27th November 2012

It felt strange to be this close to New York City, but not to visit his old life. Desmond had stared out over the twinkling lights and tall buildings - marvelling at how small Manhattan seemed from this high up - as they flew over the metropolis on the way to Westchester County Airport. It wasn't the most convenient place they could have landed; Desmond had identified the location of the Grand Temple by looking at an online satellite map of North America and zooming in to replicate the vision that Juno had shown him, and had pinned it down to a hill just outside of a village called Turin, about 300 miles away from NYC. This was one of the few airports left, however, where the Assassins still had enough pull to have a plane land without being recorded by the authorities, and to allow its passengers to disembark without showing ID.

Things had not gone smoothly. The Assassin team who were supposed to be travelling in from Moscow had never arrived and, after several failed attempts to contact them, Bill had been forced to travel to the transport location without them. They had used the last of their sedatives to keep Daniel docile, but the disappearance of their backup team weighed heavily upon the thoughts of the group. To make matters worse, they were now forced to cool their heels in Westchester before they travelled on to Turin, as they waited for Daniel to be taken off their hands.

'Let's just hope this team actually shows up,' Shaun muttered darkly.

He, Desmond, and Rebecca were in the main room of the safe house, where they'd been unsuccessfully attempting to connect Desmond up to the Animus, more to pass the time than out of any particular necessity. Rebecca had suggested that perhaps Desmond's implant might be creating a kind of interference. She had said so loudly, while Bill was in earshot, but he had kept his back turned and at that moment his cellphone had rung, giving him an excuse to leave the room.

Desmond sat up from the machine, unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. 'They're not supposed to arrive until tomorrow morning,' he pointed out in a weak effort to keep the mood from getting too dark.

'They've been checking in regularly,' Rebecca added. 'No hitches so far. That phone call that Bill just took was probably from them as well.'

Shaun didn't reply. He had been squinting at his computer screen as though it had personally offended him, but midway through Rebecca's words he sighed and gently pulled his glasses off and rubbed his forearm over his weary eyes in the same move.

'Shaun?' Rebecca said in an unusually soft voice. She tended to give as good as she got with Shaun, the two of them frequently engaging in good-natured ribbing and verbal battles, but the genuine care that she had for him was particularly apparent at that moment. Her brow was wrinkled and she looked fundamentally troubled by Shaun's misery.

'I'm fine,' Shaun muttered, replacing his glasses and shrugging his shoulders a little, as though his worries were creatures clawing at his back and he could physically shake them loose. Desmond and Rebecca exchanged a significant look. It was safe to say that whenever Shaun stopped complaining and insisted that nothing was wrong, it meant that something really was wrong.

Rebecca stood up from her own desk, walked over to Shaun, and gripped his shoulder gently. 'Hey. It's OK.' She didn't specify what she meant, but Desmond saw Shaun drop his head and turn his face slightly away from her, as if the words had triggered a reaction that he did not want them to see.

'It's really not OK, though, is it?' he said at last, swivelling his chair around so that he was facing both of them, his mouth a tight, bitter line. 'I mean, am I the only one who's feeling a little bit backed into a corner? I don't see the Templars losing entire teams in one fell swoop, time and time again.'

'They lost Daniel,' Desmond said quietly.

'One Templar,' Shaun said scornfully. 'And how long do you think we're capable of holding him prisoner? Your dad's being diplomatic , Desmond, but what do you reckon they'll do with Cross once he's out of your sight? Put him up in a nice hotel and give him an open tab on the room service? Let's just say that the Geneva Convention doesn't exactly fit in with the Assassins' philosophy of "everything is permitted". If he doesn't manage to break out - and I wouldn't bet on a single Assassin team being able to hold him for long - then Cross will be a corpse long before we get to Turin.'

At Shaun's words, Desmond felt a queer ripple of emotion run through him once more: a reflexive instinct against the idea of Daniel being killed by the Assassins. 'They wouldn't do that,' he said uncertainly.

Shaun laughed, derisive and humourless. 'We're Assassins, Desmond. You'll find that life gets a whole lot easier once you stop thinking of us as heroes.'

'Stop it, Shaun,' Rebecca interjected sharply.

'What?' Shaun demanded, folding his arms in a defensive stance. He turned back to Desmond, speaking quickly, as though a set of floodgates had broken and he couldn't give his opinion fast enough. 'I told you why I joined up, right?'

Desmond vaguely remembered the story. Shaun had caught Abstergo's attention when he dug a little too deep into their past, leading them to abduct him in much the same way that Desmond had been taken. Rebecca, who had been keeping an increasingly worried eye on Shaun's exploits, had managed to rescue him before he reached Abstergo HQ. Desmond wasn't sure of exactly how the rescue went down, but his instincts told him that as part of the escape Shaun had been forced to kill someone for the first time. The historian had joined up with the Assassins afterwards because of the refuge that they offered him, rather than out of a particular belief in their philosophy or righteousness, and had stayed on for the research opportunities that had been opened up to him and - Desmond guessed - because of his attachment to Rebecca.

'It came down to join or die,' Shaun pressed on, without waiting for an answer. 'Turns out I get to join and die. Lucky me, eh?'

'We're not going to die!' Rebecca insisted angrily.

'Are you sure about that? Because even if the solar flares don't kill us, the Brotherhood is in tatters and Abstergo are more powerful than ever.' He leaned forward a little in his chair, breathing heavily, eyes bright: caught up in the catharsis of finally venting. 'Do you have any idea how many Assassins they've killed over the past decade, Desmond? In the last few months alone? It's been escalating. They're hunting us down, and they will find us, they will...'

His voice trailed away as he glanced over at Rebecca, who had one hand over her mouth and was looking as close to tears as Desmond had ever seen her. He watched Shaun's anger and despair shift seamlessly into an expression of deep regret, and his mouth open and close a few times as though trying to physically take his words back.

'I'm sorry,' he blurted out at last, the apology sounding awkward but sincere. When Rebecca didn't respond his face crumpled further and - in an action so out of character it almost seemed to be taking place in a dream - Shaun stood up abruptly out of his chair, leaving it spinning, and wrapped his arms around her in a fierce, frightened hug. After a moment or two Rebecca brought her hands up and rubbed them up and over his back.

'It's OK,' she repeated, her voice thicker than usual and muffled where her face was pressed into Shaun's shoulder.

Shaun mumbled something in her ear that Desmond couldn't make out. He averted his gaze for a moment, glancing down at the floor as he waited for the two of them to finish embracing. There didn't seem to be anything more than friendship between Shaun and Rebecca, but even so it felt voyeuristic to stare at them during such a moment.

Bill reentered the room and the two of them hurriedly disengaged, both looking a little more settled and less miserable. Shaun - his cheeks a little red with embarrassment - pushed his glasses up his nose and cleared his throat. 'Everything OK, Bill?'

It was a reasonable question. Bill's head was slightly lowered, his lips slightly parted, and there was a deep line between his eyebrows where they had been drawn together in a pained frown. He cleared his throat and looked up slowly. 'I ... may need to go away for a couple of days.'

'What?' Shaun yelped disbelievingly. 'Bill, we have to...'

'I know, Shaun. Look, hopefully I won't be gone too long. If I'm not back within 48 hours then ... then start making your way to Turin without me. I'll leave the Pieces of Eden with Desmond, so that you'll have everything you need to open the Grand Temple and defend yourselves if necessary.'

'We need you,' Desmond exclaimed, surprising himself.

Bill glanced over at his son, his expression soft and open. 'I'm sorry, Desmond. I know this isn't fair. I wouldn't leave if it wasn't...' He hesitated, as if uncertain whether it was safe to finish the sentence.

'What is it, Bill?' Rebecca asked.

He sighed resignedly. 'An Assassin team over in Ohio has come under siege by Abstergo agents. They're holding the Templars off for now, but they need backup and I ... I need to go.'

'Ohio?' Rebecca echoed. 'Isn't that where...?'

'Yes.'

'Oh. Oh.' Her eyes widened.

'What?' Desmond demanded, looking from one to the other in frustration.

It was Bill who answered. 'It's your mother, Desmond. She's on the team that are being attacked.'

After a short, numb silence, Shaun cleared his throat and spoke. 'Sorry to be the cynical one here, but it's awfully interesting that this happens just as we get back to the states. It's almost like Abstergo are trying to draw us out.'

'Oh, that's exactly what they're doing. They're probably hoping that Desmond will run right to them.'

'Then that's what I'll do!' Desmond said furiously, standing up with his heart racing and plans of the fastest route to Ohio already forming in his head. It had been almost ten years since he had last seen his mother, and he'd run away without so much as a picture to remember her by, but a connection like that wasn't easily forgotten. He still remembered the way that she smelled and the easiness of her smile. She had been the only one of his parents to whom he had ever felt comfortable venting his frustrations to any extent and he had loved her, almost enough to stay behind for her. The thought of her dying at the hands of Templars, before he had a chance to see her again and apologise for all that he had done, made Desmond feel sick. He continued, fists clenched at his sides, 'They want the Pieces of Eden? They can try and take them off me and see what happens! I'll go as well.'

'No, Desmond.' Bill raised a hand in a placating gesture. 'It doesn't give me any pleasure to say this, but you and your mission are far more important than ... than this. You need to get to Turin and you need to find the Temple. If I'm not back before you leave, I'll join you at the Temple later.'

'If you don't die, you mean,' Desmond challenged.

'Yes, that's what I mean,' Bill confirmed unflinchingly. His mouth quirked into a shadow of a smile. 'Though I'm tougher than I look, Desmond. Don't start making funeral arrangements just yet.'

Rebecca laughed weakly. 'Your dad's right, Des. I've seen him kick some serious butt. He can handle a few Templars.'

Desmond could only imagine what his face looked like at that moment. He felt stricken. Much as he might disagree with his father, it had been a relief to have him around. After Lucy had ... after what Desmond had done to Lucy, there had been an empty space in their group where a leader was missing, and Bill had stepped in to fill it almost immediately. Whether he simply went away for a couple of days or whether he disappeared forever, Desmond would be left to take control of their actions. There would no longer be anyone to defer to.

'Come on, Desmond.' Bill said. 'I need to leave now if I want to have a chance of getting there in time. There's something I have to talk to you about before I go.'

'Good luck, Bill,' Rebecca said, forcing a brave smile onto her face. Shaun said nothing, but pulled his lower lip between his teeth and worried at it.

Desmond followed his father to the garage, where a nondescript station wagon was parked next to their van. They didn't speak on the way, and when they finally reached the car and Bill leaned back against it, they regarded each other silently for a moment.

'Promise me you'll come back,' Desmond said softly.

'I can promise you I'll try,' Bill offered.

'You'd better. And ... say hi to Mom for me?'

'Of course.'

'Tell her I'm...'

'Desmond,' Bill interrupted. 'There is something that you should know. I don't know if it will be of any consequence, but I want to leave you armed with as much knowledge as possible.'

'OK. Hit me.'

Bill paused for a moment, presumably to decide upon the right phrasing for what he was about to say. 'You understand why you're able to use the Apple of Eden and the other artefacts, don't you? Why you were chosen to carry out this task?'

'I think so. It's something to do with my genes, right?'

'Yes. From what we know, it seems that Adam and Eve were a new hybrid species, created by Juno and the others. Their DNA was a cross between that of the First Civilisation and that of the humans, which means that they lacked the neurotransmitter that made humans susceptible to the Pieces of Eden, and they also possessed certain trace abilities derived from Those Who Came Before.'

'Like Eagle Vision?'

'Precisely. Most Assassins - those who were born into the Brotherhood - are descended from Adam and Eve in some way, but because of the high concentration of human genes in their DNA they have the same neurotransmitter that the original humans had, and are unable to resist the Pieces of Eden, or to use them properly. It's very rare for anyone to have high enough concentrations of First Civilisation DNA to be able to do what you can do. Only one in seven million is born like you - a hybrid.'

'But Altaïr was. And so was Ezio. They were both able to resist the Apple.'

'Exactly.'

Desmond thought this over. One in seven million. So about seven hundred people on the planet. That ... wasn't as small a number as he had originally thought. The prophecies and the codex had all seemed to make out that he was the only one capable of opening the Grand Temple, but perhaps they had simply meant that he would be the only hybrid to end up in the right place at the right time.

'Who are the others?' he asked his father. 'Do we know of anyone else who can do what I do?'

Bill nodded. 'Abstergo have been tracking them down, and we've had eyes inside Abstergo. Of the people they've found...' His expression darkened. 'Abstergo managed to recruit a few of them. Quite a lot of them were Assassins, and I'm sorry to say that most of those were killed during the raids. But there are three who are going to be of particular interest to you.' He looked Desmond at Desmond and said, in a very serious voice, 'Clay, for one. It was the reason I recruited him in the first place. The second person - and I don't think he even knows - is Daniel.'

'Daniel?' Desmond was staggered for a moment, until he remembered Daniel using Eagle Vision in the temple below the Winter Palace. Of course, he had been an Assassin before he joined the Templars. 'Who else?'

'It's been difficult trying to get definitive confirmation on this one. I almost don't want it to be true. But ... Alan Rikkin appears to be a hybrid. It's why Abstergo grew so much more powerful once he joined. I believe it's also why he became CEO. He seems to have the highest concentration of First Civilisation DNA out of anyone, aside from you.'

Desmond cast his eyes downwards as he tried to process this. It felt almost obscene to think that the most powerful Templar in the world was in possession of abilities that were a trademark of the Assassin brotherhood. But perhaps, he thought, that was how the two factions operated, and why they held such a deep-seated hatred of each other. Perhaps that was why there had been so many betrayals. Perhaps each Assassin had the seed of a Templar deep inside him, and each Templar had the seed of an Assassin. Perhaps they were not so alien to each other as they liked to believe.

The knowledge also brought his mind back to The Decision, as he had begun to call it (it turned out that Clay was not the only one capable of arbitrary capitalisation). The brief stay in Westchester had allowed him to procrastinate, but this new knowledge just added one more factor into the pot. Desmond had been leaning towards the Templars on the basis that, as Clay had said, Rikkin was only human, but now it seemed that he might not be completely human at all. If Alan Rikkin was capable of controlling the Pieces of Eden to the same degree as Desmond himself, then handing him two of them at once could make him unstoppable. But would he be more unstoppable than Juno? That was the question...

'Desmond,' Bill said, breaking into his thoughts. 'I have to-'

'Yeah, yes, go,' Desmond said hurriedly. 'Mom needs you and I ... I can take care of things here.'

'I know you can, son.' Bill smiled a little, and looked as though he was about to say something else. Then he seemed to change his mind and instead went to open the car door.

He's your dad, Desmond's brain reminded him. And you might never see him again.

'Dad...' He caught him by the elbow, and he had no idea how to do this, so he just pulled Bill back around and put one arm over his right shoulder, the other under his left armpit, and embraced him. Bill was obviously taken by surprise and it felt a little awkward and uncomfortable, so Desmond just pulled him in tight and squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to remember when they had last done this. Had they ever done this?

'OK,' he said at last, releasing Bill and trying not to look him in the face. 'Now go.'

Desmond suffered a brief crisis of not knowing what to do with himself after Bill left. A large part of him wanted to find Clay and talk to him about The Decision, perhaps try to wring the case for the Templars out of him again. But he couldn't keep relying upon Clay to do his thinking for him. He thought about joining Rebecca and Shaun again, but decided that he didn't want to interrupt them in case they were having a heartfelt talk about what had just happened. Finally, he steeled his nerves and tried to think of what his father would be doing right now, and his thoughts came round to Daniel.

As far as Desmond knew, Bill had been the only one of them to check on Daniel and bring him food and water. He hadn't given explicit instructions before he'd left - perhaps hoping that Desmond might forget and leave their guest to die of dehydration - but that seemed like a fairly constructive task to be getting on with. The kind of thing that a leader would do.

Desmond stopped by the kitchen and grabbed a sports drink that apparently contained electrolytes (whatever they were) and one of the prepackaged sandwiches that Shaun had bought from a gas station on the way over. He also grabbed the spare set of keys for the safe house, before heading down the stairs to the basement.

Opening the door took some time. There was a basic lock underneath the doorknob, but there were also two strong, padlocked bolts - one at the top of the door and one at the bottom - and a hasp lock with another padlock. It seemed that Daniel was not the first prisoner that the Assassins had housed here. One of the padlocks had a combination that Desmond did not know, so he opened up his Eagle Vision and twiddled the wheels around until he found the faces that glowed the brightest shade of gold. To his satisfaction, this worked and the padlock popped open.

He picked up the sandwich in one hand and the bottle in the other before shouldering his way into the basement. Daniel's chair was in the dead centre of the room, but Daniel was not in it.

Desmond's first thought was that his father must have taken pity on the Templar and allowed him to lie down to get some sleep. The second thought didn't arrive until something dropped past his eyes, and by the time he'd had time to swear internally, the rope was already tightening and burning at his throat.

Daniel must have been hiding behind the door. Desmond could hear a hiss of breath in his ear and felt an immense, crushing pressure over his Adam's apple where the rope was digging into his flesh. He tried to swallow and it skidded painfully up the column of his throat and locked into place just underneath his jaw. Daniel - weakened by his days of imprisonment - was relying on his body weight to do most of the work: leaning back and pulling Desmond with him until only his toes were scraping against the floor.

'Easy, easy,' Daniel grated, his voice so close that Desmond wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't imagining it. 'Let go. Just relax.'

It wasn't an easy instruction to follow. Desmond's head felt swollen and tight, like it was a balloon about to burst, and he had gone into a full-on panic mode as he struggled to take in even the tiniest whistle of breath. He could hear a hideous choking sound coming from his ravaged throat and he realised that this was it, he could really die like this, and if he died then everyone would die.

It was this thought that spurred Desmond into action, and even as his vision began to darken into that final darkness, he removed one of his hands from where it had been scrabbling at the rope and reached back, over his head, finding a fistful of Daniel's hair and yanking him forward, far enough forward that Desmond could turn his head and sink his teeth into the side of Daniel's neck. The Templar screeched in pain and loosened his grip for a fraction of a second, and that was all that Desmond needed.

He brought his spare elbow around and rammed it into the side of Daniel's ribs. Daniel was knocked back and away so violently that Desmond felt an unpleasant ripping sensation resonate through his fingers and was left with a few strands of Daniel's hair still in his fist. He sucked in a huge, wheezing, relieved breath and staggered over to the side of the room, triggering the mechanism on his hidden blade as he did so.

Daniel was leaned against one wall, Desmond against another, both of them equidistant from the door. They regarded each other defensively for a moment, both keeping very still. Daniel's eyes flickered over to the door. Desmond automatically looked in the same direction, and the Templar took this temporary lapse in concentration as an opportunity to push himself off the wall and make a dash for escape. Exasperated, Desmond lurched over and managed to tackle him around the waist.

They both went crashing painfully to the ground, and Desmond hurriedly pinned Daniel down by the wrists. He was surprised at how easily he was able to hold him; he had been able to feel the hard planes of the muscles in Daniel's torso as he was being strangled, and there were thick, toned biceps coming out of the sleeves of his T-shirt. Daniel's face, however, was deathly pale and his lips were dry and cracked. He looked as though he was fighting just to stay conscious. Desmond couldn't help but wonder just how frequently Bill had been bringing the captive sustenance.

The discarded rope that had nearly taken Desmond's life lay nearby. Baring his teeth and keeping his wrist blade extended, he shoved and rolled Daniel over onto his stomach and - pressing the tip of the blade against the base of his skull to keep him still - Desmond reached over and grabbed the rope, folding one wrist over the other behind Daniel's back and kneeling heavily on him as he retied the bindings, noticing as he did so that Daniel's hands were raw and bloody and scraped from where he had presumably wriggled them free. Desmond then stood up cautiously, watching Daniel carefully for any sign of movement, and retrieved some more rope to tie his ankles with.

Once he was satisfied with the security of his prisoner, Desmond picked up the sandwich and bottle from where they had been dropped. He turned Daniel over with his foot and glared down at him.

'You dick,' he said. 'I was bringing you lunch.'

Daniel did not reply. His eyes were closed and he was breathing thinly. Desmond rolled his eyes, transferred the meal into one hand, and used the free hand to grasp the back of Daniel's collar and tug him backwards towards the wall. The material tightened against Daniel's neck, causing his eyes to fly open and his hands to struggle against the rope that bound them.

'You're ... fucking ... choking me,' he wheezed.

'Ha! That's fucking rich. Come on, move.'

After tugging at Daniel's shirt for a few more moments and watching him attempt to wriggle across the floor, Desmond gave up and tucked his hands under Daniel's arms, dragging him backwards until he was propped up against the wall, arms twisted painfully behind him, his head drooping towards his chest. Sighing in irritation, Desmond used his teeth to pop the plastic cap off the sports drink and spat it across the room before flicking it open. He held the teat to Daniel's flaking, unresponsive lips.

'Come on,' he said harshly. 'Drink. It's got electrolytes.'

'What the fuck are electrolytes?' Daniel muttered, not lifting his head.

'Hell if I know. Just drink it, asshole, I don't have all day.'

Growing impatient, Desmond lifted Daniel's chin with one hand and tipped his head back, using the other hand to hold the sports drink to his mouth and squeeze it gently until a trickle of yellowish liquid wetted the Templar's lips and disappeared into his mouth. Desmond paused for a moment, watching Daniel's throat until he saw it convulse and heard him swallow, and then lifted the bottle again and repeated the motion.

After this had been done a few times, Daniel seemed to become a little more animated. His eyes - which had been half-closed to slits - opened properly and he looked up at Desmond, poking his tongue out to soak up the remaining liquid on the outside of his mouth. Some of it had dribbled down into his beard, which had grown out from the trimmed goatee into a full, all-over scruff.

'God,' he whispered huskily. 'Please tell me that wasn't your piss.'

'It wasn't my piss.'

'Because it sorta tasted like piss.'

'Do you want this sandwich or not?'

'Did you piss on that as well?'

Desmond glared at him and began to stand up. Daniel jerked his head in protest.

'I didn't say I didn't want it. Give me a little more to drink first, though.'

Bristling a little at his commanding tone, Desmond returned to a crouch and lifted the bottle again. 'I thought you said it tasted like piss.'

'Didn't say I didn't like it.'

Desmond couldn't help but give a surprised snort. 'You're a freak.'

He pushed the bottle against Daniel's mouth again and this time the Templar snapped his head forward a little and caught it between his teeth, suckling at it in a strangely infantile manner. He drank for a long time before releasing the bottle again and gasping for breath. Desmond set the bottle aside and began to unwrap the sandwich, feeling Daniel's eyes on him.

'I just tried to kill you,' Daniel said, his voice stronger now. 'And you're feeding me. Why?'

'Shaun mentioned the Geneva Convention,' Desmond explained. 'I realised that the UN probably wouldn't be too happy if they stuck their heads around the door right now.'

Daniel laughed. 'Probably not, considering half of them are Templars.' He watched the sandwich hungrily as it emerged from its wrapping before adding, in an insidious voice, 'Gotta say, you're being a lot gentler than your daddy. Where is he?'

'He's busy,' Desmond replied in clipped, hostile tones.

'Gone away?' Daniel persisted, a knowing grin appearing on his lips.

'None of your fucking business.'

'Have I touched a nerve? Feeling a little abandoned, are we? You're not exactly leadership material, Desmond. I hope nothing untoward happens while you're here all alone.'

'I'm not alone!' Desmond snapped, squeezing the unwrapped sandwich tightly in his hand until some of the filling dropped out onto the floor.

He heard the first gunshot, somewhere upstairs, and the sound of someone yelling in anguish.

'Oh?' Daniel said softly. 'Are you sure about that?'