Part one of two for warnings of torture.
Many, many thanks to Schmuzz and for giving me feedback on the chapter(s). Especially to Schmuzz, who read it more than once-you've been a saint for reading it for me. As well as to my gmail friend, A.K.. :3 Thank you, guys!
"I don't get it, Des," Rebecca whispered. "What'd we do?"
Desmond dropped his helmet on the floor. "It's not anything you did, Rebecca. I wouldn't worry for your sake. You'll be fine. But Shaun here is the one I'd be worried about."
He smiled at Shaun briefly.
"What happened to you, Desmond?" Lucy said, her brows furrowing as she looked at him.
Desmond chuckled. "Shaun didn't tell you? He kicked me out after I went home with him, and I came here. I had the assassins pull some strings for me, and I got into boot camp."
"Arguably," Shaun spat, "you're crazier now than before."
"Fuck that," General Cross said, and he looked toward the General. "You shoulda seen the boy. He lopped off his own ring finger, then tried to kill a drill sergeant by throwing a butter knife at him. He's in good care now."
"I'm sorry, Desmond," Lucy said, hanging her head. "I didn't—"
"It's okay, Lucy," he said, with a nonchalant shrug and a wave of his hands. "You don't have to stay here."
"I'd rather die," she murmured, "then live knowing I let you become a blood-thirsty, crazy demon."
He pulled out the pistol from his belt and aimed at Lucy. "I really did like you. Perhaps it would've turned out different if I had been sent home with you instead of Shaun."
He shot her, point blank. Shaun flinched at the blood as the chair rocked slightly from the impact. He heard Rebecca's shriek when the spray hit the wall with an almost pleasing "splat" in conjunction to the scrape of the metal legs against the concrete floor. He shoved the gun back in the belt. He looked at the other two: Rebecca was wide-eyed in shock, almost as if she didn't believe Lucy was actually dead, and Shaun's mouth was hanging open.
"I did have a crush on her at one point," he murmured. "Oh well, too late."
"Did you have to do that, Desmond?" Matt said, walking over to examine the body.
"I don't want Rebecca hurt, either. She didn't do anything to me."
Trevor sighed. "Are you sure?"
Desmond smiled. "I'm positive. Let her go, and keep Lucy's body until she can come pick it up."
"D-Desmond?"
He looked over at Rebecca, who was shaking. "Yeah?"
"I—you…"
He raised an eyebrow, his lip curling up into a twisted grin that showed his canines. "Yeah?"
"L-Lucy."
"What about her? She's dead now."
Matt cut the bonds they had used to secure her and carried her over by the back of her shirt like a ragdoll. He thrust the body into her face, and she screamed, struggling violently.
"Th-that's sick!"
"That's the Wisemen," Matt said, a purr to his voice that hadn't been there before.
Desmond could feel a shiver run down his spine as Matt and several others laughed at Rebecca's struggles to get out of the chair as he and another dropped the body in her laugh. Panicking, she twisted and thrashed until it fell on the floor, and she tried to pull away from it.
"H-how could you-!"
"He's not human, Rebecca," he heard Shaun hiss, and he looked at the man.
"I vaguely remember you saying that while we were on the run, too. He's the one we want, guys. He's the enemy."
"He didn't have much of a reaction to seeing her die," Trevor mumbled.
"We're assassins," Shaun ground out, although the panic was there, too, and Desmond was becoming excited. "We're paid to deliver death. It's bound to happen to us as well, whether by human or… demon."
He turned to see Seth grinning manically. "What did he do?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but Kenneth beat him to it. "Why don't you ask him, Seth? And if he doesn't tell you word for word what happened, why not have some fun?"
He watched them drag Lucy's body from the room, and General Cross took Rebecca out to get her back to where she came from. She was in a state of shock, looking back over at him once to meet his gaze, and he nodded farewell. She grimaced.
"So, Shaun, wanna tell us what happened?" Seth had grabbed his chin, staring at him.
Shaun hissed. "Never. This is between Desmond and I to work out. Not mindless barbarians like yourselves to solve for him."
Seth laughed. "That's where you're wrong, man. We got dragged into this shit when Desmond was adopted. We love him, don't we?"
The other three in the room murmured in agreement, and one of them wrapped an arm around Desmond's shoulders, patting his chest.
"He's our baby brother now. The rest of us here are all in our upper forties. We won't live much longer in this field. As a matter of fact, I think we've got the next assignment all ready lined up. Overseas in Afghanistan."
There was an excited murmur as Seth tightened his grip on Shaun's chin. "So, wanna tell us?"
"No. I wish to speak to Desmond. Alone."
Kenneth chuckled. "You are alone. There's none of your little assassin buddies to help you."
Shaun snarled, and Desmond felt himself be soothed a little bit as he felt Kenneth's arm tighten around his shoulders. There was still that sickening feeling in his gut, and he was trying his best to squish it. He did still like—love—Shaun, and there was something to be said about watching his favorite person be forced to this. He saw a flash of white behind Seth and Shaun, and he looked, tensing when he saw Altair and Ezio watching him.
"Don't go back now," Altair murmured, and Ezio snarled at Altair.
"How can you forgive this?"
"It's clear that we can't stop him."
"So? You should not be supporting these decisions!"
Altair looked at Desmond, placing a hand on Shaun's shoulder. "Why should I not? It is clear he has been ruined."
"This is ridiculous, Altair. You are not yourself."
He watched a wicked smirk crawl lazily over his lips. "Perhaps I am, and you don't know that. I will give him my support. It is not like I can do much else, now."
He met Altair's golden eyes, and he blinked.
"Perhaps I am just a projection of a madman's mind."
He vanished, and Ezio gave him a stern look before vanishing as well. Just the projection of a madman's mind—not yet, he wasn't. He hoped. He jumped when Kenneth nudged him, and he saw that Matt and Trevor had pulled up seats to watch. Shaun was glaring at him, a lovely bruise starting to swell over his jaw. An improvement, he almost wanted to say. His glasses were removed as he looked at the man.
"You still here, Des?" Kenneth said, and he removed his helmet to look at him better.
Desmond looked at the worried face, and he nodded to reassure him. "No problem, just… distracted. Flashbacks. You understand, right?"
"Course," Matt said, flinging his helmet off to the side of the room. "No prob."
"Shaun here has something to say to you while I get the staple gun to keep his glasses on," Seth said, dismissing himself.
Desmond stared at Shaun, who glared defiantly at Seth's back until he left. The man seemed to deflate after that, looking down.
"What?"
He inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry, Desmond."
"Of course you are now—"
"No, I mean, after I told you to leave, I tried to date other men, and none of them worked."
"I don't believe you."
"It doesn't matter if you do or not, Desmond. But I had to tell you the truth. I tried several different men, and I found myself comparing them to you. All those things I said that night plagued my dreams. I haven't been at all well ever since I forced you to leave."
Desmond snorted, but he wasn't going to tell Shaun he was eating up every word. He had wanted to hear those words badly, and they were exactly what he wanted. He wanted to kiss the man and hug him. He loved Shaun. Unbidden anger ceased him, and he stepped over, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back.
"What the Hell? Do you fucking expect me to believe that bullshit?"
He snarled, staring into his eyes. He was pleased at the fear he saw there. He had finally instilled fear, fucking fear, into someone.
"Do you fucking expect me to believe that, you fucking son of a bitch? After all that shit you yelled at me while your mother was out of the house?"
He saw Shaun open his mouth to retort, and before he knew it, his fist was solidly against Shaun's face, and he could feel something warm begin to trickle out of his nose.
"You Goddamn prick! You just expect me to drop everything for you and come back? After I sawed off my own finger and had the shit beaten out me several times by the drill sergeants?"
Shaun opened his mouth again, and he snarled as he removed his fist, shaking the man.
"After I nearly killed myself trying to get my shit together after you told me that you never wanted to see me again? You want me to fucking come back to you? You think that shitty apology will do the trick?"
"No!" Shaun snarled, pulling at the bindings. "No, I don't expect it to! I'm saying I made a mistake!"
"Hell to the fucking yeah you made a Goddamn mistake! And now you're fucking gonna pay for it, you slimy dickhead!"
"I'm the slimy dickhead? I'm not the one employed to be a bloody sadist!"
"You always were a fucking sadist! You have no idea how much it fucking hurt hearing you say that you never actually liked me and the only reason you fucking slept with me was to keep me from going crazy! Look how fucking well that did, Shaun!"
"I'm back!" Seth chirped merrily as Desmond and Shaun looked at him.
He paused, surveying the scene. Desmond snarled, and Seth laughed, holding up the staple gun.
"Looks like I came right in time. We wouldn't want your glasses falling off now, would we?"
Desmond straightened, giving the gun a thorough once-over, then growled, "Those staples won't kill him, will they?"
He watched Seth shiver. "God, your voice. You are perfect for this team. That-that is scary. But no, six millimeters. The adult human skull? Five to eight. We should be good."
He stepped aside, hatred burning inside him. He snarled when Shaun tried to move away, his eyes growing wide.
"This won't kill him, kid. I've been doing this for years. I'm the oldest on this team aside from Cross, who's, like, a million and three. Hold him still for me, will you?"
Desmond moved behind him and grabbed his head, holding it firmly and leaving no room to struggle. He laughed when Shaun whimpered as Seth aligned the gun and the glasses underneath it. He grinned when he heard the gun go off, and Shaun tried valiantly not to scream. He could see tears forming at the corner of his eyes, and he felt a vicious satisfaction at the labored breathing as Shaun tried to keep himself from admitting painful defeat.
"Damn," Seth said, looking up at him. "You let his head move when it fired. I'll need to put in another staple."
"By all means," Desmond purred. "Put in another."
He chuckled, again, as he repeated the process. There was a choked sob from Shaun, and he watched the man's entire body jerk in response, another high-pitched whimper coming out as another tear fell. It had to hurt worse than an ordinary migraine.
"There. That should keep them steady, but we'll want to staple the sides, too. Just to make sure they don't shift."
He forced Shaun to turn his head.
"Thanks, buddy."
He grinned at Shaun's strangled cry of pain. The gun went off again, and Shaun bit his lips hard enough to make it bleed, a high-pitched, short scream trying desperately to come out filling the room. He forced him to look the other way. The sharp sound of the staple impacting his head made his eyebrows move together and the curl of his lips become much darker, and he drank up the sharp cry of pain from Shaun.
"Now," Seth said, straightening up and tossing the gun to the side, "wanna tell us what you did to Desmond?"
Shaun whimpered again, his head bobbing forward a bit when Desmond let go and walked back over. Kenneth wrapped his arm around him again. There was a shiny trail down the victim's cheek, his eyes still glistening from the build-up of unbidden tears in the low light.
"You're a good addition to this team, kiddo."
Desmond smiled. He saw Trevor get up and go to fetch something while Shaun tried to glare defiantly, the cracked bones probably making it hard to think. He looked up at a flash of white and raised an eyebrow at Ezio. The man looked downright horrified.
"Yes?"
"Desmond…"
He smiled like a child who had done no wrong. "He had it coming."
Ezio stepped forward, through Shaun, and kept moving, stretching his arms out. Desmond jerked back. "Don't touch me."
"Desmond, mio bambino—"
He looked so caring, so loving, so—he hated it. He had never had that kind of love in his life, and he didn't need it. Ezio could fuck off. He didn't want him to care about him. He was a ghost. He was imaginary.
"Don't you dare fucking touch me!"
He jerked away from Kenneth and moved backward, away from Ezio and his hug until his back was against the wall.
"Mio bambino, why do you do this?"
"That bastard fucking deserves it!"
He was trapped as Ezio moved closer, and he gritted his teeth. That look in his eyes almost made him want to let him hug him. But he couldn't. That would be impossible. He couldn't have a ghost care for him. He had wanted Shaun to hug him like that.
"Stop looking at me like that!" he screeched, squatting down. "Stop it!"
He closed his eyes, fisting his hands in his hair, and could still hear Ezio walking closer.
"I wanted to Shaun treat me like that—stay away!"
He could feel Ezio's arms around him, and he could feel the warmth in the hug as he felt a hand comb through his hair.
"Mio bambino, you need to stop this."
He sobbed, leaning into the embrace. "I can't! I want to see him suffer! I want to see him get dealt the same Goddamn hand I did!"
"Mio bambino, per favore, think about what you're doing."
He smashed his hands against Ezio armor, crying. "I won't! I can't! He deserves it!"
He heard Ezio shush him, rubbing a hand over his back and singing to him a lullaby he had heard Shaun sing to him before, while they were deep underground, hiding from the Templars. It sounded beautiful in Ezio's voice, in the native Italian tongue it was meant for, and Desmond sobbed into his ancestor, clinging to him tightly. He wanted to hear Shaun sing it again.
He startled awake. He looked around himself to see no Ezio—only his Wisemen buddies sleeping in their bunks, and General Cross asleep in a chair beside him. He sat up, looking around. There was no Ezio. There was no Shaun. He was in his own bunk, wrapped up in some extra blankets.
"You back with us, Desmond?"
He looked to see the General looking at him.
"You had us worried. Kenneth filled me in after you collapsed in the room with Shaun."
"So… he is here?"
"Yes. Care to tell us what happened?"
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, looking down at his lap. "One of my ancestors was trying to convince me to stop it."
"Are you sure you can—"
"Yes," he snapped, glaring at General Cross. "I can fucking keep up with it. I love this Goddamn job. You are my fucking saviors. I don't care what I have to do to make him shut up, even if it means torturing Shaun myself."
A tired smile crept across the General's face. "I'm sure you can make it, Desmond. Only the best make it into the Wisemen."
He nodded. "Right. I am a part of the Wiseman team, now."
General Cross leaned forward. "And I got some bad news."
"What is it?" he said, looking at him.
"The president is withholding the information on my kid."
"Can he do that?"
"No," General Cross growled, giving him a fierce stare. "And I'm not going to rest until I find out."
Desmond pursed his lips, a quick nod for his salute. "I hope shit comes through for you, sir."
"He's awake?"
He jumped when Kenneth's head appeared over the edge of the bunk bed. He blinked.
"You're awake! Guys! Newbie's okay!"
There was some stirring in the other bunks, and slowly, the other Wisemen roused themselves and came over.
"You had us terrified, Des," Trevor said. "You sure you can—"
"I'm sure he can," General Cross said. "You have to remember that he had no psychiatric help before this that worked."
Several of them murmured unintelligibly, still waking up.
"So what happened?" Matt said, sitting at the foot of his bunk.
"I…"
He told them about Ezio, and how he kept trying to get him to go back to the assassins' order, and how Altair kept appearing, urging him forward. He told them about what Ezio said, and the hug he gave him, and Desmond gritted his teeth at the end of it.
"I joined this Order to beat my ancestors. I'm not letting him win."
A cruel smirk crawled over Seth's lips. "Wanna go vent on your favorite toy?"
Desmond's gaze snapped to him, and he stared at him intensely as if he thought Seth were joking.
"We've kept him nice and easy for you. Gotta say he's probably got a killer headache, but that's okay."
Desmond took the offered hand and rose, dressing quickly and following them back to the room. Shaun was sitting in the chair, dried blood all over his face and head. There was a lovely bruise blossoming over his jaw, and his nose was popped back into place. He had a dazed look in his eyes. A thin wire was poking through his hands bound at his back, twisting around his fingers and wrists, digging into the skin. Desmond was trembling with rage.
"You mother fucker!" he screamed, and Shaun startled awake, snapping his head to look at him, only to be met with a solid punch. "I was doing perfectly well until you showed your Goddamn fat head around here again!"
He turned when Seth coughed. He was holding a wood burning pen, plugged in and ready to go.
"Maybe you should give him the Blackwatch symbol. I heard your ancestors had some artistic talent."
Desmond snarled as Shaun squirmed, his eyes wide and panicked. He felt damn good to finally be inspiring fear in someone. He took the pen, rolling it over in his hand and giving the man a thorough look over. He needed somewhere this would hurt. Somewhere every time Shaun moved, he'd feel the pain and be reminded of just what he did. Some place sensitive.
"Under the arm is a good place to give a tattoo," Matt offered.
Shaun shook his head. "D-Desmond, l-listen—"
"I'm sick of listening to you," he snarled, kneeling by his side. "Shut up. Someone come hold his arm back."
He couldn't help but smirk victoriously as he felt Shaun twitch and writhe beneath the pen as he burned through the cloth and into the skin, reveling in the smell of burning flesh. It was an almost intoxicating scent, and if he were any more sadistic, he'd say it might just be enough to give him a boner. He could see Shaun's muscles twitching beneath the pen, as if they could get away, and he could hear the soft pleas of "S-Stop it, please," and "I'm sorry, Desmond," as he pressed the pen harder into the skin to draw louder pleas and cries of pain.
"It does have a pleasing odor, doesn't it?"
Figures Altair would be back. He could see him squatting just behind him, watching. He nodded.
"Speak."
"That's why I fit in so well," Desmond murmured, concentrating as he burned the Blackwatch star deep into the man's skin, pressing just a wee bit harder and hearing the, "S-stop, please! I'm sorry!"
"I'm a fucking lunatic."
Altair was silent a moment more as he watched him burn in the insignia. "Better than I could do."
"Your picture of Maria was pretty good."
"That was the brainwash of the Apple," he hissed.
Just a projection of a madman's mind, Desmond mused, and he heard Altair chuckle, soft and warm like melting butter as he felt him reach around him. He paused briefly, watching Altair's arms reach up, his hands wrapping around his own, and feeling that solid body against his.
"Let me help."
Sure, it was an awkward angle, but he could handle it himself. Nevertheless, Desmond nodded. He let the older assassin guide him through the star, and through the wings, then helped him scrawl, "Property of Desmond Miles," across the ribcage, drinking up the shrieks and breathless whimpers. There were glossy tear streaks down Shaun's cheeks as he ran his fingers almost lovingly over the label to let others know that he was his. His victim's laboring breathing and shrieks were music to him—for him—a movement all for him. Altair stepped back, and Desmond turned to look at him. He could feel his lips curl lazily at his smirk, almost hidden beneath the hood.
"Do your new Order proud, Desmond. Let not what Ezio says dissuade you."
The man vanished. He blinked as the others crowded to see the work, and he sighed softly at Shaun's glare. It was largely ineffective with tear streaks and the constant jerks while he moaned lowly in pain as the wire cut into his skin.
"What the bloody Hell would you ancestors say to this?" the man tried to spit, sobbing in pain again as his arm is forced upward to let the others see his new brands.
"Ezio's already tried to stop me," Desmond growled, cracking his knuckles and popping his neck. "And he won't be able to."
He laughed at Shaun's screech when one of the men smacked one of the staples and poked the burn. The noise turned into a low groan, and he grinned.
"And I won't stop until you are completely and thoroughly broken," Desmond snarled, "until I'm sure you've felt the same pain I've gone through in the Animus and after you said all that shit."
"Desmond, think rational—"
"This booger's got quite the mouth on him, don't he?" Seth asked. "We should shut him up."
"It's fucking impossible," Desmond growled.
"No, it's not," Matt said, as Seth walked out of the room with an arrogant strut. "I told you: Seth's the best there is."
"Look, Desmond," Shaun began, a little bit more panicked, and a whole lot more pained. "You need to—"
"I don't need to do anything other than follow General Cross's orders. I have a new Creed, now, and you aren't a part of it."
Shaun tried to hold back the scream as he smacked the side of his tattooed arm, and his eyes were twisted close as several unwanted tears slid down his cheeks. There was a pained grimace. He liked that face on Shaun: it suited him.
"Desmond, please—"
"Nuh-uh," Desmond said, waving him off, "nope."
He sat quietly until Seth returned. There was a small contraption in his hands, like two forks welded together to leave the prongs free. Shaun's eyes widened, and Desmond could feel his belly twist in excitement. If Shaun was afraid, it would be good, indeed.
"The Heretic's Fork, really?" Shaun said, trying valiantly to act brave through his current state. "Aren't you above medieval torture?"
"Not at all," Trevor said. "We're above anything that could stand in our way. We can do whatever we want."
He watched Shaun's eyes flicker with fear, and he felt his lips curl upward in the slightest when he struggled as Seth tried to put it on him.
"Des, come help me, kiddo," Seth said. "He's too squirmy."
"Sure thing."
He rose, and Shaun struggled harder. He could see the amount of pain he was in, and he was happy. There was nothing he couldn't do. He grabbed Shaun's head, slapping his hands on the staples on either side of this head. He grinned at the sharp cry and the harsh thrash as he watched Seth put the collar around him, jabbing one end above the sternum, avoiding anything major, and he watched the full body jerk as he adjusted it to jab into the flesh under the chin. Seth stepped back, wiping his hands.
"Okay, you ready to really let the pain start sinking in?"
Desmond nodded, letting Shaun's head go. The man didn't make a peep, but the gritted teeth and closed eyes told him everything he wanted to know.
"Then let's go get breakfast, and in a day or two, we'll come in and give him something to drink."
Desmond raised an eyebrow, and he felt Kenneth wrap an arm around him.
"Trust us, Desmond, if you really want him broken, it'll take a few days of starvation and isolation to do that."
"Are you sure?"
"We're sure we're sure," Seth said. "I've been doing my job and loving it for almost ten years now."
Desmond frowned, meeting Shaun's panicked, pained expression before looking away. "Fine."
Seth smiled. "Just to keep you happy, how about if I show you a fun torture method right after we deal with whatever General Cross needed us for."
"He needed us?"
"He just radioed a few of us."
"Not really understanding the method," Trevor said, "but I guess he assumed you and Seth were busy."
They put on their helmets as they walked out and down the hall to General Cross's office. The man was pacing back and forth, and he recognized the heads of the assassin order to be standing there, as well as a nervous as fuck Rebecca.
"There you fuckers are, Goddamnit. Desmond, who the hell are these shitheads?"
He looked at General Cross, who had his arms folded, his feet firmly planted in his spot as he stared at him. His brown eyes seemed to be torn between pride and fury.
"These are the men who ruled the old order I worked for."
"And just why the hell won't they just fucking leave?"
"Did you ask them?"
"I fucking tried!" he nearly shouted, flopping in the chair. "Goddamn fuckers just stand there like wraiths."
He looked at Rebecca, who looked away. "They want Lucy's body."
"They can't have it," Desmond snapped.
Rebecca snapped her head up to look at him. "W-what? Why not?"
"I killed her, and I think I want to turn her into a blanket," he hissed.
Of course he didn't. He would never dream of doing that to the woman who had cared infinitely for him: he just wanted to piss off the order. That was the first thing he could think of. He knew that it was customary to burn the bodies of the assassins they could retrieve, and there would be nothing more irritating than having the body turned into a blanket.
"And perhaps her bones made into something decorative."
He could hear Altair chuckle behind him.
"That's evil!" Rebecca shouted.
"I don't care!" Desmond snarled, his hands curling into fists.
He had wanted to let Rebecca go. He liked Rebecca. She needed to be freed of the restraints of the assassin order. She was the one he had hoped would stay in contact with him. And he had gotten letters from her about all her misadventures in snowboarding and sending him pictures of her mangled limbs or the chipmunk that attacked her. That's why he had let her go. She may have been too busy with everything she was doing, but she had still, at least, reached out to him.
"Please—"
"Shut up or I'll kill you," he growled, loving the way the mask distorted his voice.
"Her family—"
"I don't give a shit about her family!" he roared, and Rebecca backed up a step. "If I did, I would've sent her home alive!"
"Look, Desmond, all we want is Lucy's body!"
"No, I think having her turned into a blanket would be nice. I'm sure Seth could do it," he hissed.
"Actually," Seth said, punching his shoulder in a playful manner, "if you want something sewn, you should talk to Michael. He's best on our team."
Rebecca looked appalled. "You—you would seriously—"
"Why shouldn't we?" Michael said, laughing at her. "Have you ever seen an Arab skin lampshade? They're super—"
"That's fucking sick!"
"Wisemen team Blackwatch, at your service," Jarrod said, bowing extravagantly.
One of the whispered to her, and she muttered something brokenheartedly in response before looking at him. She stared at him, silent, and he could see the gears turning in her head from whatever the others had told her.
"Please, Dessie?" she whispered, giving him a familiar and pathetic look.
Dessie—now that was a name he hadn't heard in a long him. That was her personal nickname for him. She used that whenever she wanted something, and it also, usually, involved her getting on her hands and knees with a pitifully hilarious look and begging. She loved to overact. She clapped her hands together in a begging motion, knitting her eyebrows together. It was a pity it couldn't be like old times.
"Please? So I can have a funeral for her?"
He shook his head. He didn't, really, want to give up Lucy's body. Even though he hadn't seen her since she died, now that he thought about it, he didn't really want to give her up. He liked the idea of her being here. He didn't want to give her up yet. He snapped back when he heard Rebecca talking in some sort of gibberish with a horrid Arabic accent, and she had gotten several feet closer, looking absolutely ridiculous as she peered up from her hunched over position. She seemed to sense the smile that pulled at the corner of his lips from behind the mask, and she grinned. He couldn't help but grin.
"Just a couple coins?" she said, although it was almost impossible to understand with the hideous accent.
He couldn't win against her, really. She knew him too well. She knew his love of humor and was always ready to throw casual insults or jokes back and forth—compared to Shaun, who always seemed serious about it. She was like the sister he never had. He shook his head, grinning.
"That's racist," he replied, staring into her eyes.
Immediately, she straightened up and put her hands on her hips. "You're racist!"
They both started laughing, and he was relieved to find that she could still laugh, at least. There was an aura of confusion from the others, and he gave her a soft look, even though she couldn't see it.
"Wanna have lunch?"
"Sure, Des."
They walked out, arm in arm, to the mess hall, and the Marines that were stationed there seemed even more confused than the others in General Cross's office. As he pulled off his mask, she looked at him.
"Why didn't you take that off back there?"
He shrugged, his lips forming a thin line. "I couldn't."
"You should've let them see your face."
"That was my face."
There was amazed silence for a little bit before she shook her head and tucked into the military food. He saw the rest of the Wisemen team come shuffling in, and when they spotted him, they bombarded him.
"Why'd you leave?"
"Dude, those freaks in the hoods aren't leaving. General's gonna have us gun'em down if they don't leave soon."
Desmond smiled. "Guys, meet Rebecca. She was my best friend inside the assassins."
They paused, then looked at her, and she waved energetically. Slowly, they settled down around, laughing and joking around with her as if she were an old friend. She seemed almost surprised at how amiable they were, pressing about if she had a boyfriend or if she was a field assassin. He had a blast.
Eventually, she looked at him as they were walking back, and he knew she was going to ask something hard. She opened her mouth several times, then closed it again, and then mumbled, almost afraid, "And Shaun?"
"Don't worry about him," he said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. "He's in good hands—"
"He's dead?" she yelped, her eyes wide with horror.
They laughed.
"No, I mean, he's still alive and kicking. Don't worry about him. He'll be fine."
Rebecca gave him an odd look, and he smiled reassuringly. As they approached the office again, he put his mask on, the others having already done so. She gave him a tight hug outside of the closed door, then pushed the door open and entered. Desmond and the others followed, and General Cross had a cup in his hands, looking much more relaxed as he sipped the iced coffee. He didn't need to see the faces of the heads of the order to know that they were pissed at being so blatantly ignored.
"General Cross," he said, and the man cracked open one eye, "send Rebecca home with Lucy's body. She'll take good care of it."
General Cross nodded once, then sat up straight and called in someone from another department to take care of it. Rebecca winked at him.
"I'll see you around, then?" she said, sounding hopeful.
He shrugged. "Maybe. It all depends on how the wind blows."
"And hey, Dessie," she murmured as the others filed out quietly. She paused in the doorway. "Thanks."
"No problem, Becca."
She grinned and vanished.
"Kill those damn bastards if they come here again. Those hooded freaks think they own everything just because they own a president."
He laughed at General Cross's order, and the Wisemen team filed out. He spent the rest of the day with them, goofing around and joking—with Altair always just out of the corner of his eye, watching carefully with that pleased smirk on his face.