And she was. She lectured Desmond for the better part of an hour about how he should be more responsible, and how he was a wanted man, and how even though he may have an ally, it didn't mean he could do whatever he wanted. Emiliano wandered around behind her, and Desmond found himself watching the boy more than the three irate assassins in front of him. Emiliano picked up a black marker and drew a large French mustache on the "valued" portrait of Lorenzo di Medici and gave him a goatee, a scar over his eye, and proceeded to doodle over all the other pictures, drawing dying stick horses in the streets of Rome, and flying chickens pooping on unfortunate citizens in Venice. In Florence, people were slapping one another with fish. He switched out Rebecca's and Lucy's chairs and drank half of Rebecca's coffee—then ate Lucy's breakfast sandwich.

Desmond wondered briefly if this boy was actually the descendent of La Volpe.

He ruffled through the papers on Lucy's desk and purposefully rearranged them. He hid a binder or two behind various objects (and one on top of one of the statues. The fucking monkey). He ended with a loud, attention-calling yawn as he settled into the Animus. They turned and looked, and it took every ounce of will power Desmond had not to laugh when Shaun freaked out, or when Lucy screamed because her sandwich was gone and her papers messed up. Emiliano lounged on the Animus like a king, and Rebecca laughed.

"How you pull this over on us?"

Desmond translated.

"It is the art of a thief, no?"

"That's wicked, man. I'm gonna need more coffee though. And my chair back."

Desmond plodded over to Emiliano and sat on the end of the Animus. "Nice job."

"Thank you."

They sat, watching the others scrabble around to right everything ("How the Hell did my binder get up there?" Lucy screeched at one point, clearly at her breaking point). When things were finally done, Rebecca had joined them two cups of coffee, one for her and one for Emiliano, who thanked her.

"Why do you let them treat you like shit?" he asked after a little bit.

Desmond looked at him. "It's okay. I don't really mind it. Keeps them from making me actually do anything."

Emiliano shrugged. "Sounds like a deal."

"That's what I thought."

"Okay, Desmond," he looked when Lucy spoke, "enough distraction. Let's plug you in."

"I think we should plug in Emiliano."

"No, you're not going out anymore in daylight. Lie down." Emiliano yawned and stretched out, earning a glare from Lucy. "Tell him to get off."

Desmond told him to, and bit his lip at the response.

"What'd he say?"

"No."

"What'd he really say?"

"No, you narrow-minded witch from Satan's darkest bowels."

Her eyes grew wide. "You tell that—"

She hissed when Emiliano plugged his ears and said something.

"He also said he won't listen to you or that pig-headed, lily-livered English dog."

"See what I mean, Lucy?" Shaun said, irritated. "The boy is unbearable! I say we shoot him right now and throw the body into sewers!"

"I'm tempted to, but we can't just get rid of him."

Emiliano yawned loudly, slipping a hand under his shirt to itch his stomach, and Desmond's jaw dropped.

"What happened?"

"I fell," Emiliano said simply. "And I landed on my hip."

He tugged his shirt back down.

"Desmond," Lucy said, "ask him if there's anything he can do."

"Emiliano, why don't you go straighten out the sword? Would you do that for me?"

Emiliano perked up and smiled. "Sure! I can do that!"

He was halfway up the ramp.

"Emiliano!"

He fished out some coin from Lucy's desk. "H-hey! Wait!"

He gave it to the boy. "Buy some candy, too." He winked. "And make sure you share it with me and Rebecca."

Emiliano grinned. "Sure!"

Desmond watched him disappear, and turned to Lucy. "There. He's gone."

Lucy was frowning. "Desmond, our funds are limited. You can't just give him money."

"He's probably going to spend it on himself, knowing Salai's habits," Shaun hissed.

"I have a feeling he won't," Desmond murmured. "He's not quite the same."

"Well, he certainly has no qualms about stealing food and being an asshole."

He lay down on the Animus, offering out his arm. "I told him to go buy some candy for us."

"Why would you tell him to purchase something that's such a waste of money!" Lucy shrieked.

Rebecca pulled the visor down, grinning. "I'll look forward to it."

His eyes fluttered closed, and he faded into the memory. Twelve hours later, he pulled out of it, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

"Congratulations, tit," Shaun snapped, "that damn boy hasn't returned."

"He'll be back."

"Sure thing."

"We cooked you dinner," Lucy grumbled.

He was halfway through the food before there was a loud clanking sound and someone cursing. He looked up at the entrance to see Emiliano carrying the armor and the sword—and a small bag. There were streaks down his face from where the sweat had dripped, and Desmond couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. The others watched as he carried the things over to him and set them down. His hair was pulled back into the similar bun he had seen when Salai had gone into a cleaning frenzy as he handed him the armor.

"Put it on."

Desmond blinked, then set his dish aside and started putting it on. Emiliano helped him with the clothes and the armor, and then the boy attached the sword sheath, a dagger, and held out his hand for Desmond's, wrangling the metal cestus onto his hand. After he finished, he stepped back and placed his hands on his hips. Then, he waved a hand.

"Move. Let me see if it works. Draw your sword and move."

Desmond started stretching in the armor. Wearing it felt so familiar, and he twisted in his spot under Emiliano's careful eye.

"The arms are too tight around the shoulder and armpit. I will have to take them out. And your sleeves are too long. I will take them up. Ugh, and look at those tails. They are hideously dirty. I didn't know how dirty they had gotten until you tried it on. I will have to polish the armor, too."

Desmond laughed. "It feels fine."

Emiliano frowned. "Are you sure? I am afraid the shoulders and armpits are too tight."

He grinned. "Come here: let me start teaching you while I wear it. The longer I wear it, the more uncomfortable it'll become if it's really too tight."

"Hey, Lucy," he looked to Rebecca. "I'm getting wonky signals from the Animus. Something's up."

They jumped when the cover on the panel to the inside of the Animus went whizzing by Rebecca's ear, narrowly missing Lucy's side. Sparks flew from the open area, and Emiliano stepped against Desmond.

"Bloody Hell!"

"What's going on!"

"It's him. The ghost is back," he murmured, and the assassin could feel the boy trembling as he watched the sparks fly.

The entire thing flicked on, glowing. The screen glowed bright, and kept getting brighter until the entire thing went dead. The wires flopped like wet noodles, and Desmond had the sword in his hand, the other arm wrapped around the boy. A misty image began to appear next to the open panel, and Desmond's eyes grew wide.

Ezio appeared, scowling, and the entire room was silent. He was fuming over something, and Desmond pushed Emiliano behind him, glaring at his ancestor as he stood there. Ezio's head snapped toward him, and he curled his lip, feeling protective of the boy as they held their stare off. After a few minutes, Ezio scoffed and faded.

"W-what the Hell was that?"

"I do believe we are being haunted by the ghost of Desmond's ancestor. Thank you, Desmond, for getting us in even deeper shit than we were before. Just can't help but make things into even bigger messes, hm?"

Desmond snarled. "Shut up, Shaun."

Rebecca sighed. "Man, now I have to fix Baby. We'll be out for a month. It looks as if he did a number on her!"

"Rebecca," Shaun deadpanned, "not that I don't trust your incredible skills, but don't you have to actually be near the damage to assess it?"

Rebecca scowled from her spot on the other side of the room. "Usually, but I'm that damn good."

Lucy cleared her throat. "Guys, stop it, okay? I will admit, knowing there's a ghost—"

"He won't harm you. He never hurts a person."

"What?"

Desmond looked over his shoulder to Emiliano, who had spoken. Emiliano looked at him. "He does not hurt people, but he gets upset when people defile his things."

Desmond raised an eyebrow, but told the others, and they gave him an odd stare. "Emiliano, they don't get what you mean."

"He's frightened off teenagers before with spray paint, and I think he's mad you're using the Sanctuary like this."

"We haven't abused it at all. He never appeared to us before."

"That's because he was always following me. He doesn't like being ignored."

Desmond scoffed. "Yeah, I'll agree to that. But that still doesn't explain—"

Emiliano had pursed his lips and looked deep in thought, then, "Perhaps it has to do with that old well, or the sewers."

"What?"

"That ghost, he's led me several times to those places, but I cannot remove the slab over the well, and I will not go jumping around like a tick in those sewers." The boy wrinkled his nose. "And he has gotten extraordinarily mad with me for ignoring him when he tries to lead me there."

Desmond translated this for the others, and Lucy rubbed her temples. "Great, great! Fucking great! Now we have the Templars, an angry ghost, a little boy, a broken machine, and a man who's losing his mind all stacked against us. Can this situation get any worse?"

"Hey, it's not Desmond's fault he's crazy. We're the ones who stuffed him into the Animus."

Lucy scowled at Rebecca, and Desmond led Emiliano off to the side to talk in whispers.

"How about if I give you a list of books, I will teach you to read? I'll need things in Italian to get you started."

"I can learn English, instead, if that is easier. English presents more opportunities, anyway."

"Well, I'll still need books. Do you know a place you can get teaching books at?"

Emiliano shook his head. "No, I have no idea, but I'm sure we could find some."

Desmond sighed, then scratched his head. "No point in keeping you out longer than necessary. I'll make things myself. You know numbers, right?"

"Yes. Although, I do not know them as well as I should. As a thief, numbers do not mean too much."

Desmond chuckled. "Just like your ancestor."

"You do not know my ancestor. Neither do I. You cannot know."

He ruffled his hair, laughing at Emiliano's scowl. "Well, we'll start in half an hour, okay? Get a notebook and some pencils for us to work with."

Emiliano nodded, and Desmond straightened, turning to Lucy. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Lucy frowned. "Maybe an explanation for how we're supposed to make it out of here alive."

"Look, Lucy, I'm really sorry, okay?"

"'Sorry' is not good enough in this case," Shaun snapped. "Bloody Hell."

Desmond sighed and resigned himself to sitting, useless, as he watched the others work frantically. Emiliano eventually came jogging back over, a pack of sharpened pencils and several notebooks. The assassin smiled.

"All right, let's get started."

He sat Emiliano down on his sleeping bag and thought briefly about how to proceed. As the days passed, he began to enjoy teaching the boy. He would sit at a pile of boxes with a wooden plank over the top, one arm around Emiliano and the lessons he made up pouring onto the papers as the kid learned eagerly. Desmond found himself in a wonderful mood as the days began to pass.

They started out with learning English and how to read Italian. The boy picked it up quickly, and Desmond would grin or laugh whenever he made a serious mistake. Every time, Emiliano would blush, scowling, and cover the words with his hands, saying that Desmond was impossible and that he would never learn anymore ever again, and every time, Desmond would knock their foreheads together and smile softly at him, staring into the green eyes that seemed to pout. He would rub their noses together, and the boy would smile slightly, then the assassin would kiss his forehead and gently move his hands off the page before gesturing for him to retry.

He watched Emiliano quickly learn the languages, and it wasn't long before he could hold a decent conversation with anybody in either tongue. However, math and science didn't seem to be his strong suit. While most kids his age would be learning how to divide with fractions or solving single variable expressions, he was still hung up on simple multiplication and division. He just didn't understand it, and Desmond could feel his heart twist when Emiliano would smack his pencil against the desk and get frustrated with the math, shouting at Desmond about how he didn't need to learn it because he was a thief, and thieves didn't care about prices. Lucy and Shaun would glare at him until the assassin would pull the boy into his arms and calm him down.

He was enjoying teaching Emiliano between the boy's chores. His kid was sent for errands and often ended up buying himself a book or two instead of something on the list, earning him Lucy's ire, in which Emiliano would plug his ears and sit on the Animus, pointedly staring at her until she stopped. Desmond was ecstatic to find Emiliano sitting on the roof of Monteriggioni several times in the wee hours of the morning, a flashlight in hand as he read through whatever book he had bought at a thrift store—or stolen, but Desmond refused to believe it.

On those nights, in which he often had nightmares that woke him up, he would settle beside Emiliano, one arm around his shoulders as he read the next page aloud, and Desmond would correct him. They would read until the sun poked its head over the horizon, and they would go back to the Sanctuary and fall asleep in the blankets and pillows Emiliano was transferring down. Rebecca often slept with two or three of them, nestled in like bird, and even Shaun managed to get to use one.

Desmond helped him polish the armor and finish the cloth portions. He had produced a needle out of seemingly nothing, and once, built a new flashlight for the boy out of spare parts he had seen laying around the hideout. He was disappointed when Rebecca finished repairing Baby and he had to go back in, but he made sure to leave Emiliano with plenty to work on. The days still continued smoothly, but their lessons were constricted to whenever they could get a spare bit of time in, and Desmond often found himself creating lessons for his kid well into the night.

He told Emiliano to ask Shaun if he had any questions, and Emiliano would nod and smile. Desmond would kiss his head and hug him tightly, and his boy would grin and turn to the lessons after knocking their foreheads together, letting a smile pass between them like a secret. Emiliano didn't go to Shaun for help, but after a few weeks of reading through the lessons on his own, he eventually got stuck on something in one of the books Desmond was having him read, so he sucked it up and walked over to the man, who was lounging in his chair. He heard Shaun sigh, irritated, and turn to look at him.

"Yes?" he snapped. "What?"

Emiliano held out the book his reading was in. "Desmond teaches me much, yes? But he is in the Animus, and I cannot figure this word out."

Shaun scowled. "Just what has the dunce made you do this time?" He swiped the book and looked at them. It was Lord of the Flies, in English, and he blinked. "He's having you read this?"

"What?"

Shaun frowned. "He's not smart enough to want you to read this. Did you pick this up?"

"No!" Emiliano exclaimed. "No, he thought it and told me to get it. Desmond is smart, yes?"

Shaun scoffed. "That oaf is the farthest thing from smart you can get."

"Oaf?"

"Stupid person."

"Oaf," Emiliano murmured. "No, he is smart. He teaches me how to read and do math. I speak English now, yes? This is my read: I am enjoying it, but I cannot figure this word out. The tricks he has taught me do not make any sensible words."

Shaun sighed and pinched his nose before looking at the word. Emiliano waited patiently as he figured it out, looking at Desmond in the Animus. He looked when Shaun cleared his throat and pronounced the word for him.

"You can't tell me he's teaching you the deeper meaning to this stuff. Tell me, what does this passage signify?"

Emiliano looked where Shaun pointed before he read it quickly and scratched his chin.

"I thought so—"

Emiliano launched into an explanation of the passage, delivering a thorough, well organized (if not shaky from his English) speech delving into many different meanings of the passage. Shaun looked floored by the end of it, and Emiliano smiled innocently.

"I told you: Desmond is smart, no? He teaches me to think like this. Thank you, English pig-dog, for pronouncing that word."

"Desmond is not smart. The man doesn't even have a high school education."

"He is smart. He teaches me well."

"Anyone could teach you well. You're the equivalent of a seventh grader."

"He is smart! Look!"

Emiliano marched off and dug out one of Desmond's notebooks, shoving it into Shaun's hands.

"He is smart! Look through that!"

He walked off without another word and sat at the makeshift desk, pouring over the book. When Desmond woke up, Emiliano was puffing with pride at having finished the chapter on his own, and Desmond gave him a high-five. Shaun marched over, scowling.

"Miles, can I talk to you for a second?"

Desmond raised an eyebrow, but followed him out of the Sanctuary, watching as Shaun began pacing outside of the house, the moon shining brightly on them. He watched the historian pace furiously.

"What is it?"

Shaun stopped abruptly, glaring at him. "Just what are you thinking?"

"What do you mean?"

"Having him read Lord of the Flies?"

"Yeah? He enjoys it well enough. I read it when I was thirteen. He takes to languages like a fish to water. Why not have him read it if he's ready for it? So what if he's only thirteen?"

Shaun was staring at him as if he had grown a second head.

"What?"

Shaun shook his head. "Crazy. Blinking crazy is what you are."

Desmond laughed. "Yeah, I know that. Tell me something new."

He looked Shaun over, admiring the way the moonlight fell upon him, and he wanted his notebook to sketch him. The historian crossed his arms, and Desmond ached to draw him, hoping he could remember everything well enough to draw him later.

"Well, I found this courtesy of orphan boy."

He watched as Shaun pulled out his notebook from seemingly nowhere, and his eyes grew wide.

"M-my notebook."

"Yes, Miles, your notebook. Care to explain to me what all of," he flipped through the pages, "this is?"

Desmond swallowed. "Uh…"

Shaun scowled. "I find this hard to believe it came from you. It's as if I were staring at one of Leonardo da Vinci's notebooks."

Desmond smiled shakily. "I'm, uh, copying—"

"Don't give me bullshit, Desmond. I've seen the upgrades for the Animus."

Desmond scratched the back of his head.

"Where did you get these?"

He sighed, folding his arms and looking at the ground, scuffing his foot on the stone. "I made them.

"And this?"

He looked to see it open to the picture he had drawn of Shaun emerging from the showers at one of the houses. They took turns going for showers at various houses in the villa, and Desmond and Shaun often went together. He bit his lip, trying to come up with an explanation.

"Or this?"

It was a picture of the historian sleeping. The one behind it was—

"Or this one?"

—of him working at his computer, and he was illuminated by the soft glow of the computer. Desmond loved those pictures. They were the only times Shaun didn't blast him for one reason or another. He didn't know what to say.

"Well? Is there something you've been meaning to tell us, Desmond?"

"Uh, yeah, I might have a small crush on you."

Shaun pulled back slightly. "N-no, I meant—"

"And I might have a secret talent for drawing. Oh, yeah, and I'm MacGyver incarnate. Or Leonardo's never known ancestor. Something like that. Is that what you were looking for?"

Shaun was staring at him, his jaw slack and eyes wide behind those glasses—which Desmond thought made him look even smarter, and he wasn't going to tell him how much of a fetish he had for men with glasses. After a few minutes, Shaun scowled and drew himself up.

"And you never thought to tell us this?"

Desmond scoffed. "Course I did. But I chose not to. You guys treated me like an idiot, so I went with it."

Shaun scowled. "We could've used your brain, Desmond."

Desmond looked to the side. "Not from what I heard."

He instinctively caught his notebook when Shaun tossed it to him. Desmond rose and turned to start back in. "Look, if we're done here—"

He found himself pinned to the wall, the historian in his personal bubble, giving him a serious stare. "Desmond…"

He leaned in and kissed him, unable to help it. His lips were warm and chapped, and they felt great. He moved to breathe against his ear. "I can recite the Iliad, if you like. Or how about why Pythagorean's Theorem is still a theorem?"

He could feel Shaun shudder, and he took the chance to flip their positions and press against him. He could feel the historian's warmth through his layers of clothing, and he grinned, growling softly as kissed him again, hard and unrelenting.

"Or how about if I fuck you right here and then draw the picture of you looking thoroughly debauched and show you just how sexy you are?"

"D-Desmond, you've got to be kidding—"

"You could've pushed me away when I first kissed you."

"Rebecca or Lucy could come out at any moment."

"So you're not denying you want this?"

He pressed against him harder.

"D-damnit, Desmond."

"How long has it been since you were last fucked up the ass, Shaun?"

"None of your business."

He growled, nipping lightly at his ear. "How long, Shaun? Long enough to make me look good enough?"

Shaun pulled his lip back, digging his nails into Desmond's ribcage. "Tit, you looked appealing ever since I laid eyes on you."

"I thought I caught you checking me out."

He bit down on the area behind Shaun's ear, drawing a gasp from him.

"And n-now that I know just how bloody smart you are—"

"I'm that much more appealing, aren't I?"

He gave him a crushing kiss and then proceeded to fuck him against the wall, completely ignoring when Rebecca came out to get them, and stayed, only to be drug back down by Lucy to the hideout. And later that night, as he lay beside Emiliano on the pile of blankets and sleeping bags, he drew Shaun on an empty page of the notebook, smiling the entire time. Rebecca congratulated them, and Lucy looked away, blushing faintly (but Desmond did catch the smirk on her face), and Emiliano was all ready out cold, curled in the bedding. Shaun moved his things over and fell asleep on his other side. Desmond could feel himself nodding off, and he set the notebook down across his chest, pen and pencil in hand, and fell asleep.

The next morning, he woke to an empty bed, and the sound of Shaun murmuring to Rebecca. He groaned as he stretched, and the voices fell silent. He sat up, looking around. Rebecca was working on Baby, Shaun next to her holding his notebook, and Lucy was flipping through a different one of his notebooks. They had all paused and looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Yo, Des, what the Hell does this mean? We can't get a part like this."

He furrowed his brow, not quite registering that she referred to his notebook.

"Huh?"

"Desmond," Lucy began, "these are brilliant. You're an incredible artist. Why didn't you tell us?"

He blinked. "Huh? W-wait! Where did you find those?"

"Your little demon monkey showed us," Shaun muttered.

Emiliano laughed, peeling an orange as he sat in Shaun's chair. He waved at Desmond.

"I told them you were smart, yes?"

Desmond scowled, and he smirked evilly.

"I showed them how well you do."

He switched to Italian. "I thought I told you I didn't want them to know."

"I told them anyway."

"Emiliano!"

His boy grinned like a shit. "So? Do you think I care?"

Desmond scowled, and he beamed. He looked at Rebecca and crawled over, looking at the diagram. "Which part, 'Becca?"

"This one."

She pointed, and he nodded. "I can build it for you."

"You sure, hot stuff?"

"I'm positive."

"Good. Get to work, Des."

He sighed.

"Oh, and sorry—"

"Don't apologize," Shaun spat. "The prat never told us. He's just as good at being an idiot."

"Shaun!" Lucy said. "You know, for being fucked so hard last night, you're still being a dick."

Shaun turned bright red. "Sh-shut up, Lucy!"

Desmond laughed. "Naw, don't come down hard on him. He's got a point."

Lucy frowned. "That doesn't excuse him."

"Perhaps it would help if I didn't have to sit on this ridiculously hard stone."

"Here!" Emiliano said, fetching him a pillow and setting it down. "Use this."

Desmond had gathered various items and was working on creating the necessary part.

"Dude," Rebecca began as she clipped a wire, "this is so gonna blow Abstergo's Animus out of the water."

"You need to make this seat more comfortable."

She moved out of the way as Emiliano chucked a piece of orange peel at her head.

"Yeah, well, I'll leave design to you, bub. Just so long as you don't fuck with Baby's innards."

Emiliano smirked, offering her a piece of orange. She took it while she looked at the notebook page, chewing.

"So you weren't planning on ever telling us?"

Desmond looked at Lucy. "No. You seemed fine without me, and I did pitch in occasionally behind the scenes."

"I saw that picture you drew last night," Shaun murmured.

Desmond bit his lip.

"I saw your pictures of me from the notebooks," Lucy said, opening to one of her in her bra, doing her hair. "You make me look flattering covered in filth."

Desmond chuckled. "You always look that beautiful."

She gave him a "don't-be-an-idiot" look, but she was smiling. Silence fell over the group as they worked, and eventually, Emiliano hopped to do his work Desmond had planned for him. Desmond rose and walked over, working on the part as he walked Emiliano through long division. Halfway through (when he noticed Emiliano was getting extremely frustrated) he stopped and told him to go lunch. His boy stalked off, grumbling, but took the money and returned with enough food for all five of them.