A special thanks to all of my readers and reviewers. :) Here, this chapter cleared editing. Story direction-wise, not necessarily all that other stuff. ;) Enjoy it. Not done yet!

In spite of himself, Desmond felt a little guilty when he slithered back into the HQ later. Lila was seated behind the desk, and she looked up with a bright smile when he approached.

"Been busy?" she asked, casually arranging some papers on the desk in front of her.

"You could, uh... say that..." replied Desmond, scratching the back of his head.

Lila didn't miss that. "Oh?" she pressed lightly. "Busy doing what, if I may ask?"

The question put Desmond in a quiet panic. He wasn't sure WHAT to say... Should he reveal to anyone – let alone, his father's unofficially personal assistant – that he'd gone back to Bad Weather? What would happen if that was spread around? What if Lucy heard, knowing about Christine as she did? What if Shaun heard? THAT wouldn't be pretty...

But Lila was waiting, a puzzled expression on her face, for an answer. "I... um... went to a bar," said Desmond, stupidly.

"A bar, huh?" She didn't sound convinced, but she began stuffing papers in various multicolored folders on the desk in front of her and did not press further. "Well, while you were out, Shaun Hastings came by and left a message for you."

Desmond leaned forward on the desk. "Oh?" he mimicked.

"Yes. I believe it said – and I quote – something like: 'When you get back, move your skinny, white, all-American ass into the cafeteria. I heard something from Rebecca.'" And she raised her eyes prominently upwards as she lifted the envelop with his name on it to him. "Such a charming fellow."

"You'll get used to it eventually," said Desmond. With his index finger, he tore open the top of it, and his eyes scanned the message back and forth. "Assuming you stay with the Animus Team." A smile broke out on his face. "Good quoting, by the way. That's EXACTLY what Shaun said."

Lila sighed, and began scribbling something complicated on the sticky notepad in front of her. "I don't know WHAT I'm going to do, truth be told." She removed her glasses, and affixed him with a solid gaze. "Can I tell you something? In confidence?"

Desmond leaned down towards her. "Sure."

"I've been... having some family troubles recently. I have a son, Brandon. He's... with his father." She sighed, and looked away, rubbing her hands over her eyes. "I would appreciate it if he... WASN'T with his father."

He jutted his lips out thoughtfully. "Why? Deadbeat dad?"

She shook her head. "No. No, nothing like that... but my ex and I have had our fair share of problems. Disagreements over how to raise Brandon, I guess I should say."

For a moment, he considered it inappropriate to ask, but decided to chance it, anyway – she was talking to him about this, wasn't she? "What kind of disagreements?"

"Richard's family is a bit of a nightmare. Three of his cousins are alcoholics. One is in prison for convicted child molestation, and the other is in jail for charges pending. One of his sisters died driving under the influence home from work... at a strip club. The grandparents are finally divorcing after twenty years of unhappiness, but his mother pulled a gun on his father a few weeks ago. And the disagreements are about how much time Brandon should be spending with them, I suppose. I don't think it's a great environment, but Richard, of course, defends his family..." And again, she sighed.

But Desmond just blinked. "I'm inclined to agree with you on that one."

"Yes. I figured so... But I've been involved with the Assassins for years longer than it seems. 'Receptionist' is technically a demotion... but I see it as a step up, personally."

He nodded. "Given the line of work, yeah..."

"But things are still... not over, yet. They need me for this. And unfortunately, that leaves my son–"

"–home with his dad's insane family."

"Yes."

She looked up at him, and there was a faint hint of madness there in her frustration. He cocked his head to the side, and squeezed her shoulders once.

"I'm thinking about asking your father if... do you think we could arrange something?" She leaned forward on her elbows. "I just feel like... I spent all this time trying to make the world a better place for my son... trying to save it for him... and what if Richard drags him to a family party, and someone there gets drunk, and hurts him? Or something like that? And I'm not there to help? What if–"

"–hey, hey, hey!" interrupted Desmond. Hand beneath her chin, he turned her face upwards to him. "Don't talk like that. If he's been alright this whole time, I doubt anything will happen to him now. And if you're that worried about it – which, like I said, I kinda see your point – then ask my dad about it. He'll see to it, I bet. In fact, I don't think Brandon would be the first child in a case like this..."

Lila took a deep breath. "What if they can't bring him here, but they send him somewhere else? Like... an Assassin foster home? All I want is to see my son, and what if–"

"–Lila, honey, do me a favor, and let up on the what ifs," he cut across her. "In an 'Assassin foster home'..." and he couldn't help chuckling at her terminology, "...he would at least be in better shape. Probably, he'd be closer, too. And..." he balanced himself on his elbows on the desk next to her, "...I'll talk to my old man, if it helps. Make sure Brandon gets a good deal." And he patted her back once. "Okay?"

Lila took another deep breath, sat back, and reapplied her glasses. "Okay... Okay."

Desmond grinned, and made to step out from behind the desk.

But she grabbed his jacket sleeve. "Thank you, Desmond."

He returned her smile with one of his own, and then made for the cafe, which wasn't too far from the front door. Behind him, he could feel her eyes on him.

He sighed with a measure of relief when he entered the familiar, calming environment of the cafe. He half-expected Shaun wouldn't be there. Almost hoped for it, actually. He didn't know how he'd be able to keep his trip to Bad Weather and the subsequent sex that he'd known would inevitably take place between him and Christine from Shaun when he was sitting right there.

But no such luck. He'd just have to find some way to deal with it, because Shaun was there – absentmindedly, it looked like, flipping through a notebook. Desmond's eyes narrowed at it. What was that all about...?

Shaun looked up as he approached and helped himself to a seat. "Where were you?" he demanded, sharply, yet quietly.

"I was out," answered Desmond simply. "Why?"

"Because, I've got to tell you about a conversation I had with Rebecca this morning."

Desmond looked past Shaun and out the window. Was the sun really about to set, that quickly?

With something of a jolt, he pulled his attention back to Shaun. "Yeah? Go on..."

Shaun flipped the purple-covered notebook closed. "This morning, when we were in the team's room, Lucy came in jabbering about your date to go see Titanic."

A grin came onto Desmond's face, partly in anticipation for the answer and partly because Shaun wasn't pressing the topic. "Did she like it?" he asked, excitedly.

"She did. Quite a lot, actually. She said you two had drinks afterwards."

Desmond raised his eyebrows. "Yep. And an interesting conversation..."

"Must have been. Because Rebecca threw a fit."

Desmond's eyes flitted back and forth in, looking between each of Shaun's. After another moment of silence, he steeled himself inwardly, and asked: "Why?"

"She accused Lucy of cheating."

As a natural reaction, Desmond's hands flew up in the air and smacked down on his knees. "Christ Al-fucking-mighty!" he exclaimed.

The waitress that had been approaching jumped a bit in his peripheral vision.

"Oh, sorry!" he apologized hastily. "Sorry, no, I wasn't talking about you. No, that's alright, really. I'll just have some hot tea, unsweetened."

She nodded, short blonde curls bouncing slightly as she scurried away. The smile that had been on her bright red lips barely concealed her shock.

"Why?" asked Desmond, when she had disappeared behind the counter, in a much quieter tone. "What did Lucy say that made her think THAT?"

Shaun shrugged, and leaned back in his seat. "I don't know. It sounds like the date was a mild success between the two of you, but... the minute she said it, I knew she was full of shit. You would've told me that, right?"

"I would've told the whole world," said Desmond, also leaning back in his seat.

"That was my argument – once Lucy was out of the room, of course – but Rebecca's whole thing was that Lucy wouldn't have told anybody else about that. And that she probably would've told you to keep it in, too. And you would've done it, because she's got you whipped."

Desmond's eyes narrowed again. Rebecca was slowly climbing to the top of his shit list, a position he was sure she would hold squarely for as long as he knew her if she ever attained it.

"The truly interesting things were said when Lucy was no longer involved," continued Shaun. "I finally asked her why she feels the way she does, but she kept dodging the issue. Claimed this whole thing is about protecting Lucy. She says that you, as a bartender with your history, probably don't even know what love feels like, and Lucy would get hurt if she ever got seriously involved with you."

At that moment, the waitress set Desmond's tea down in front of him with a click on the table. "Here you are, sir."

Desmond inhaled and smiled briefly at her for a second before she turned and head back to the counter.

"Anyway..." Shaun went on, "...I asked what her general beef with you was, because this whole thing with Gary suggests there's more to it than that."

"Right, because she and Gary have been together now for a good while," said Desmond bitterly, sipping at his tea.

"Exactly. She never answered that question, either though. I even tried baiting her by hinting she had... well, you know... feelings for you, herself. She actually laughed at that, so I can assume not."

Desmond snorted. "Yeah. The sentiment's the same on my end, as well..."

"I hope so," said Shaun, drinking the rest of what looked like coffee from his own mug. "I mean, you know... because Lucy may be a tough case, but Rebecca would be a lost cause, for you," he went on after a moment's pause.

"No doubt. She seemed to like me a lot more before we actually SAVED the world..."

"I asked her about that, too. She says that she doesn't deny, she's happy with your work in that situation."

"My 'work'?" repeated Desmond, incredulously. "Which of my 'works' was she the most pleased by? Hunting down all those Pieces of Eden and killing Juno with them – which wasn't an easy fight AT ALL? Preventing the sun from burning us to a crisp? Or was it crashing the Abstergo satellite into the Temple?"

"All of it, I guess," answered Shaun, with another roll of his shoulders. "I don't know... but she did also admit that she appreciated the comfort you gave her when it was really looking bad, for a while, there. She says you CAN be a nice guy..."

Desmond took another sip of tea. "Yeah, sure. She can throw me a bone when I was doing something she wanted."

"I think there was more to it than that, but whatever. The point is, she says the reason she doesn't like you overall is because your personality grates on her. And because she could tell how you and Lucy felt about each other, to start out with. She knows you, at least, still feel that way, and she just wishes you would, as she puts it, 'go away'."

Desmond frowned, and ground his teeth together. "Why doesn't she?" he said through them. "No one's making her stay, and it's not like she'd have to leave you and Lucy to get away from me. I hate to say it, in a weird way, but it's not like I'd miss her all that much, and–"

"–she kind of would have to leave me and Lucy. Because that came up in the conversation, at one point. The one with Lucy, I mean. Lucy told Rebecca, in no uncertain terms, she wasn't leaving the Assassins. She feels she's done too much, and she should be making up for it. She had Rebecca stumped on that one, because as we all remember, Rebecca took a little longer warming up to Lucy again than even your father."

Desmond nodded. He remember poignantly how distant Rebecca has been. She wasn't rude to Lucy, not by any stretch of the imagination. But she was guarded, at the time. Like she was really trying to make sure Lucy was on the up-and-up.

But now, it seemed, she'd dug herself into a hole. From reading her emails and talking to her in person, Desmond had gathered plenty about how hard this war had been on Rebecca underneath her cheery demeanor... and Lucy had always been the one to pick her back up. Throughout the whole affair, they'd been really close friends, even when Lucy had been in Abstergo. Even when she'd been separated from the rest of the order to make her infiltration into Abstergo seem more believable and natural. Rebecca had always kept contact with her.

So she hadn't taken the discovery that Lucy had sold them out very well. Desmond remembered clearly, one night, sitting outside with Rebecca and drinking a little. Rebecca had had quite a rant about the situation. Lucy, her family, the Templars, the Assassins, the state of the world, etc. And at the time, Desmond had found it to be a pretty well-thought out and genuine speech. In looking back at it now, it sounded like the no-less genuine but not-so-well-thought out venting of a bitter woman who felt older than she was. Thinking back to their time in Monteriggioni, Desmond also remembered Lucy having the same mindset about a lot of things. The same viewpoints... He supposed it was what had bonded them together, in the first place.

And now that the world had been saved, Lucy was back, and her atonement was undeniably honest, Rebecca couldn't claim the need for emotional distance. It seemed to Desmond, as he took another drink of tea, that what Rebecca was the most afraid of was that he would hurt Lucy somehow and chase her away again, which would leave Rebecca alone once more. She knew that, presently, she held a greater position of influence on Lucy than Desmond did, and she was going to pull out all the stops to keep them separated. She'd support Lucy's childish relationship with Gary. She accuse Lucy of cheating with Desmond anytime the two of them had any contact at all. If, that is, Desmond was right, he wondered...

But all he could say to Shaun was, "Yeah..." And he ducked his head. There really was no way around it... "Look, I, uh–" but he paused.

He felt utterly and indescribably torn. At this point, Shaun was really all he had. Keeping secrets felt kind of wrong. But he knew Shaun wouldn't approve of him going back to Bad Weather, and much less of him fucking Christine. And he didn't want to take the risk of chasing Shaun off...

The cons of telling him outweighed the pros, in Desmond's mind. So he answered Shaun's questioning look with, "–I want to know what Lucy said, too."

"She was pissed. I think Rebecca sort of overshot her hand, there. Judging by her face, she seemed to have expected a different response from Lucy. I don't know what, exactly, but what she got was far from it. Rebecca threatened, covertly, to tell Gary."

Desmond clicked his tongue. "I'm not sure if I'd be upset about that, though... Might make my life easier."

Shaun's brow furrowed. "How so? It sounds to me like it would just add to the drama."

"It probably would, at first. But think about what that would do. Even if Gary didn't believe it, he'd always have it hanging in the back of his mind. He'd probably suffocate her. Remember what he told you guys at lunch a week after he and Lucy made it official? About how his last marriage dissolved because he just 'knew that she was cheating'?" Desmond made air quotes along with this one, and let his arms fall into a fold across his chest, his scarred lips spreading into a contained grin. "And if he did believe it, he'd break up with her. Or confront me about it, which I might actually prefer, because then I'd have a good excuse to knock him on his pretentious ass..."

"That's what Lucy seemed to think would happen if Rebecca told him," said Shaun. "That's good thinking on your part, but Lucy's response to Rebecca was that there would be 'problems between me and you if you make any trouble between me and Desmond'."

Desmond felt a twinge of two feelings mixed together move through him, and his lip twitched as an outward manifestation of it. On the one hand, there was the disappointment behind yet-another of the different things he'd considered being shot down. And on the other, Lucy's wording there had suggested that she would be quicker to be rid of him than she would Gary, or even Rebecca, at this point. Which could mean the date hadn't been as much of a step forward as he'd thought, even though she had seemed remarkably out of character that night with him. In a way that she usually only was when she was with... or talking to on Facebook... Gary.

"Great," he sighed. "But what I meant was, what did she say about the date that started this whole thing?"

"Oh, she gushed about it. She said you were a 'perfect gentleman', escorting her through town on your arm. She talked about eating out with you, and talking about her family with you. She says you're very understanding about it, and she appreciates that."

Desmond smiled. "Good," was all he could say. "I doubt she'll be willing to do much else along those lines now, though." He pulled his jacket – a blue-and-white plaid-patterned zip-up shirt with a hood and several pockets – in a little closer to himself, and drank some more of his tea. "Now that Rebecca's opened her big mouth about it..."

Shaun stood up and left some money on the table. "Well..." he said, clapping Desmond's shoulder twice, "...I wouldn't say that. She was quite happy with it, and not quite so happy with Rebecca's attitude towards it. And there's a few days before Gary comes back." He winked towards Desmond's direction. "If you get the chance... maybe... just... wing it?"

Desmond nodded, and shivered. "Winging it is sometimes the best way, yeah."

"Then I'm confident you've got this next one down," said Shaun, softly.

He clapped Desmond's back and wandered out into the lobby. Desmond watched him till he disappeared on the elevator behind the receptionist desk where Lila had been replaced by someone else. Desmond looked up at the clock. It WAS getting close to eight o'clock...

He sighed, and sank back into his reclined position in the chair. His mouth opened into a yawn. In the nearby window, there was an older air conditioner running. It gave off a soft, consistent whirring sound as it operated. His eyes glazed over, one hand on his mug of still-warm tea. And the other, he pulled childishly up into his jacket and let rest on his lap, while the sleeve lay on top of it... He closed his eyes and allowed the whirring to comfort him. In spite of everything that had happened, for his life on the farm and everything in between that and now that had taken him right up to this moment, there was nothing that would take away this simple, soft sound. He almost felt like he could go to sleep.

With a thought like THAT, though, he wasn't going to hang around and chance doing so sitting at the cafeteria table. He emptied his glass of the remaining tea and left a few dollars on top of Shaun's. The tea didn't cost much, and he felt a generous tip was owed for scaring the poor waitress so much...

On the way up to his room, he wondered a bit about what he was going to do now that all this had happened between Rebecca and Lucy. He was sure Shaun was right, to a certain extent, about Lucy's whole assessment of the situation... but he was also sure that Rebecca and Gary were priorities in ways he wasn't to her, right now. It would take careful planning...

...but it would have to be careful planning he did later on. As the door to his room swung shut behind him and the lock clicked into place, he collapsed on the bed, all the exertion of sleeping with a woman (and dealing with all the histrionics in his life) coming down on him. In spite of that, there was a light grin playing at the edges and tips of his scarred lips when he closed his eyes.

And fortunately, his dreams were undisturbed by anything unpleasant.

On the contrary, he dreamed of Lucy. And in the dream, they were laying in a field of dandelions. Simple. Easy. Comforting. Exactly the type of thing that he was are, even in his sleep, he needed.

Some part of him was sure she was dreaming the same thing... and that she needed it, too.