The kid was halfway across the parking lot before Daniel caught up with him. He was wearing a white hoodie (at least, it had most likely been white at some point) with the hood worn up to partially conceal his face. Probably the hood was the only reason Desmond had survived long enough to reach Abstergo, but Daniel had no qualms about using it for leverage. He ran silently behind the striding Assassin and reached out with one hand.

Unfortunately, Desmond's reflexes were better than Daniel had anticipated. A split second before being caught, he whipped his head around and performed a graceful, deadly turn, raising his left arm and whipping his hidden blade towards Daniel's throat. Had Daniel been the average Abstergo guard, he would have died in an instant. As it was, he ducked sharply to avoid the flying steel and in the same movement grabbed Desmond by the wrist, squeezing the bones together cruelly and then pulling hard, yanking Desmond around in a smooth arc and slamming him back against the side of a parked van.

There came a painful rush of air as the breath was forced out of Desmond's lungs, but he didn't stop moving. He bounced off the metal of the van and tried to use the momentum to tackle Daniel again, still desperately trying to drive his blade into Daniel's throat. His teeth were bared in a snarl, his eyes were focused to the point of near-blindness and he stank to high heaven, as though he hadn't made any intimations towards washing for several days. There were bruise-dark circles underneath his eyes, a thick bristle on his chin and cheeks, and some sore-looking scratches on his face and neck. He looked like something that had just crawled out of a cave and decided that it had a grudge against everything in the world.

Daniel grasped him firmly by the jaw, keeping the other hand tight around his wrist, and slammed him back against the side of the vehicle, pushing his head up and to the side. He let his fingers stray too close to Desmond's mouth and the Assassin snapped his teeth, like an animal, millimeters from Daniel's skin.

Daniel laughed despite himself. 'Well, you've gotten a lot feistier since the last time I saw you,' he commented laconically.

Desmond didn't reply, but instead jerked his knee up violently into the fork of Daniel's legs. He was caught just before impact; Daniel kicked him away and then stood on Desmond's foot to keep him pinned.

'Shame you're not any stronger,' Daniel taunted. He squeezed Desmond's jaw for emphasis, and shook him a little. 'What exactly were you planning to do? Walk into Abstergo and take everyone out with your blade? The security guys have guns, you know.'

In a sudden movement, he gripped Desmond's shoulder and spun him around quickly, so that his face was pressed against the cool metal of the van. There was a bag slung across his back, and Daniel dragged it off, feeling as he did so the weight and rattle of it and the shape of the object inside. He raised an eyebrow.

'A shotgun? Not the smartest weapon to take into a pistol fight. You-'

He got no further. Desmond brought up his free elbow and slammed it sideways into Daniel's jaw. Evidently, he had grown a little stronger since their last meeting, or at least angry enough to lose any inhibitions he might have had. Daniel saw stars, overbalanced, and crashed to the ground. The back of his head smacked against the asphalt and his vision blurred for a moment, until the only thing that was visible was the glint of steel rushing towards him.

Daniel reached up and caught Desmond's wrist once more, with both hands, this time stopping the blade inches away from his throat. He gasped as Desmond grinned in triumph, dried blood in the cracks between his teeth, and leaned all his weight upon the blade, forcing Daniel to use every ounce of his strength to keep his throat from being pierced.

At that point, Daniel started to wonder whether he had, perhaps, made a mistake in initiating this confrontation. Remembering the temple beneath the Winter Palace, and the weakness that Desmond had shown there, he allowed the fear to show in his eyes as he struggled for his life.

'Please, don't,' he begged convincingly.

Desmond just smiled wider and pushed the blade closer to Daniel's throat.

So, apparently he could no longer rely on Desmond's mercy. Changing tactics, Daniel abruptly released his hold on Desmond's wrist whilst at the same time rolling his head to one side. The blade slammed down onto the asphalt, striking a few stray sparks and slicing a shallow line into the side of Daniel's neck, but the motion threw Desmond off balance and he fell forwards onto the ground, his elbow whacking painfully off the surface and collapsing underneath him. Daniel used the advantage to reverse their positions: straddling Desmond and pinning him down with the weight of his body, one hand on the Assassin's throat and the other on the buckle of his hidden blade.

'You,' he gasped, 'are exhausting. Quit fighting me, you irritating little son of a bitch, I'm just trying to have a conversation!'

Desmond used the last reserves of his strength to spit a glob of bloody saliva into Daniel's face. He grimaced, unable to wipe it away.

'Great. Now that you've got that out of your system, how about we call a truce and you try listening to what I have to say?'

Desmond spoke at last, his voice gravelly and full of venom. 'I'm done listening, Cross.'

'Oh yeah? You don't think it's a little odd that I'm the first person you've run into for days who hasn't tried to kill you?'

That gave him pause for thought, dark brown eyes staring up at Daniel in part-suspicion, part-realisation. Then Desmond's gaze turned scornful again. 'What are you doing right now? Because it feels a lot like you're trying to kill me.'

'I could have snapped your neck when I had you up against the van. I've got a gun and two knives on me, and now I've got your shotgun as well, but I haven't used any of them. I don't want to kill you, Miles, I want to negotiate with you.'

'Fuck you!' Desmond spat (only figuratively this time). 'You think I'll voluntarily sign up as a Templar out of fucking peer pressure? I'd rather die.'

'That explains the suicide mission, then. What were you trying to do?'

'Why do you care?'

Daniel rolled his eyes. 'I'm really worried about your emotional wellbeing. What can I say? I'm a people person. Now talk, you little shit, before I change my mind about snapping your neck.'

Desmond stared up at him warily, the rage in his expression temporarily drained enough to leave room for a measure of rational thought. He winced, squirming a little, and then said: 'Let me up.'

'Ha. Nice try.'

'You want a truce? Fine. But it doesn't feel much like a suspension of hostilities when you're kneeling on my chest.'

Daniel was about to utter a sneering retort when he reconsidered his position. More specifically, he reconsidered their position, with regards to the main building, and he glanced up worriedly at the entrance. Desmond twitched underneath him, almost instinctively, but didn't try to escape. It was clear that he was seriously considering a temporary peace - out of interest more than mercy - and that the best way to secure it would be to show the kid a measure of trust.

Reluctantly, Daniel slowly released Desmond's throat and arm, leaving his hands hovering over them for a moment in anticipation of some kind of attack. Desmond looked back at him with equal nervousness, but Daniel dutifully climbed off him, stood up, and then reached down with one hand.

'I'm not your enemy,' he explained calmly. 'Or at least - I don't have to be. Come with me and I'll explain, or go ahead and try to take on that entire building full of people by yourself.'

The Assassin glared up at him defiantly with red-rimmed eyes. Then, slowly, painfully, he climbed to his feet by himself, ignoring Daniel's outstretched hand. 'I'll give you three minutes,' he said firmly.

'You'll give me as much time as I want. Come on.'

Without looking over his shoulder, Daniel picked up the bag that Desmond had been carrying and walked over to his car, climbing into the driver's seat and tossing the shotgun in the back. He rested his hands on the steering wheel and waited, knowing that curiosity would be enough to pull Desmond in, no matter how insane he might have become after his days of isolation in an utterly hostile world.

Sure enough, the passenger door opened and Desmond slid into the car, moving gingerly around his fresh injuries from the fight. He slammed the door harder than was strictly necessary and sat staring straight ahead, slightly huddled into himself.

'What-?' Daniel began, then pulled a face. 'Hold on, you fucking stink.' He pushed the keys into the ignition and brought the car to life just long enough to open the window and let in some cool, fresh air. 'That's better. So, what was the plan? Disguise yourself as a hobo to lure people into a false sense of security, and go in there all guns blazing ... sorry, all gun, singular.'

Desmond closed his exhausted eyes and let his head loll against the window. 'Why didn't you kill me?' he mumbled in a distant, wrecked voice.

'Did you want me to kill you?'

A husky, half-hysterical laugh escaped Desmond's mouth. 'Are we just going to keep asking questions back and forth?'

'Are you going to answer my first question?'

Desmond opened his mouth, obviously to ask another question just to keep the game going, but then he seemed to give up. He sighed, deep and long, and then said, 'I was going to kill Rikkin. I hadn't really thought much beyond that.' He reached up to scratch at the older cuts on his neck, scabbed-over flesh coming away in his fingernails. His head was still resting against the window, as though he could not hold the weight of it up on his neck, and his eyes were staring straight ahead, flicking from side to side fractionally and with the precise rhythm of a metronome. 'The last few days ... I was alone, and everywhere I went people would try to kill me. I would beg them for help, and then I'd have to hurt them to get away. I hurt some of them real bad. And I realised that I had nothing left, no one left, and I didn't want to wait around to get caught by the right mob or to be recognised by a cop with a gun. I wanted to ... have an impact. Do some good.'

Daniel thought this over silently for a moment. Then he asked, again, 'Do you want me to kill you?'

Desmond looked up at that, his eyes blazing with that old familiar fire even set, deep as they were, in the weary mask of his face. 'You could try,' he said in a low voice. 'But I wouldn't let you take me easily. If I ... if I can't take Rikkin out, then at least removing you from the world would be an act of good.'

Realising that he was deadly serious, Daniel smiled in what he hoped would be a placating manner. 'You don't want to make friends?'

'I had a friend,' Desmond interrupted, his voice all sharp edges. 'I had...' He broke off the sentence abruptly and took a few deep breaths before continuing. 'You are not my friend. I don't know why you're doing this. Maybe you're just trying to fuck with me but I gave you three minutes and they're up now.' He reached into the back seat of the car for his bag, and Daniel didn't try to physically stop him.

'You'd never make it to the top floor,' he said condescendingly. 'You wouldn't even make it to the elevator. And even if you did, it wouldn't matter, because Rikkin isn't in the building.'

Desmond froze in the midst of opening his door and stared over at Daniel. 'What?'

'Oh, didn't I mention that? Rikkin's out of the country, on business,' Daniel lied smoothly.

The expression on the young Assassin's heart was comically devastated, and Daniel had to resist the urge to laugh as Desmond slumped back, eyes glazing a little in depression. 'So this was all for nothing.'

'It was always going to be for nothing. Even if Rikkin was in the building, what could you have done? Taken out maybe 5 or 6 guards at an absolute maximum before getting shot in the head? Big accomplishment.'

'I could still kill you,' Desmond countered in a dull, yet dangerous, voice.

Daniel shrugged nonchalantly. 'Maybe. I wouldn't advise it, though. We have a common enemy now.'

Desmond stared at him for a moment, thoughtfulness clouding the anger in his face. Then he mused, 'You haven't tried to kill me, have you? Whatever it is that everyone else has got ... it doesn't affect you.'

'No.'

'Because you're a Templar?'

'Not ... exactly.'

Desmond's eyes widened in realisation, and then he threw his head back and gave a sickly laugh. 'Of course, I'd forgotten.'

'Forgotten what?'

'You're like me! You're a ... a hybrid.'

Daniel felt his stomach turn unpleasantly. The Assassins had known about this? For how long? Had they known while he was still working for them? Why had Bill chosen not to tell him?

'And now,' Desmond continued, madly gleeful. 'Now they've figured it out so you have to run. Because you're only useful to them so long as they can control you. Oh man, talk about a betrayal turning around and biting you in the ass.' He continued to laugh, weakly, shaking his head.

'Yeah, it's hilarious,' Daniel said, deadpan, refusing to let his irritation show. 'So, are you still planning to storm the castle, or do you want to come with me and find a better solution?'

'Better solution?' Desmond repeated scornfully, but there was a glimmer of interest in his expression. 'Like what?'

'Well, the best thing for you right now would be a shower and a change of clothes. After that...' Daniel paused, wondering how much he should give away. 'I have someone we can contact. Someone who might be able to help.'

'Someone who won't just try to kill me on sight?' Desmond retorted.

'Yes.'

That gave the Assassin pause for thought. He brought a hand up to his mouth and brushed his shaking fingers over his lips. Moisture welled up in his bloodshot eyes as he released a long, shuddering breath. Daniel shifted in his seat impatiently as he waited for any answer.

'Look, are you coming or...?'

'I thought it was gonna be over,' Desmond explained, barely speaking above a whisper, sounding much younger than he really was. 'I thought today was gonna be the last one. It gave me ... strength. Knowing this was the final stretch.'

Daniel considered this for a moment. Then he said, 'It's not the only thing that gives you strength, though, is it?'

Desmond looked over at him questioningly. Daniel continued.

'You're not here because you wanted to do the right thing. You're here because you're angry, and you want revenge. Don't get me wrong, I would say that's a far more reliable motivator than plain old boring altruism and self-sacrifice. In this case, though, it looks like all that hate made you kinda stupid.'

Desmond's eyes were very wide. Daniel grinned and continued, speaking as harshly as he could manage.

'You remember your friend Clay? Rikkin made his own father kill him, and he's been turning everyone against you as well. I picked up the guy's body yesterday, and Rikkin had it burned and tossed the ashes out with the trash. Then he wiped everyone's memories of him. Once you and I are gone, it'll be like Clay Kaczmarek never even...'

'Shut up.'

Daniel raised an eyebrow. 'No point in hiding from the truth.'

'If you talk about Clay again, I'll kill you.'

Daniel opened his mouth to retort that not talking about Kaczmarek would only contribute to Rikkin's plan of wiping his memory from existence, when he felt something cold and sharp pricking against his belly. Looking down, he saw that Miles had extended the blade on his reached and reached across so that the tip of had pierced Daniel's shirt and was pressed against his skin. He swallowed his temporary panic and nodded.

'Fine. I won't talk about him again.'

Desmond paused for a moment and pressed the blade a little deeper, almost enough to break through Daniel's skin, and then relieved the pressure and sheathed the hidden blade. He leaned back in his chair again, looking directly ahead at the Abstergo building.

'Are my friends in there? My father?' he asked in a low voice.

Daniel quickly weighed the value of telling another lie, and then decided that it wasn't worth the effort of imagination. 'Yeah, they are.'

'Are they hurting them?'

'Why would they need to hurt them?' Daniel asked disparagingly. 'As far as I know, they were put in the Animi for memory assessment and retraining. Hastings and Crane are out already and they've been assigned to work in different divisions. As for your father...' Bill Miles had still been inside an Animus, the last time Daniel had checked. 'They have other plans for him.'

He watched, impatiently, as Desmond scratched the beard that was starting to grow in on his face and sighed miserably. 'Poor Dad. He would have hated it ... being forced to sell out the Assassins like this.'

'Well, if it makes you feel any better, there aren't any Assassins left to sell out. Now, are we doing this?' And with that, Daniel pressed the barrel of the gun that he'd quietly pulled from its holster against Desmond's stomach. 'Or should I just end your whining right now?'

Desmond looked down at the gun, and for a moment he appeared to be seriously considering the decision. Then he reached down slowly and pushed the weapon aside. 'OK,' he said tonelessly. 'Tell me the plan.'