A/N: Yeehaw! Chapter three - sorry I took so god damn long. I kept getting distracted by my other works and school. Anyways, hope this was worth waiting for! Thank you so much for all the reviews I've gotten for this! I'll gradually make my way into all the request pairings, so stay tuned and keep reading the slash! Huzzah!

Beta'd by the lovely Googleit6 once again, thanks you ~

Chapter Three

"Really... I don't want anything," Desmond frowned, taking the seat closest to his teacher's desk.

"Last time I'm offering – I suggest you don't turn it down," Shaun grinned, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He stood in front of his student, a twenty in his hand. "Well?"

"... Fine," Desmond grumbled, taking the bill from his hand. "I'm assuming you want me to get you something?"

"Of course! A lunch doesn't cost twenty bloody dollars," he laughed, crossing his arms as Desmond slowly got to his feet. "How about... Well, hell, just get me whatever you're getting. I have to stay back and keep correcting papers – I'm quite far behind."

"Oh, okay," Desmond frowned as he made his way to the door. After hearing Mr. Hastings' tell him that he had papers to correct, Desmond felt as if he was a burden on his teacher. If he was so far behind on his correcting, why should he be helping a student when he knew he didn't exactly need help? It baffled him just as much as it probably baffled Mr. Hastings. Shutting the door behind him, he began to make his way down the student filled hallways, trying to make it to the cafeteria without a scratch. As he made his way through the mass of the crowds, he finally stumbled upon his first obstacle.

"Desmond!" Lucy smiled, running over to give him a hug as Rebecca followed behind her, texting on her bright purple cell phone.

"Hey," he smiled, pocketing the twenty before she asked anything about the money. Or ask if he could get her anything, which he couldn't with his teacher's money.

"What are you doing for lunch?" She grinned, a faint pink making its way to her cheeks.

"Oh, just studying with Mr. Hastings, y'know. If there's a test, I don't want to exactly fail it," he sighed, recalling the last bad grade he received. He had ended up with a fifty-eight on his math test – not exactly a shining grade that he could boast about.

"Of course," Lucy smiled, playing with a strand of her hair. "I could have helped you study." For a second, Desmond swore he had seen Rebecca frown.

"Well, Mr. Hastings is an excellent history teacher and he knows the material pretty well... so, y'know, just trying to get the best out of the course," he smiled awkwardly, slowly making his way past her. But of course, she hugged him tightly once again before he could pass.

"Well, if you never any help – give me a call! You know my cell number," she smiled brightly, letting go of him. Desmond smiled at her and nodded, slipping away over to the lunch line. Looking over to his shoulder, he saw Leonardo and Altaïr conversing, with Ezio turning a jealous green in the background. Smiling slightly, he turned back to find himself at the front of the line. Quickly, he paid the lunch ladies and retrieved two burgers and a side order of "healthy" – used very loosely – French fries. He managed to balance it all on a tray before he handed over the twenty and pocketed the rest in his white sweater. Quickly, he made his way back to the classroom, trying not to upset his tray as he mumbled a few greetings to people he passed by and knew only slightly.

"Hey, Desmond!"

He tried his hardest not to tell the guy to fuck off, as he was just outside of Mr. Hastings' room. Slowly, he turned around to come face to face with Ezio.

"Hey," Desmond smiled, trying not to let the irritation leak through his tone. It was surprisingly hard.

"Can I ask you something?" The teen ran over to Desmond and up close, he could really tell why the ladies liked him. Even Lucy sometimes sat in class, glancing occasional looks at the tanned, well built guy. When Desmond first saw him, he thought he was going insane – he looked somewhat like him, but with a short pony tail and a harder face.

"Sure, shoot."

"Have you noticed anything up with Leonardo? I mean, ah, I can't exactly place my finger on it but something's off..." Ezio trailed off, deep in thought. Was the guy seriously clueless?

"Well, whenever he tries to talk to you – you're always busy with..." Desmond didn't want to say whore or slut. "...some girl. You pay him as much attention as the police would pay with police brutality. Just sayin'," he sighed, leaning his back against the door. "Just go find Leo – spend lunch with him or something."

"... Right. Okay, thanks," Ezio grumbled, casting a glance at Rosa before he disappeared around the corner of the hallway. Finally, he awkwardly turned the door handle while holding his tray, and cracked it open. Cautiously, he slipped through the door and managed to keep a steady grip on both of their lunches. Mr. Hastings was sitting at his desk, eyes scanning a piece of writing. Occasionally, the brown irises would flicker to the textbook beside him, or he would merely close his eyes as if he were in deep thought for a moment. It was unsettling, knowing that Desmond could stare at his teacher all day without breaking eye contact.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there or bring me my lunch?" Mr. Hastings' voice snapped Desmond out of his trance as he tentatively walked over to his desk.

"Where do you want me to set it down?" Desmond looked over the teacher's desk – it was absolutely covered with papers and different texts, many novels and "things-to-do" labelled works were thrown haphazardly among the cluttered surface. Mr. Hastings tore his eyes off the paper he was marking and looked among his desk, smiling when he could see there wasn't a safe place to put his lunch.

"Just put in on a desk – I'll join you in a sec," he mumbled, scribbling furiously in red. With one quick glance, Desmond saw Ezio's name at the bottom of the page. Smiling to himself, Desmond walked over to a desk and made himself comfortable as he kicked up his feet.

"Feet down."

Desmond blushed slightly and lowered his feet back onto the floor. He had to mentally remind himself he was with a teacher, not a carefree student. Though, it was hard to do so sometimes. When Mr. Hastings wasn't wound up, he was a nice man to have a laugh or two with. Though, it was a rare occurrence that he could do something with the teacher that he could do with a student, and get away with it. Slowly, Desmond began to work on his lunch as he looked around the room curiously.

"What did you need help with? You said... mm, the whole chapter seems to be troubling you? The lovely Italian Renaissance?" Mr. Hastings spoke out of the blue, dropping his pen. Desmond sat up as he watched him push out his chair, walk over to him and pull one up to the desk where Desmond had put their lunches.

"Yeah... something along those lines," he muttered, chomping down on a few French eyes.

"Well – hey, good choice with the lunch," the teacher grinned as he took a large bite out of the burger. Desmond nodded and focused on his educator, watching him absentmindedly, his throat and the way the food raised a bump as it went down. "How'd you know burgers and fries were my favourite?"

"Uh, well... Don't the British love greasy food?"

Mr. Hastings laughed. "It's all we have, kid. Not much of a choice there."

Desmond smiled as he finished off his fries and reached into the desk, pulling out a textbook. He gently sat it on his lap as he flipped through the pages to find the chapter they had been working on. He looked over at his teacher and smiled, earning one in return.

"Alright, chapter six. The Italian Renaissance in a nut shell..." And once Mr. Hastings began to talk, Desmond felt himself completely loose himself in the man's words. He caught small bits and pieces of it; painters, talent, individuality and creativity, making a new age of humanism. To be honest, Desmond felt a bit guilty taking up the man's time. He did understand it – he didn't need any of this help. It just felt nice, having someone to talk to who could be intellectual and more of an adult, than any immature teenager. Once again, Desmond felt guilty for thinking of himself so highly above the other kids. It wasn't their fault that they couldn't understand him – the reason why he tried to avoid them. After watching his parents get beaten by large corporate goons while he stood at the top of the stairs, doing nothing to help them, he felt like trust was out of the question. Small talk here and there helped. After all, without human compassion, one has nothing. The police were corrupt, they wouldn't listen to them as he shouted at them what he had seen. His parents denied it, covering up the bruises and replacing what had been broken. Something had been going on that he was never told about. Were his parents in some kind of mafia? The mob? Did they owe anybody money? He couldn't find anyone who would answer the question. So he was left wondering. Even as he sat beside his teacher, he still didn't know the answer.

"Desmond?"

"Huh? Sorry. What did you say?" He replied, frowning when Mr. Hastings sighed heavily.

"If you're not going to pay attention-"

"Yes! I mean no... I mean... I'll pay attention," Desmond mumbled, looking up at his teacher to immediately see a splotch of ketchup on the corner of his lip. Thinking it over for a moment, he didn't have to say anything. But it was bugging the hell out of him and perhaps Mr. Hastings would thank him. "You have some ketchup on the corner of your mouth."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, picking up a napkin off the finished tray. All the food had been wolfed down faster than Desmond thought they could have eaten it. He watched as his teacher dabbed at the wrong corner of his mouth. "Got it?"

"No, other end."

Mr. Hastings tried again, but was still missing it. How hard was it to get a speck of ketchup off your face?

"Here," he grumbled, took another napkin off the tray and leaned in closely. For a second, he forgot that he was completely breaking the teacher and student boundary, trespassing onto forbidden land. Desmond didn't notice Shaun stiffen at the proximity of his body or the way he gently wiped off the tomato sauce. His lips remained in a fine, tight line as Desmond smiled as he placed the napkin back on the tray, leaning on the edge of his seat. Just as Shaun was about to continue the extra help, Desmond grabbed his tie and pulled him in for a kiss.

Except, he accidently smashed their noses together.

Upon their painful collision, Desmond pulled back, holding his nose which throbbed painfully.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Mr. Hastings spat, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he took off his glasses. Desmond's face was the brightest shade of red the teacher had ever seen.

"I'm sorry. I j-just thought-

"What did you think? I... Desmond, you-" he was abruptly cut off by the lunch bell, signalling students to get to their classes or else a detention would be awaiting them at the door.

"I'd better go. I have art, on the other side of the school-"

"Desmond, wait! We have to talk about this!" Mr. Hastings barked as he sat up, watching as the young teenager rushed over to the door and slammed it shut behind him. Any moment, a class would come in and once again, he would have to lecture about the Renaissance. He didn't want to talk about history, at all.

For once, he wanted to focus on the present.