The bar was absolutely buzzing. Desmond was almost immediately knocked over when he edged his way through the front door. The music was up way louder than it usually was. The people were dancing with the same kind of irreverence he remembered from the night of his twenty-first birthday. But unlike that night, he didn't feel at all inclined to rip his clothes off... It actually felt like an annoyance – he'd just left a party not even half as loud as this, and it was irritating enough.

It took him a full five minutes to get through to the bar, itself. He scanned along it with his eyes, and his feet followed his line of vision until, finally, he spotted somebody he knew. Well, all of them, really... Nick was hunched over with his head in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. Adrian was going back and forth frantically between the counter and the bar. Desmond hoped for a seat somewhere nearby, but couldn't get one.

Not a problem.

With stunning speed, he spotted a guy half-passed out in front of Adrian. With equally stunning force, he shoved the guy off of his stool.

"Hey," the guy slurred weakly from the floor. "That's mine..."

Desmond sighed, and plucked the guy up off his ass. "You don't look too good. Lemme get you out of here. Somewhere safer..."

"I'm fine," the guy protested. "I just... well, my girlfriend's gone."

Desmond just about stopped in the process of guiding the man to the mostly-empty couches in the front corners. "Your girlfriend?" he couldn't help asking.

"Yeah, she says she can't handle it anymore, y'know? She wants a g-guy who's home more often."

"And why aren't you home more often?" inquired Desmond. He bumped another drunk guy with his foot. "Move." Then, to the first, "If my girlfriend was leaving me over that, I'd probably give it a shot."

"Wouldn't be a problem, if I didn't have to drive so much."

At this, Desmond took a closer look at the object of his actions. The man wasn't all that tall, but he was burly. His brown hair was short, but his beard and mustache were long. He was wearing a flannel shirt striped in a red and white plaid patterning. There were at least three tattoos visible on his forearm.

A trucker, he assessed in his head. "So... why not quit? Get a better job?"

"Ah, please..." replied the trucker. "If there was any way I was getting' a better job, I wouldn't even be in this God-awful city. I never even finished high school back home in Indiana. I came here on a long ass route one day... Met Gloria, decided to stay. Didn't seem like there was anything else better for me, y'know? New York city's just where they send ya if they don't know what to do with ya in the rest of the USA..."

Desmond swallowed a lump in his throat. There was mist forming in the man's eyes.

But he couldn't help remembering how it felt to be there. To think nobody else wanted him, and nothing else would do. Only people in normal life situations – people who went through all the motions of things like school, college, work and beyond – were afforded the simple and quiet joys of living a normal life. He always knew, for example, that he would never be the type to retire to a peaceful and secluded country house or even a small town somewhere... with a wife and kids. It was never going to happen. That just wasn't the type of life he could live. Especially not now that he had been in New York, living the life of a bartender for a place like THIS.

But all he could tell this total stranger he felt so badly for was, "Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean." He lowered the man slowly onto the empty corner of the black leather couch by his arms. Suddenly, the noises in the background seemed to fade a little... "But you'll be all right, sir. When you wake up and the headache's gone, you'll find a way. Just don't stop looking."

The man smiled, and mumbled something Desmond couldn't quite make out.

"And when you do, could you let me know before you leave?"

The last thing the man did before he started snoring was nod. And manage to get, "Thank you" out.

And then, he was out like a light.

Desmond sighed. "You're welcome," he whispered.

He turned and began making his way back towards the seat he had freed up. He was happy enough to see that no one else had landed in it. But before he did, he couldn't help looking back and smiling. He felt a little bad for his abruptness, in light of what he now knew... but it had been a good thing, he figured, in spite of that...

And he still felt really relieved to slide into the stool next to Nick. "Hey," he greeted, wearily.

"What's up?" replied Nick, sounding just as weary. "Bad day?"

"Sort of. I just wanted to get away."

"I know how you feel," said Nick.

His voice sounded shaky. Desmond frowned, and took a closer look. At once, he could tell something was wrong. Nick was leaned over, with his face still buried in his hand. It didn't look like he had taken a single drink of his beer since Desmond had arrived. He was shivering from head to toe, and there was a red mark on his wrist. The stool vibrated along with his body.

"What's wrong?" asked Desmond.

"What do you mean?" answered Nick, still not looking up. "Nothing's wrong."

"How come you won't look at me?"

Nick shrugged. "Because, I'm tired."

"So am I," countered Desmond. "I'm still looking at you."

"Well, good for you, Desmond," snapped Nick. "I wish I was you."

Desmond folded his arms. "Come on, Nick. The faster you spill it, the faster I'll leave you alone."

"Desmond, please..." Nick's voice weakened even more, and he turned a little further away. "Please, just let it go, okay?"

Adrian set a plate of food down in front of Nick. "Desmond–"

But he held a hand up to silence the interruption. "Nick, what the fuck's going on?"

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Christine's voice sounded in his ear. "Desmond, please don't make a scene in front of the customers. I'll explain it in a moment, if you'll just–"

But Desmond wasn't listening. With determination, he seized Nick's sweater and spun him around on the stool. With his other hand, he forced Nick's chin up.

"Ouch..." Nick meekly protested.

Jaw open and eyes even wider so, Desmond let his hand fall away. "Oh, my God... I'm sorry..."

Nick sighed, and a few tears escaped his eyes. One side of his face was blue and purple. His bottom lip was puffed up. There were more red markings all over his neck, and they seemed to travel down beneath his shirt onto his chest. His nose was crooked. He was missing a tooth, which Desmond could only see through his quivering mouth. And one of his eyes was so swollen, it almost wouldn't open – only a slit of his

Behind Desmond, Christine sighed and rubbed her left eye. "There. Do you get it, now?"

Desmond didn't answer. He just closed his mouth, and took Nick carefully by the wrist that looked unharmed. Nick didn't fight at all as Desmond dragged him around the bar and through the swinging door behind it. He could sense Christine behind them, hear her heels clicking across the floor.

When the door closed behind them, Desmond turned without a word and pulled Nick's shirt off over his head. To assess the rest of the damage. Nick shuddered, like he was cold. Desmond looked over the rest of his friend's torso. The red markings – looking like the splayed palms of hands – did, indeed, continue down the rest of Nick's chest. In between them were larger bruises, and a couple of cuts. Even in the low lighting, Desmond could see there was a shallow slit across Nick's neck. He flinched when he realized how close to Nick's jugular the wielder had been...

"What... HAPPENED?" he demanded, just shaking his head.

But it was Christine who answered. "He got attacked on his way home last night. There were four guys around the bend looking for a wallet full of cash. They saw him and they dragged him into an alley. He left his wallet here, but they, well..." and she gestured up and down Nick's injured torso with one hand, "...beat him up because he had nothing they wanted on him."

Desmond turned from where she leaning up against the door frame, nervously fidgeting with her hair in its usual ponytail, to where Nick was looking at his feet with shaking shoulders. With a sigh, he hardened his jaw and stepped forward to pull Nick into a hug.

One that Nick didn't return. He just leaned forward and cried.

"He's been staying here," added Christine. "Sleeping in my room. Just until his dad gets back. He says Nick can stay with him."

Desmond nodded. There was a lot he wanted to say, a lot he wanted to do... but he didn't think it would be a good idea. So he bit down on his tongue, literally, and waited a couple of minutes for Nick to compose himself a bit more.

Christine didn't seem inclined to interrupt. Desmond took those couple minutes to take a closer look at her. Obviously, this had taken its tool on her, too. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she wasn't wearing a lot of makeup like she usually did. Her hair was messily tied back, as opposed to the usual obsessively neat state she kept it in. She was rubbing her eyes a lot, furthering his assumption she hadn't slept in a while.

With a sigh, he stood Nick back up straight again. "Come on," he said. "I think you need to sleep."

"I've been sleeping," answered Nick. "I'm fine."

"No, man, you aren't," said Desmond. He lifted Nick's shirt, still in hand, over his head and pulled it down. "I'll get your beer, go with Christine."

He felt kind of bad when a defeated-looking Nick let Christine take his elbow and lead him away – Nick had been pushed around more than enough, and a full on mugging didn't help. But he didn't know what else to do. The man needed a lot of sleep to recover, and probably to help take his mind off of it. There was nothing else Desmond could do to cope with the knowledge that he had been held prisoner at Abstergo... other than sleep until he could accept it. But it was a lot to accept.

The loud noise of the busy bar broke the silence of the stairwell as soon as he passed through the swinging bar. Adrian was talking to another girl in an apron, whom Desmond had never seen before. Nick's beer was still sitting on the counter in front of where they'd sat. It occurred to Desmond it would probably dehydrate Nick, so he took a large bottle of water and a plastic cup from the coolers behind the bar, too. It was a small comfort, but it was a comfort.

When he got upstairs to Christine's room, he found Nick was lying on the bed considerably calmer than he had been. Christine had answered the door with a dark look on her face. One Desmond assumed was because of how he had pressed the issue downstairs, but she stepped aside and let him in, anyway.

"Here," offered Desmond. He held the bottle out to Nick. "The beer and some water. Keep yourself hydrated."

"Thanks."

While Nick got comfortable in Christine's comfortable-looking bed, Desmond sat on the edge of it. She milled around somewhere in the background, looking like she was about to tear all her hair out by the roots as Desmond watched her.

Suddenly, Nick asked a surprising question. "Desmond... where were you REALLY?"

Desmond paused, and looked at his hands, folded on one of his knees. He wasn't sure he really wanted to tell Nick this. Especially not right now, while Nick was in such shock. Hearing about how one of your friends was kidnapped and almost killed couldn't be a comforting thought in a time like this one.

But Nick knew there was more to it than just Desmond taking a long vacation, or something like that. And how could he not know? Desmond used to live at the bar. Where else was he supposed to be at? Lying to him couldn't inspire a lot of confidence in him, either.

Finally, Desmond sighed and looked back up. The truth was the better option. He may have gone through all that, but he made it out to the other side, too. Perhaps, that would be comforting, if anything would.

"I was, uh... I was kidnapped."

Nick's eyes widened till they were about as big as his palms. Behind them, Christine hesitated in whatever she was doing.

"...Come on, Des. Don't mess with me," said Nick after a minute.

But Desmond shook his head. "I'm not," he persisted. "I was kidnapped. On my way to the gas station at the end of the street, I was kidnapped."

Nick didn't seem to process this information well. His eyes darted around the room, and he set his drink down slowly. His arms wrapped around himself, and he blinked like he was confused.

After a moment, he scratched the side of his head. "How?"

Desmond was hesitant to proceed, but didn't see any way out of it, now. "Okay," he said, resolutely. "Okay, Nick, lay back."

Like usual, Nick did as he was told. Pulling the thick blanket up to his chin, he settled down into the mattress and waited expectantly.

Desmond looked over at Christine, who had crossed her arms and affixed him with a gaze that screamed "REALLY?!" as loudly as if she'd outright said it.

But he ignored it, and launched into an edited version of the tale, anyway. "You remember that company, Abstergo? The one that was closing down on the news? Well, they were the ones who did it. They had this machine, they called it an Animus. It was a cool idea, sort of. It reads our DNA and shows you the lives of your ancestors. You can play them, like a video game. I guess my ancestors are real special. Or, well... I know they are, now. But Abstergo knew it, too. They wanted something from me, kind of like a treasure hunt. So, they took me on my way to get cookies."

He rolled his eyes. "Great fun. But, anyway, I was there for, like, a week. I met this girl there, Lucy..."

And Desmond described Lucy down to the last detail... allowing himself even to indulge in talking about some of his fantasies. He told about what it was like to see Altair's life playing out in front of him, the way it had. How it felt to know everything that he had seen, everything he had done.

He talked about the tense escape. Watching Lucy take down the guards there, what a work of art she was in combat. Riding in the trunk on the way to the hideout. Nick laughed at that part... He talked a little about Italy... how Shaun, and even Rebecca had impacted his life. How they took care of him. How they worked with him to uncover Minerva's message in Desmond's memories of Ezio's life. It felt good to remember Rebecca in such a positive light – he neglected to mention what a bitch she was frequently acting like, now...

The marvel of seeing the Villa in Monteriggioni. The drive to uncover the mysteries left behind by Subject 16. The town, at night, with his new found powers. The Colosseum, Juno, the Apple... Lucy...

The coma, the island, the memories, the message, the vision. The temple, the other Pieces of Eden, the race against time, the sun... His father's kidnapping. His father's rescue. Lucy's rescue, how she'd turned out to be alive. Juno's plot... How good it had felt to kill her.

Or, well, maybe he dulled that part a bit. But he felt it while he described it in simpler terms. Everything she had taken from him, everything she had tried to do... It was even more satisfying than watching his blade plunging into Vidic.

Throughout, Nick's gaze went from skeptical to impressed to astonished. It made Desmond grin a little when he finally wrapped it up. Yeah... yeah, this had been the right choice.

"So... I know a little bit about how you're feeling right now."

"Wow..." was all Nick seemed able to say. "Wow, that's... THAT'S why there was, like, a shield around the Earth? That's what happened with the sun? That's why your dad was on TV?! Ouch..."

Desmond put a hand out to keep Nick from jumping up again. "Yeah, that's it, but stay still."

"Holy SHIT, Desmond! You could write a book, make a lot of money! That's awesome!"

"Shh, Nick." Desmond put a finger up by his lips. "Calm down."

"But–!"

"–'but', nothing," interrupted Desmond. He pushed lightly on Nick's shoulder. "Lay back down, go to sleep."

"What else happened?"

"Nick. Relax."

At last, he seemed to give up. Desmond closed his eyelids with two fingers and stood up. Christine was by the door, holding it open. He cringed a little to think what she was going to say as soon as they were away from Nick, but he went out. Before she shut the door, he looked back and chuckled.

"Sounds like it was still fun..." murmured Nick, adjusting the blankets around his bare, bruised shoulders.

"Oh, yeah, man. It was great," whispered Desmond in response.

"I bet," said Christine with a worn out breath. She closed the door behind them, and let her head rest on it for a moment.

When the silence became too much for Desmond, he spoke. "Sorry."

She turned around and raised her eyebrows disbelievingly.

"No, really. Sorry, Chris. I was just trying to help."

She seemed to consider this... and suddenly sprung forward to collapse into his arms.

He caught her, and let them sink to the floor to sit on the top step. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You okay?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm tired."

Desmond frowned. "Yeah, I was gonna say: all this Good Samaritan work seems exhausting. How long's it been since you last slept?"

"Well, since all these people started coming in, and with Nick getting beat up... it's been some time."

He shook his head, and smiled in spite of the gloomy situation. "Chris..."

She looked up. "What?"

"You have to sleep."

"I can't." She started to stand up. "There's too much to do."

He caught her by the arm and prevented it, though. She fell back into his lap comfortably. "You sound like Lucy. She would never just let it be and rest."

"Ah, yes, Lucy," replied Christine, bitterly. "She sounds wonderful. When's the wedding?"

"Aw, come on, Chris, that's not fair."

Christine shook her head. "Don't talk to me about fair. I know you couldn't exactly help being kidnapped. Maybe you couldn't even help everything that happened after that. But, you didn't have to come back here, you know. Could have told me you were practically engaged when you did..."

Desmond shrugged. He wasn't even going to go into all that, so all he said was, "I'm not engaged."

"I said 'practically'," she retorted.

"I know what you said. I'm telling you, it's not happening." He released his grip on her. "Not gonna lie, I like Lucy a lot. But I came back here 'cause I missed you. I missed ALL of you. If you wanna kick me out for that..." He slid out from under her and stood up, himself. "Well, then you go right ahead. 'S your place, here."

She deliberated, and it actually kind of hurt to see that she was possibly considering it.

But she didn't. "You know I'm not going to kick you out, Des. But you'll have to fucking forgive me if I seem a little pissed off that you're just... back, all of a sudden. It's a lot to digest."

"Yeah, I kind of guessed that."

Her expression softened, and she looked up at him with gratitude. "But thank you for taking care of Nick, I guess. He's happy to see you."

Desmond smiled at the closed door to her room. "Yeah, I can tell he is. I'm happy to see him, too."

Christine crawled forward, and locked her fingers around the waistband of his jeans. She tugged slightly, and he allowed her to pull him a step and a half forward until he was standing over her by the stairs.

"I'm happy to see you, too, Desmond," she said, kissing his stomach for emphasis. "I really am."

Her attention felt good. He could almost feel Shaun's disapproval as much as he felt the blood rushing to arouse him. He knew he shouldn't, because he really did like Lucy... But she was off in Gary land, even when Gary was somewhere on the other side of the globe. She never looked at him like Christine was as she began undoing his button and zipping down his fly. Never, since she met Gary...

He was entitled to a little something, too, wasn't he? She'd told Shaun she liked him, so he knew she did at one point, at least... And it was possible she still did, especially after their date. She was doing whatever she wanted anyway, though...

That's what he told himself, anyway... while Christine's mouth wrapped around his manhood. While he tore the rest of his clothes, as well as hers, away from his body. While he fucked her at the top of the stairs, with one hand over her mouth to keep her moaning from waking Nick up...

When he was done, she got dressed and started to make her way down the stairs again.

He stopped her. "Where do you think you're going?"

She smiled, in a much better mood. "I have to work."

He shook his head. "Oh, no, you don't. Go to sleep. I've got this."

"Desmond..." she started to argue.

He pressed her lips with one finger. "Didn't you hear what I said, Chris? You gotta rest. Go and lie down."

"Nick's in my bed," she tried.

"Sleep on the couch."

"The new girl needs training."

"I haven't been gone THAT long. And Adrian can help me, if there's anything I forgot. I can handle this, Chris. I promise..."

She took a deep breath of exasperation, but she still gave up, and went to her door. "Wake me up if you really need anything serious."

"I will, I will," he assured. "Just don't worry about it, I'll be fine. We all will."

She half-grinned, and winked at him once before she shut the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Desmond rolled his eyes. If there was one thing that still hadn't changed, it was how picky she was. While he put his own clothes back on, he contemplated it with a smirk adorning his scarred lips. It really was nice to revel in something familiar again... even if he probably shouldn't have.

At least he knew what to say to Shaun about it... And that was absolutely nothing. But he could only wonder how long would it be before his resident historian British pal figured it out anyway... Or rather, decided to confront him about it? Judging by their talk before he left the party, Shaun already had some idea. That wasn't something he was looking forward to dealing with...

But he tried not to think about it as he went back downstairs. He had a busy shift at the bar to get through.

The thought still made him smile...