Hello, Dear Reader! Welcome to Chapter 2. If you're here, it means you read chapter one and liked it enough to move on. Huzzah! A metaphysical cookie for you. It is whatever your favorite flavor is. Or it could be ice cream if you were in the mood for that. Or some fries if you're not into the sweet stuff. You see what I'm getting at, you've stayed with me and I owe you my thanks!
Again, fair warning to all readers, I'm not writing this story with a goal in mind. I know some of the plot elements that will come into it, but that's all. No clue where we're headed. So, with that out of the way, onward!
Warnings: ALL CHAPTERS: Spoilers for AC, AC2, ACB, all DLC, and if you haven't at least glanced at the wiki for other canonical elements you should probably do that too. Also eventually there will be a lot of sex, some of it between men, so if you're not into that...then why are you reading an MA rated Shaun/Desmond fic? Not that I'm not glad you're here, but you should probably put some different parameters in the search options up there.
THIS CHAPTER: Mild violence and profanity
I Know You Know: Chapter 2
The bandits had struck just as the wedding party, with Elise and Olivier riding at its head, turned to cross the bridge. The road was narrow there, and the slope down to the river meant that the robbers had the advantage. Guillaume knew in his gut that it was the Baron's doing, petty revenge for speaking out against him at court. He'd known this was coming for some time, in one form or another. But to attack a wedding! Only the most depraved lunatic would dare.
Guillaume stood in front of his daughter, one hand on her horse's bridle, the other on the hilt of his sword. He spoke in a measured tone, "You may have everything that the rest of the wedding party carries, but you will leave the bride be. I think this is more than fair, yes?" To show that he meant what he said, he untied his purse from his belt and handed it to the man who'd come forward to speak for the group of raiders.
"Certainly you are a gentleman of intelligence, sir!" the dirty ruffian exclaimed with mocking formality. "This is a much more civilized way to do things. Nobody wants to see blood shed during the sacrament of marriage, least of all a humble sinner such as myself." He hefted the purse and grinned at the clink of gold coins. "And it appears there is no reason for such an event to occur. You heard him, boys. Get their gold and let's get gone!"
Olivier, stiff-backed and stone faced, handed over his purse as well, and the expensive decorative dagger he wore at his waist. Up the line of guests went the bandits, making exaggerated bows to the nobles as they stripped them of money and jewelry.
Guillaume watched as they neared the end of the line. So far the guests had all listened to his advice, but the tension was rising and could only reach a certain point before…
"Non! You may have my purse, and even my rings, but my father's sword you shall only have as I put it through your guts, swine!" One of his men shouted. There was a scuffle, and a few of the women screamed, and then all hell broke loose as guests either scattered for the woods or drew their weapons to fight the bandits.
Guillaume leapt onto the big white mare carrying his daughter and maneuvered her next to Olivier's gelding. He lifted Elise out of the saddle and set her behind Olivier, moving forward and putting his feet in the stirrups. "Get her to the house! Tell the guard to assemble, and bar the doors! If I do not return by morning, call up the freeholders to arms. The Baron will not get away with this!" He drew his sword.
Olivier nodded. "You are certain it is he, then?"
"Yes. No bandits would dare attack my people if they did not have a powerful employer, and only he has any reason to do something like this. Now, keep my daughter safe. Go!" He shoved at the gelding until it was facing the road to the house, then gave it a smack on the rump with the flat of his sword. The animal, already keyed up from the scuffle, let out a neigh of fright and took off for home.
Guillaume put his heels into the mare's ribs and she laid her ears back and broke into a canter, shoving her way up the line. She was a retired war horse, headed for the butcher's block when he'd bought her for her snowy white coat and gentle disposition with children. Elise, Jerome, and Noelle had all learned to ride on her back, but she still remembered battle. He directed her at the bandits' leader and she bared her teeth, bowling the man over, then pivoting in a tight circle to allow Guillaume a stab at him with his weapon. The bandit slashed wildly at the knight, laying open a cut on his forearm, but his sword was already swinging down. The blade impacted the man's shoulder with all of the Chevalier's rage behind it, nearly taking his entire arm off. He dropped and moved no more.
By that time, the men had managed to fight off most of the bandits, but not without a few wounded and killed in the wedding party. One Lady knelt over her husband, shrieking, as her daughters stood beside her, clinging to one another and sobbing. Two women, both servants who'd served the LeBlanc family for many years and had been chosen by Elise to carry the train of her wedding dress, lay fallen one atop the other. Guillaume saw red. "To me!" He cried, raising his sword. "We must bring the dead and wounded to the house, and don our armor. Tonight, we hunt!" A cheer, ragged at first and then building to a roar, rose from the men. The Baron had made his last mistake.
Slowly, Shaun swam up to consciousness through the murk of dream/memory. He lay still, checking his surroundings. He remembered where he was immediately this time, in the makeshift dorm they'd set up in Claudia's old office. Good. No French thoughts, no disconcerting feeling of suddenly being elsewhere. He cracked an eyelid open, surveying his blurry surroundings. Morning light was starting to peek in through the windows. It looked like it was going to be an overcast day.
He rolled over onto his side and pulled the covers up around his shoulders, snuggling down as best he could on the slightly-too-short camp cot. Lucy would be at the door soon. She came over from the girls' room, in the old armory across the hall, every morning to make sure the boys were awake on time. He wasn't getting up one second sooner than he had to.
A twinge of pain made him open his eyes. Shifting, he worked his right arm out from under the blanket and felt around on the floor for his glasses. World in focus once more, he inspected his arm. What he saw made him sit up and say aloud, "There is no fucking way."
A red and purple welt, bruised and swollen, was developing on his forearm in the exact same place Guillaume had been cut by the bandit's knife. The skin wasn't broken, but there was no mistaking the positioning of the injury.
"Got caught in a fight, huh?" The deep voice from across the room startled him. Miles was awake as well, lying propped up on one elbow. His hair, which had grown out a bit since they rescued him from Abstergo, stuck out at odd angles.
"Yes, I was…how did you know?"
"You were shouting in French."
"What did I say?"
"Je vais les tuer tous. And something about a daughter."
Yes, Elise, ma fille. I hope Olivier got her home…no, sodding idiot, I know he got her home, It's history now and she had kids of her own so of course he got her home, she's not my daughter she's my great great great a lot of sodding greats grandmother. Get a grip, Hastings! Still a little numb with disbelief, Shaun poked at the bruise. It hurt, a lot. "I don't understand," he muttered.
"Understand what?"
Holding out the injured arm so Miles could see it, Shaun explained, "I've been through this memory once already, in the Animus. You were there, you saw. Guillaume is at his daughter's wedding, the Baron's hired thugs attack the party but the men fight them off. Guillaume goes home, gets his arm bandaged, puts his armor on and takes his men into the woods to kill all the bandits. He falls off his horse, and takes a crossbow bolt to the leg, but survives and all the bandits are captured or killed. Then we ended the session. There was nothing wrong with me when I got out of the Animus. No bruises, no aches other than from sitting still for an hour. So what the hell is going on here?" He pointed at the bruise.
Miles shrugged. "I have no idea. My best guess is the Animus creates something like a buffer between the part of your mind that's you, and the part that's them, during the sessions. So you're more aware that even though you're experiencing things, they're not happening to you, the real you, sitting in the chair. You can pause or get out whenever you want, or go kind of, like, out-of-body if something's really bad but you still need to see it. But when it's not the Animus controlling the memory, especially if it happens when you're asleep, there's no buffer there. As far as your brain's concerned, it's all real and happening right now. So your body reacts to injuries the same way it would if they really happened, bruising, swelling, tight muscles, pain. Just not the actual injury it's reacting to. Lemme guess, that started out as the knife wound Guillaume took, right?"
Nodding, Shaun couldn't help but stare at the other man. He'd never heard so many words out of his mouth at the same time, and certainly none so intelligent. Maybe there was more going on there than he'd given him credit for.
And speaking of more going on, he realized, "Does that mean you've been…experiencing this effect? Last week, when I woke you up, you said the Templars had you – Ezio – on a ship somewhere. Whatever was going on, it was nothing good. Did the memory…?"
Wordlessly, Miles sat up and hooked a finger under the hem of his cotton pajama shirt, pulling it up to partially expose his abs. Crisscrossing the muscles, ruining the effect that a wonderfully sculpted bare torso would otherwise have had on Shaun's imagination, were several angry-looking stripes of red, raised skin in various stages of healing. There were even a few blisters that had formed along some of the lines, reacting as if to a first-degree burn. He guessed that whatever the Templars had done to Ezio had been particularly unpleasant.
Shaun's first instinct was to reach out and brush his fingers across the wounds, but he squashed that down right quick. Instead, he said, "Lucy's going to need to know about this."
Miles let his shirt drop, which allowed Shaun's gaze to return to his face. "Nope. She can't know. She already schedules short days when I have a bad…episode. I appreciate it, but as you all keep telling me we're pretty damn short on time here. If she knew about this she'd make our sessions even shorter, and we can't afford to waste any time that I could possibly spend as Ezio, getting closer to that memory. We've gotta get to the Apple first, no matter what. You know I'm right."
"But don't you think-" Shaun started to protest, when there was a knock on the door and Lucy popped her head into the room.
"Up early, boys?" She said, smiling cheerily. "Well, let's not waste any time, then. Baby's all cued up, and there's coffee and scrambled eggs, and Rebecca got her hands on some zeppole. So get dressed and downstairs, chop chop!" She clapped her hands and disappeared.
Bloody insufferable morning people. "I'm telling her."
"You are not," Miles said, standing and shedding his blanket. Shaun studied the ceiling, as had become his morning routine. There was a water stain that looked like Godzilla if he squinted right. "And I'll tell you why," the big American continued, shucking off his pajamas don't look Hastings don't look and pulling on his uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie. "Because if you did, you'd have to show them what happened to your arm. And while me they have to let in, they'd ban you from the Animus altogether."
Teeth grinding, Shaun glared at the man's smug face. "I liked you better before you met Machiavelli," he said.
Miles put on an innocent face. "Why, Shaun, whatever do you mean? I've never met Machiavelli."
"Oh, you know what I mean, you sanctimonious, oversized waste of perfectly good grey matter!"
Crossing his arms, Miles raised an eyebrow. "Fine. Tell them. It's no skin off my nose. You're the one who'll have to give up the Animus. And admit it," he grinned, and a gleam came into his eye and suddenly he bore a lot of resemblance to his Italian ancestor, "they'd have to pry that hour of time every day away from your cold, dead hands. Because it's amazing."
Standing up, Shaun turned his back and pulled his shirt over his head so he wouldn't have to look the other man in the eye as he answered, "Yes. Yes it is."