Desmond froze with his hand on the door. What was he doing here?
He stood just outside Bad Weather. The bar. HIS bar. Where he was pretty sure he shouldn't be. The entire way over, he'd looked over his shoulder like a scared kid, on his way to commit some kind of serious crime that he was mortally afraid of getting caught doing. He knew it was stupid that he felt that way about this. He was a twenty-six-year-old man. If he wanted to go to a bar, he could.
But why was he going back to THIS bar? Things had gone well with Lucy at the movie, hadn't they? And Gary wouldn't be back for a few more days... He should be spending the time looking for ways to capitalize on that. And no matter how much he tried to convince himself he just wanted to check up on old friends and see how everyone had turned out after all this time, he knew better than that.
He sighed, and looked again over his shoulder. But the thought he had about just walking away and going back to the HQ didn't last for more than a second. He pushed his way through the front doors with both arms and re-entered the bar scene.
The lights and the sounds hit him full force only a second afterwards. There it was, exactly as he'd remembered leaving it. Or being stolen from it, rather. He still couldn't think of that night without a shudder. Those two men cornering him on his way out of work. Injecting him with something. Him waking up with his hands bound behind his back, and a blindfold on. All he could remember from that point was the sound of airplanes...
He shook his head to clear the memory. His residential Assassin Therapist had recommended briefly revisiting it sometimes, but not lingering. He couldn't have agreed more.
He wound his way through the people, eyes set determinedly on the bar ahead. A grin began to play at his lips as he came closer. He recognized the man behind the bar. Adrian.
So, Adrian's still working here, huh? he thought. I wonder if... But there he was. The other guy Desmond was hoping to see. Nick.
Desmond stopped short, taken aback by the surprise of seeing them again. There they were. They were really and truly there, in front of him. There were grins on their faces while they eyed the two women they were chatting with beside them. Desmond recognized one of them, too. A French woman, who had always come and sat in that exact same stool and talked to him about her family. He felt mildly ashamed that he didn't remember her name...
And then, coming down the bar with a tray of food and two drinks in her hand, that was where he saw her again.
She was beautiful. Still beautiful, that was. Her long, straight, white-blonde hair was tied back in a basic ponytail. She was wearing black pants and a white t-shirt with some kind of artwork on it that he couldn't see through the black apron she wore. The lowly-lit environment didn't prevent his now-sharp senses from zooming in on her sharp, dark green eyes. And already, he caught himself tracing patterns in the freckles on her face.
He realized his mouth had fallen open. He exhaled sharply and closed it.
From behind him, two dancing people collided with his back, causing him to lurch forward. He caught himself on the side of a table, where some of the other patrons were playing cards.
"Sorry!" he apologized loudly over the music. "Got knocked over."
"Aw, man, that's no problem!" answered one of the (drunk) re-haired men there.
He reached up and clapped Desmond's shoulder, a gesture which Desmond returned with as much ease built into him from the memory of his days there as if he'd never left. "Enjoy your game, gentlemen," he said before setting off for the bar.
"Hey, thanks a lot, man!" he heard another of them call after him.
He offered a brief smile over his shoulder for a moment, and then went back to looking for Christine. She'd disappeared sometime during his encounter with the card players. He exhaled again, this time with frustration. Folding his arms across his chest, he proceeded to the bar.
There were no seats near Nick as he reached it, so he slid into a stool on the other side of a man and his wife two people in between them. Directly in front of him was the menu. His face turned up into a smile while he read the specials on the front.
"HOUSE DRINK: SHIRLEY TEMPLAR," it read.
"Still here, huh?" he muttered to the paper, plucking it from its paper clip on the front of the menu. "Bet no one makes it like I did..."
"Can I get ya anything, sir?"
Desmond looked up from his paper. It was Adrian talking to him. He looked so worn out... His skin was stretched, and his blue eyes were sunken in. He looked like he hadn't shaved in weeks. But what had Desmond suddenly grinning is that he looked happy...
"Sir?"
"Oh, uh... Yeah! Sure, man," he stuttered. "I'll have the, uh... Shirley Templar sounds good."
"Excellent choice," responded Adrian, with a smile. "Man, this thing really took off..."
Desmond leaned forward on his elbows. "What did?" he asked with mock-intrigue. "The drink?"
"Yeah," said Adrian. "One of our good buddies who used to work here? He put it together. Or, well, he didn't really come up with MOST of it. He used to say, 'The usual. I just add some gin.'" And it was gin that Adrian was pouring into the glass as he shook his head and sighed. "Good ol' Desmond. Christine finally told me his REAL name about a week ago. Always told me his name was Anthony. Wonder why..." He slid the drink towards Desmond deftly. "Here you go, man..."
"Uh, thanks," answered Desmond. He raised the cup and took a drink out of it. Not bad, he thought, jutting his lower lip out at it.
But he wanted to know more about what Adrian thought. "Maybe he was hiding."
Adrian looked up from the glass he was cleaning. "What?"
"Your friend?" pressed Desmond. "Maybe he was hiding."
Adrian shrugged. "Maybe he was. I don't know. I just know, I don't care what his name was, I miss the guy sometimes..."
"Miss who?"
Desmond froze.
It was Christine. She had come over with her notepad out and a pen.
He ducked his head slightly. Instantly, he felt sick. Perhaps he SHOULDN'T have done this... Maybe he should've at least sat at a table instead...
"Desmond," answered Adrian. "This nice guy, here was just asking about him."
Christine laughed. "Yeah? That's funny. The number of times I get a question about Desmond... Especially from the ladies." She clicked her tongue and flicked her head to the side as she opened the cash register. "It's been since the end of August since he was here last."
Desmond's lip twitched. What... exactly... did THAT mean?
"You still miss him, though?" he asked, taking a drink from his cup.
Christine nodded as she worked the register. "Hell, yeah! He was the best bartender we've had since I can remember." She grinned sideways at Adrian. "Oh, um... no offense."
Adrian waved casually. "That ain't why you miss him, though..."
A sly smile spread across Christine's lips and cheeks. "No. It's not."
Desmond took another drink, and tried not to smile too much, himself. Especially as the flooding of memories came flowing back into his head.
"You never did answer me from a day ago," continued Adrian. "You ever think about talkin' to that guy we saw on TV? William? You said he has Des' last name..."
Christine shook her head. "I don't know if I could or not. If he IS Des' dad, well... Des said he could be something of an asshole."
Desmond pressed his lips tighter together. That was exactly how he'd said it the first time she'd ever asked about his father.
"Well, yeah, but if it IS him, he probably knows where Des is!" countered Adrian.
Desmond turned his head to the side and pretended to eyeball the dancers, with a click of his tongue in somewhat-belated answer to Christine's.
"So? It's not my issue! I miss Des as much as everyone else, but Des said he left mostly because of his dad! He didn't want his dad to find him! I'm not taking the risk..." Her voice shook a bit. "For Desmond's sake."
Desmond turned in time to see her blink a few times. She straightened herself up and shook her head.
Adrian put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll just have to hope he shows, then."
"That's right. It's only been a few months," came another voice. Nick. He had just slid into the seat beside Desmond, the man and wife that were there before gone. "He always said he'd come back if he ever had to go away for a while."
A sharp, stabbing pain went through Desmond. How could he do this to these people? In all the time he'd been gone, he'd maybe given them a few thoughts. Christine the most, and usually whenever he needed some inspiration for his alone time.
But THEY'D never forgotten him. They were here, in fact, worrying about him. Talking about him. Reminiscing about the good old days. Christine was CRYING about him.
He finished his drink and turned back to the bar. "Could I get another one of those?" he asked.
"Sure thing, buddy," replied Adrian. "You like it?"
"It's good," answered Desmond, letting his voice fall quieter. "I think I've had it before."
"Yeah?" asked Nick beside him. "You been here before?"
"Oh, yeah," answered Desmond. "It's been a while. A few months, actually. But I lived here for about six years." He leaned back in his seat and placed his hands behind his head. "This is Bad Weather, isn't it?"
"Sure is!" answered Christine proudly.
Desmond ran his eyes up and down her for a moment. Like he used to do. "Yeah, I been here before..."
And just like before, Christine blushed. "Well, welcome back," she said. She leaned forward on the bar. "Can I get you anything else?"
Desmond shrugged. "I'll just have another drink. For now..." He cocked his head to the side and turned up his face in a half-grin. "Check with me later."
"You got it!" she said.
One of the cooks prodded her in the back. "Hey, Christine. Order's up."
"Be right back," she said. And with that, she took the tray from the cook – whom Desmond didn't recognize – and disappeared into the crowd.
Desmond followed her with his eyes for a moment, but spun back around when Adrian set his drink down on the bar with a light clunk. When he turned around to drink it, he saw Nick appraising him out of the corner of his eye.
He turned and resumed his half-grin. "What?"
"Be careful with that one," warned Nick. "She's... feisty."
As his drink reached his lips, Desmond laughed once and set it back down. With one of the napkins Adrian had given him with the drinks, he brushed the misplaced alcohol away from his lips. "Feisty, huh? I don't think I've ever used THAT word to describe her..."
"What, you met her before?" asked Adrian, handing a soda can to someone that reached over Nick's other shoulder.
Desmond turned and again cocked his head to the side. He jutted both lips out and raised his eyebrows. When he spoke, his voice was the same low, husky voice he'd used almost constantly when he'd tended the bar there. "Yeah..." he answered. "I met her before. I know her well."
Nick's eyes widened, and he lowered his drink to the bar slowly. "No way..."
"Oh, come on, buddy, you said it yourself," said Desmond, his arms out. "It's only been a few months."
Adrian's mouth fell open. "It can't be, though. It CAN'T be you..."
"Why not?" asked Desmond, his face broken out into a full-fledged grin now.
"Because, you're just so-so... different!" exclaimed Adrian. "I mean, LOOK at you! Look at how (much) taller you've gotten! Look at your arms, man! Holy shit, what happened to you!?"
And the relaxed smile on his face let Desmond know he was kidding. He knew it was him...
"Desmond..." sighed Nick.
Desmond turned and looked him in the eye. "Yes."
"It's you..."
"It's me."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"It's really you?"
"Yes, Nick. It's me. I promise you, Nick, it's me. It's really me."
Nick took a deep breath, and blinked his eyes twice. There were obviously tears building up. Nick had always been a kind of sensitive guy. Sometimes, he'd been made fun of for it. And Desmond had always defended him.
He reached out with both arms and pulled his best friend of most of his life into an unashamed hug. Nick's hands gripped his back tightly.
"Holy shit," he said, pulling back and examining Desmond from head to foot. "Look at you. What's happened?"
Desmond smiled, and realized his own eyes were a little wet. He tightened his grip on Nick's shoulders. "I was, um–"
But at that moment, Christine reappeared behind the bar. "I'm back."
"Chr-Christine," began Nick, in a shaky voice.
"Some of these people drive me absolutely fucking crazy." She turned to Desmond again, her sly smile back in place. "It's nice to meet someone with a little class in here every once in a while."
Desmond looked at his feet for a moment, to give himself a second to compose himself. And when he looked back up, his grin had been replaced with the look Nick and Adrian had always called "x-ray vision".
"Yeah," he replied, husk in full force. "I remember how you and I used to sit here and bitch instead of cleaning up."
Christine blinked twice. "I'm sorry?"
Nick began to shake again. He collapsed against Desmond's chest. "Chr-Chris..." he started to say, while Desmond's arms tightened protectively around him.
"Chris, take a look at him," said Adrian.
He stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. She turned from him to look at Desmond. Her eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes, themselves, moved up and down him, studying...
Desmond – though he still had Nick against him – looked back. His golden eyes moved back and forth between hers. He set his face back into the hard mask he'd always worn during those days...
And suddenly, it seemed to come to her.
She gasped, and raised both hands to her mouth. "Desmond," she breathed.
He smiled, if somewhat weakly. "Yeah, Chris... It's me..."
Slowly, she let her hands fall down to the bar. And they stared into each other's eyes for a moment...
Then she whipped herself like a rubber band over the bar. With strength Desmond didn't remember her having, she pushed Nick away from him and gripped him with both of her own arms. Desmond returned her embrace, their bodies slowly swaying back and forth, side to side...
He looked up for a moment, and saw that the people in the bar had begun to take notice of his reunion with them. The dancers had stopped. The music had, as well. He smiled as he began to hear his assumed name murmured throughout the crowd.
"Anthony..."
"Anthony?"
"It's Anthony!"
Against his chest, Christine was calming herself. "Jesus Christ," she said. "Where the hell have you been?"
He shrugged. "Long story..."
A faint chattering reached his extensively-sensitive ears. His eyelids began to open. Slowly, at first... but soon the blurriness in his vision began to clear.
The voice belonged to Lucy. Who else? She was saying goodbye to someone on the phone. Probably Rebecca. He heard a clicking sound, and her light footsteps tracing around the kitchen. Since he'd last been in the Animus, his additional sense seemed to have honed itself. He frequently caught himself counting breaths and footsteps. Sometimes, he could tell where people had been, or even make a good guess where they might be going.
Sometimes, there were drawbacks to this, as well. Like the bright sunlight falling through the blinds above him. He squinted his eyes and raised a hand to shield them.
"Desmond?"
He rolled onto his side, feeling like a weary old man, and looked in the general direction of the voice. Lucy was standing there with a multicolored bowl in one hand and a brighter smile on her face than he'd seen since she'd come back to him.
"Yes?" he sighed.
"What're you doing up already? I didn't wake you, did I?"
"Kinda..."
Her face fell, in the slightest of ways. He probably wouldn't have noticed it without his extra sense...
But he didn't want her to get the wrong idea. "No, no!" he hasted to assure her. "I'm glad for it..." He dragged himself up and sat down with his legs crossed in front of him. "I... wanted to talk to you."
She set the bowl down on the table beside her. "Me, too," she said, and crossed the floor to join him on the couch.
He took her hands, once she'd sat down opposite him. "I... wrote to you last night."
She nodded. "I saw it this morning." She reached up, and touched the side of his face. "Thank you."
He smiled, weakly. "You're welcome. And, I meant it. After holidays, I'll quite, if there's no one else there."
She shook her head. "You can't do that, Desmond. You like that job."
He glared to the side. "I'm not so sure about that. It's caused so many problems, and my parents are there all the time, and– "
Her fingertips pressed his lips back together. "Desmond. You like that job. I understand that."
"I've seen the results of a woman who's too understanding," he said against her fingers, shaking his head back at her. "I've seen what happens when a man doesn't figure it out. I lived with one, remember?"
Lucy removed her hand, and something spasmed across her face he couldn't identify. For a moment, she was silent.
But then, "It eats you alive, doesn't it? Your parents..."
His expression turned puzzled. "What?"
"Your parents doing all this bothers you. They pay for a lot of this." She gestured around at the apartment they were in. "And it gets to you a lot more than you want to let on, doesn't it?"
Desmond shrugged. "I've made no secret of it," he replied, and rubbed his arm. "I don't like relying on my parents. I can't escape the feeling I'm going to pay for it, someday. I don't know how, but I bet it's coming."
Lucy sighed. "Yeah... I know. If I had parents like yours, I'd be suspicious, too. But Desmond..." and she looked him in the eye, "...I don't think your parents want to take anything from you. I think, when they said they wanted to make it up to you... they really meant it."
He opened his mouth to protest, but the top half of her body shot forward and silenced him with a light kiss.
"I'm not saying you should quit your job," she continued, softly. "I'm not even saying you should trust them, given everything that's happened." She let herself fall back into place. "But I think you should give them a chance." And she sighed again, and ran her hand through her hair. "God knows, if I could find my family, I would... I don't want you to end up here. You HAVE your family. Be glad for it. Or, try, at least..."
There was a building lump in his throat. This was the conclusion he had come to in the steam room last night. Today, he would write to Mrs. Stillman. Seeing her upset about it made the prospect feel a little less upsetting. He wanted her all to himself, but there was just no denying that he'd lose her entirely if he didn't act soon. And it was wrong to keep putting her through this, when he had the power to make it better for her.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Okay," he whispered. "I promise."
She smiled back at him, equally as weakly.
"No. Really," he pressed, and held his arms out. "I do. I promise."
She crawled forward into his embrace without hesitation. When his arms closed around her, he could feel the muscles in her loosening.
He kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Lucy," he said softly. "I really, really am."
"I know. I heard you, last night."
He turned his head down and rested it on hers. "Sorry," he apologized again. "I was... having a moment."
She giggled. "I noticed. And I see you found your note..."
His eyebrows pulled together. "Yeah. Speaking of that, I wanted to ask you–"
"–why I never said anything?"
Inwardly, he stiffened. She had already prepared some kind of response. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. It might hurt...
She took a deep breath. Then she sat up, and took his hands once again. "Desmond... I found the note on the table, while you were pouring the drinks. I... That night was..."
"...'amazing'?" he tried.
A slight smile spread to her lips. "Yes. Yes, it was pretty amazing. But, back then, I was with Gary, and I just couldn't... I didn't know what to do." She gripped her hair with both hands. "I wondered about you, all the time. I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know when you'd written it! I wanted to asked, but I was afraid of what would happen with me and Gary, at the time. And now..." she reached behind her to the side table and took it from there, "...I know what happened, I just– I can't help wondering what I missed, and I– "
His hands covered hers. "–Luce, stop."
She looked up, and there were a few frustrated tears there.
Tears he reached out and brushed away. "I get it. It was a cluster fuck. A total cluster fuck." He sighed, and leaned back into the couch's fabric. "It's probably, all things considered, for the best..."
She shook her head frantically. "No. Shaun told me some of the things you went through. Some of the things he had to help you with. Desmond... I didn't know you were in such pain. Just for ME?!"
He shook his head, thankful for all the borrowed patience that came with an age far beyond his own from his times in the Animus. "Luce... It wasn't all JUST for you..."
He raised his tired gaze to her frantic, but confused one.
"It was ALL for YOU. Don't make it sound like it wasn't worth it. Or like YOU weren't worth it. You were. Every second of it." He nodded his head once, as if to strengthen his point. "And I'd do it all again, if I had to. Just to get back to this point..."
His hand touched her cheek. His thumb rubbed her trembling, lower lip.
"I'll do anything..."
Her emotions seemed to overwhelm her. She buried her face in her hands, and her body racked. But she didn't cry out loud. And when she looked up, she was suddenly all over him. Her lips covered the top half of his body everywhere they could reach.
They started with his own (which they revisited several times). They touched his forehead. His neck. His shoulders, chest, and arms...
By then, he was laid back again, his hands gently set on her own head and shoulders. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He heard her whispering his name, and felt her fingers tightly gripping onto him...
It wasn't long before they found their whole bodies mingling. And unlike the usual, frantic hunger, it was slow and passionate.
When his eyes weren't closed to enjoy the taste of her lips, he was looking at her. His movements matched hers perfectly. Her voice and her hands, responding in pleasure to his actions, drove him harder. Her warmth had never felt so intense...
It didn't seem to end quickly, but he didn't know for sure. They stayed like that, on the couch, with their arms around each other for the rest of the day, just looking into each other's eyes... Occasionally, one of them would softly kiss the other.
Desmond never fell back asleep that day. This solidified it.
With a sigh – of either reluctance or relief, he couldn't tell – he disentangled himself gently from her hours later and headed for the laptop by the recliner chair. It was time to get back to his mom.
And Lucy's.