"I like Christmas," Minerva informs Desmond seriously, five days before the holiday. "Except everyone's busy all the time."
"What?" Desmond tears his eyes away from the crowded mall around them. "Yea, I guess so. But that's kind of the whole point, isn't it?"
"I guess."
"How are the voices?"
She shrugs, which Desmond takes as an indication that she's doing okay. Ever since the group (minus Haytham) moved out of Montreal, they've been doing their best to get Minerva accustomed to large crowds and groups of people. Slowly but surely, working her way up from groups of five or six, she's learning to ignore the constant steam of other peoples' thoughts pouring into her head. The largest mall in the area on the last Friday before Christmas is her latest test, and she's passing with flying colors.
"What's wrong?" Minerva asks, and Desmond mentally sighs at her inconvenient observational skills.
"Nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing," she says. "You're spacing out."
Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of his death, but Desmond doesn't say that. He'd planned to spend the day in the air, flying to keep his mind off the impending anniversary. If anniversary is the right word for the day he'd essentially died. Instead, he's on babysitting duty. And while normally that wouldn't be a problem, because he likes Minerva, this just… isn't a good time.
"Desmond…" her voice takes on a whiny, grating tone that drills right through his skull and sets it to throbbing.
"Not now, Min," he snaps, and she goes quiet and looks down at her feet.
"Sorry," Desmond says when he's taken a couple deep breaths and calmed down. "Just… I used to really like this time of year." And then he'd died.
"Well maybe you'll like it again?" Minerva asks. "It's going to be a good Christmas. We're going to have dinner- Ezio's going to cook."
Desmond raises an eyebrow, surprised enough to be momentarily distracted from his bad mood. Most holidays, Ezio spends a ridiculous amount of time and effort avoiding work of any kind, but the few times Desmond can remember Ezio cooking it had been both under duress and surprisingly talented. "Really?" he says. "Willingly?"
"Yea," Minerva says.
"Wow," Desmond says. "He must really like you." He says it mostly because he knows it will make her smile, and he still feels bad for snapping earlier. But it's honestly true- Ezio has never been good at talking about his emotions. He prefers actions over words, and that's exactly what this is.
"And Haytham's coming," Minerva goes on. "Rebecca called last night and said he's going to be able to get away for a couple days. It's going to be the whole family."
"Cool," Desmond says.
"Yea." Minerva nodded enthusiastically. "Haytham, and your dad, and-"
"Wait, what? Altair's always in town, he's not coming in specifically for Christmas."
"You don't know," Minerva says.
"Know what?"
"Um… your actual, like, birth dad." She suddenly looks like she wants to make herself as small as possible and never be seen again. "He's coming to visit for the holidays. Shaun told me, I thought he'd told you, too."
"He did not," Desmond says. "But he's going to tell me all about it." Because this is not okay, he doesn't want to see William Miles and have to go through the whole explanation of why he's still alive and how. "Come on, get your coat. I'm taking you home."
Minerva doesn't argue, and within half an hour they're outside the house where Shaun, Ezio, and Minerva have been living for the past couple months. It's still only half unpacked, with most of Ezio's stuff in boxes or scattered around in stacks and piles. Shaun, who is undeniably the more organized one of the pair, has been unpacked since the day after they moved in. And Minerva has barely any stuff at all.
Still, Ezio makes enough mess for all of them, so walking through the house is a challenge. Minerva hops over boxes and swerves around others with the practiced ease of someone that has to do this every day, while Desmond struggles along behind. "How do you people live here?" he complains.
"Mostly by flying over all the rubbish," Shaun calls from the next room. "Because God forbid Ezio ever puts anything away."
"Shaun," Desmond says, turning around to look at him and frowning. "We need to talk about my father."
"Ah," Shaun says, visibly deflating at the words. "So you found out about that."
"Why did you keep it a secret in the first place?" Desmond demands.
"Because- I don't know." Shaun scowls. "He called, said he had some questions. I didn't know what to tell him about you so I kind of told him to come to Christmas dinner."
"Are you insane?" Desmond demands. "Are you actually- you were going to just let everyone show up on Christmas so my dad can find out I'm still alive and even less human than before-" he reflexively touches the chain around his neck, the charm that keeps him locked into human form. "Is this what your idea of a good holiday is?"
"Yes, actually," Shaun says. "You should have seen what Christmases were like for me growing up. There was this one year when my aunt punched out my brother in law over the pudding-" he shakes his head. "Absolute disaster. And anyway, your dad deserves to know you're alive, and you obviously don't have any plans about telling him."
But Desmond's barely listening. He's too concerned with the growing realization that there is no way he's getting out of this. "You are a terrible person, Shaun," he says.
Shaun only nods, slowly, like he's heard this before. "I know," he says.
-/-
Christmas starts early in the morning for Desmond- he never actually manages to get to sleep, just stares up at the ceiling like it's going to give him a way out of seeing his father that afternoon. Finally, he gives up trying to sleep and crawls out of bed, yawning and mumbling halfhearted complaints to himself.
After only a couple minutes of this, Edward comes in to complain about the noise and find out what's wrong. He looks like he's had some sleep, at least- he looks more disheveled than he does when he's fully awake, his hair a mess and half the feathers in his wings sticking in the wrong directions. And Desmond can't help but laugh a little because he's seen this before.
It's weird, being back in the town (and the house and the bedroom) where he grew up. He's changed so much but the place is exactly the same. It looks like his room hasn't changed at all since he left home at eighteen. There had been plenty of times in high school when he hadn't been able to sleep- when he'd had problems with homework or friends or whatever else had seemed so important all those years ago- only back then, it had been Connor or Ezio that had come wandering in to tell him to keep it down and occasionally dispense some surprisingly solid advice.
Some things just don't change.
This morning, Edward just arches an eyebrow and waits for Desmond to explain what has him so upset. Which Desmond does, willingly. As long as the man's here, he's going to take the opportunity to rant.
"My dad's coming today," he says. "My actual birth father."
"I know," Connor says. "And? You seemed to be getting along well enough in New York."
"Yea," Desmond says. "When I was pretty sure I was going to die. It's a lot harder to deal with him now that I know I'm going to live. I mean-" he makes a throttling gesture. "He's an impossible person to live with!"
Edward shrugs, annoyingly unconcerned. "So? He's your father. I'm sure he doesn't actually want to hurt you."
"So he's not going out of his way to be a horrible person," Desmond says blandly. "It just comes naturally. That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"Yes," Edward says. "Whether or not you like him, he's your father, you're capable of dealing with him like an adult, so suck it up and deal."
Desmond is about to argue, until finally his brain catches up with what he's just heard. Because Edward sounds pissed off and unhappy, and that's setting off alarm bells in Desmond's head. "What's wrong with you?" he asks.
Edward opens and shuts his mouth a couple of times, obviously debating what to say. "Look," he says at last. "You want to talk about family issues? Because mine's coming in for the holidays too, and I'm fairly convinced he's keeping secrets."
"What," Desmond says. "You mean Haytham?"
Edward nods. "He and Rebecca have been…" he weighs his words carefully. "Shifty. They've been shifty since we all moved out here. I don't want to talk to Rebecca about it because I don't know her that well, but Haytham- when he gets down here I need to confront him."
"And you're nervous?" Desmond snorts. "Come on, you got into an argument with that guy at the bar yesterday because he said he didn't like the color or your shoes. You get a kick out of confronting people."
"Not… people that matter," Edward manages through gritted teeth. "Do you even know- Desmond, you were a bird for months, I was one for years. Years when I thought I would never get the chance to talk to anyone again. So when I fight with the guy at the bar, or the guy that delivers the pizza, or that woman with the crying children at the grocery store- that's nothing but talk. Because I need to talk, because I-" He makes a face. "I'm still terrified that I'll wake up and being human again will just be a dream."
"But-"
"It's just talk," Edward says. "Empty talk that doesn't matter. Haytham- all of you- deserve more."
And Desmond wants nothing to do with that one, with whatever complicated issues he's dealing with, but he's spent enough time alone with Edward now to recognize when the other man is genuinely upset, and when he's just making noise for the sake of it. This is Edward being genuinely upset.
"I'll go with you," he offers. "When you talk to Haytham. If you want."
"Yes," Edward says. "Yes that would be great."
Desmond mentally goes through a list of all the reasons this is a terrible decision, and decides that this still sounds better than dealing with his father. "Awesome," he says. "Let me know when you're ready."
-/-
Over the next few hours, people start to trickle into the house bearing food and gifts, wrapped with varying degrees of effort and skill. Shaun and Minerva show up first, Shaun looking like he'd been dragged out of bed way too early in the morning and Minerva looking considerably more excited.
"Ezio's coming later," Shaun explained, without being asked. "Apparently he has the superpower of being able to sleep through loud children, and he's still getting ready."
"That sounds like a helpful superpower," Desmond says, and he can't help grinning at Shaun's less than happy scowl.
"Yea," he grumbles. "I wish I had it. It's definitely one of those things I wish Ezio had passed onto me."
"How's that been going, lately?" Desmond asks. "The whole… freaky connection thing?"
"I sort of wish you'd call it something else, for starters," Shaun says.
"It's accurate."
"But annoying," Shaun say. "But it's been going a little better, since moving out here with Minerva, I guess. She gives us something to focus on other than each other and that gives us a little breathing room. We-"
The doorbell rings, and Altair yells from the kitchen for someone else to get the door while he struggles with the stove. Unlike Ezio, Altair does not have hidden cooking talents, and the entire day so far has been a struggle for him. Desmond's mostly tried to keep out of the way, while Edward apparently thinks it's the funniest thing he's seen in years.
Desmond ducks away from Shaun to open the door. He swerves around Minerva, sidles quickly past the kitchen door (but not so quickly that he can't hear some of the more descriptive words Edward has for Altair's attempts at Christmas dinner. Then he gets to the door, and opens it, and all the good feelings of the day vanish entirely because he'd known that William Miles was coming today, but he hadn't actually known it until he found himself standing face to face with the man on the doorstep.
"Desmond," William says, voice flat and perfectly devoid of emotion. "You do have a habit of turning up in unexpected places. I don't even know why I'm surprised."
"Probably because I'm supposed to be dead," Desmond says, in a voice so casual he manages to surprise himself. "And… I'm not."
"Hmm," William says, and although he doesn't smile his face twists up in a way that's pretty close. "That's good."
He moves past Desmond, patting him absentmindedly on the shoulder as he passes. Desmond breathes out a sigh of relief and for half a second he thinks that's going to be all William has to say on the subject. Then William half turns and calls over his shoulder- "Ever consider telling me you're alive? A phone call would have been good enough." And Desmond grins and rolls his eyes because this is exactly the father he remembers and that means everything's okay. Or as okay as things ever get with his birth father, anyway.
Across the room, Altair is giving Desmond a look that means he should have said or done something more to make up for lying to his father. Only Desmond has no idea what that's supposed to be- he doesn't know how to make up for the fact that he let the man keep thinking he was dead even after everyone else knew. So instead he sort of ducks down and tries to stay out of sight.
Luckily for him, Rebecca shows up not long after that, the dog Hitch at her heels and a brighter than usual smile on her face. She's a good distraction, but her arrival also reminds Desmond about the conversation he'd had with Edward that morning. While the dog runs straight through the house like a thing gone mad, sniffing at everyone and woofing excitedly, Desmond manages to corner Rebecca.
"Where's Haytham?" he asks, in a voice that- judging by her skeptical look- is not nearly as casual as he wants it to be. "I just- I thought he was supposed to be coming with you."
"He got stuck in traffic," Rebecca says. "But he should be here soon. Why?"
"No reason," Desmond says.
"Desmond, come on."
"Fine." Desmond raises his hands in mock surrender. "Edward kind of wants to have it out with him because he thinks the two of you have been keeping secrets."
"Oh!" Rebecca's face turns red and Desmond narrows his eyes.
"You are keeping secrets!" he hisses, dropping his voice just a bit. "I thought Edward was just overreacting but-"
"Desmond!" She shushes him farther. "I don't want everyone to find out like this. Besides, you've kept your own share of secrets."
"At least tell me if it's something bad," Desmond says. "You've been shifty for months, ever since you moved out here." The dog wanders into Desmond's field of vision and he goes on. "Ever since you left Haytham behind and got Hitch-" He stops, mouth working without sound, and then grabs Rebecca by the arm and drags her upstairs, out of earshot of the others.
"Got Hitch," he repeats, when they're safely alone. "Got hitched? You got married and named your dog after a bad pun?"
He looks at her, waiting for her to deny his accusation. Because of course she's going to deny it, there's no possible way-
"Yea," Rebecca says. "Sounds about right."
"How did- what- you didn't- whose idea was that?"
"Technically I proposed," Rebecca says. "Although it wasn't really much of a proposal. And the pun was absolutely Haytham's idea."
"Oh," Desmond says in a voice that sounds distant in his own ears. Then he takes a couple of seconds to process this, because Rebecca and Haytham being secretly married is one of those revelations that deserves a bit of quiet contemplation. Then he steps forward and folds a very surprised Rebecca into a tight hug. "Well then, welcome to the family."
"Thanks."
"And when everyone else finds out, and wants to know why you didn't tell anyone?" Desmond pats her on the back and draws away before heading back downstairs. "I knew absolutely nothing about this, and you're on your own."