupidly walked into. 'Stupid, Stupid, Desmond. What were you thinking? That the world would be Kind? That you would be able to let your guard down,' I think as I fly down the alleyway. I end up in a dead end with no way out not even a dumpster to help me climb up the buildings. The men come closer. "Give up and you won't get hurt," one of them says. I know that they are lying. The first man swings at me and I dodge. Another two attack me at the same time. I dodge one but miss the other incoming fist.

The fist hit me in the face giving me a future black eye. I retaliate and manage to get in a few punches. Somewhere along the line, a knife gets pulled out and I barely see it before I need to jump back to avoid it. It grazes my lip and there is blood pouring out. Someone's fist hits me in the gut and I collapse. I'm on the floor and wheezing for it. The men are so much bigger and stronger than me. They close in and my eyes widen in fear.

"Hey, why don't you go pick on someone your own size, you assholes," I hear a voice calling from behind the men.

"Go away," says one of my attackers.

"No way," says the person in a cocky kind of tone. I hear a gunshot and the attackers go for the person. There is a lot of blows exchanged. I can't see that well, 'Maybe I have a minor concussion,' I think. The person escapes from them and grabs my arm and starts running. I follow. The two of us are smaller and either therefore faster.

We get away from them by running into a crowd. The person, a young man, grabs a hat from someone and nicks a scarf from another person. "Here," he says putting the hat on my head and wraps the scarf around his face. He pulls me to a bench and we sit down between two people. It feels as if we grey out and people don't notice us.

The attackers run past us and the young man next to me laughs. "Idiots," he says. "So you are pretty beat up want to come back home with me or do you want me to walk you home?" the young man says. I don't know why I trust him or why I accept his offer, but I do.

"Thanks, I'll take up on the first," I say flashing a hesitant smile.

"Great, follow me," he says returning the smile and he starts jogging. I follow him and we end up somewhere in an apartment. "Okay, so I have some ice packs in the fridge and I have a needle and thread in the bathroom along with some pain pills. You get the ice packs and I'll get the rest," he says and I realize that I like his smile. It is a nice smile one that says that he is a person that cares.

I grab the ice packs and he comes back with the needle and thread. I take them from his hands. "Do you have a mirror," I ask.

"Yes," he says giving me a confused look. He points to a mirror hung in the hallway. I walk towards it and I start stitching up my lip wincing at the pain of it. "Hey wait don't you want me to do it?" he asks.

I pause and shake my head. "No, I know how to do it," I say before going back to the stitching. When I am done he gives me the pain pills and I swallow them quickly. He looks at me surprised at how well done the stitches are. I look back at him and see a large cut on his arm. I frown. 'He got that because he helped me,' I think.

"Would you like me to stitch that up for you?" I ask gesturing at his wound.

"Uh, sure," he says shrugging. I quickly clean his wound. I start stitching him up ignoring his cries of pain. When I am done I watch as he swallows 10 pain pills. I give him an unimpressed look.

"What, not everyone can take being stitched up without screaming," he says pouting. I laugh at the face he pulls. "Anyway do you have a place to stay?" he asks. I shake my head. "How about you stay over tonight. Tomorrow I will help you get some fake identification," he says smiling.

I freeze. "What do you mean by fake identification?" I ask trying not to panic.

"I know a runaway when I see one, besides you look undernourished and rather beat up beside the injuries you received tonight. So either you are a runaway or you are being abused and I am gonna help you," he says with so much sincerity.

"Why?" I ask unused to the kindness.

"Because you look like you need it."

"Thank you," I say.

"So you can take a shower and I will order pizza. That good for you?" he asks.

"Yeah, I guess," I shrug because I have never had pizza and I guess I might like to try it.

"Nice," he says casually. I leave to go shower. The water feels fantastic after so long of not having a proper shower. Coming out of the bathroom I see the young man sitting at the table doing what seems to be a lot of reading and writing.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Huh," he says looking up at me. "Oh, I am doing my homework for college."

"Oh," I say.

He gives me a calculated look. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

"I have a basic idea."

"Okay, where did you grow up that you don't know these stuff?"

"In a conservative farm. I am pretty sure I was part of a cult," I say shrugging.

"Oh, damn. You're a Cult runaway."

"Yeah."

"So I'll need to get you identification. Not just new or different identification. Wow, that's like simultaneously easier and harder," he says bringing his hand up to rub his forehead. "Seems like we are going to be together for a longer time than I thought. So we might as well get to know each other," he says giving me a smile.

"Oh, uhm. Well, my name is Desmond Miles and I am good at stabbing and stealing," I say casually.

"Desmond, no offense, but you don't tell someone that you are 'good at stabbing and stealing'. It might give them the wrong impression," he says seriously.

"Okay."

"Anyways," he says getting up and taking my hand. "I am Clay Kaczmarek and I am good at forging identification," he says shaking my hand and giving me smile.

"Okay," I say not stopping the smile that works its way onto my face.

Mimic

So next chapter up. I might still be able to get another one up before Sunday.

So I promised healer Desmond and I hope I delivered. We also go to see Desmond's first meeting with Malik. I realize that I may not be portraying the characters exactly like they are in canon, but bear with me, please. So if anyone has any pointers on how to make them more in line with the way they are portrayed in the game please tell me.

All the usual. I don't have a beta. So all this is un-betaed. Please bear with me. If you see any mistakes, please let me know in a review or PM me about it.

If you like this fic please consider leaving a review or following it. And thank you so much to everyone who is following or favorited my fic. It is much appreciated.

Outtake

'Altair never had the change to just look and explore this city for fun. I don't even think he would ever spend his time like this. Just wondering about. No car in the world, well, yeah there isn't any cars in this world yet at least not for the next 800 years,' I think to myself. (while editing I saw that instead of writing care I wrote car and I rolled with it for a while before I deleted it. My brother asked me to put it back in. So here it is Bro.)

Silent Out. ;)