2012

-/-

The bleeding effect was getting worse. Every night now, he woke up with his throat sore from screaming, and the memories of nightmares that did not belong to him. He knew the others had started to worry about him, but no one said anything. Maybe they just weren't sure how to start, or they thought mentioning it would only make things worse.

Desmond hated the silence.

It would have been so much easier if someone would just talk to him- if he could explain what he was seeing and thinking and feeling. But he didn't know how to broach the subject any more than the rest of them, until finally he decided on a less direct method of broaching the subject.

If he was right in his guess that the Kenways were his ancestors, then a few things he'd always sort of wondered about were suddenly clear. Like the winter of 1725- he hadn't understood what was wrong at the time… now he did. After all, he'd been living in the same house as his ancestor on the day he was born- of course it hadn't been fun.

So that was the part of his story he told that night when he met up with Shaun and Rebecca. And as he told it, he hoped they would realize that he was desperately asking for help.

-/-

1725

-/-

Desmond was sick in bed on the day Haytham Kenway was born. Later, Jenny would spend a great deal of time describing the process with incredible detail, which was nearly as bad as actually being there. But on the actual day, he was stuck in bed with a fever, tossing and turning while he went from freezing cold to sweating and then back again. He ached all over, and couldn't keep any food down.

And he was hallucinating, too, or dreaming terrible nightmares, or something. Visions that danced in front of him, almost taunting him as he fought to make them go away, or at least understand them. At times, the shouts and noises from Tessa's room down the hall seemed to merge into his dreams, so that he felt like he was actually there instead, and he had to bury his head in his pillow to keep himself from giving into the hallucinations and screaming out in pain, too. Finally, as the frenzied shouting gave way to a sort of relieved peace, Desmond fell into an exhausted sleep.

When he woke the next morning, he felt completely fine. A little sore from lying in bed all day, and definitely hungry, but fine. It was weird, but definitely better than a slow, painful recovery. So he shrugged and left the room to look for food.

It was still dark out- barely past midnight- and no one else was around. Even Edward, who usually stayed up all night, was apparently asleep, exhausted by the day's events. Desmond headed past his room on silent feet, trying not to wake him. He went downstairs, found something to eat, and was headed back upstairs when he realized he'd been wrong. There was someone else awake in the house.

He was in front of Tessa's room when he heard it, a quiet, sniffling sort of noise that took him several seconds to place- it was the baby, of course. Desmond hesitated in the doorway for a second before curiosity won out and he went quietly into the room. For the past nine months, he'd watched Tessa get slowly bigger and rounder, throwing up and craving strange foods and going to the outhouse much more often than usual. The whole process had seemed really gross and uncomfortable, and Desmond wanted to see the finished product for himself.

The baby was in a basket in a corner of the room, wrapped in a tight cloth and fussing slightly. He was small, and sort of smelled, and his face was all pinched up with tears. He squinted up at Desmond and started to cry quietly.

"Shh!" Desmond hissed, and reached into the bed, gathering the baby into his arms. "Don't cry. You're going to wake everyone up."

And to his surprise, the baby did quiet, his eyes closing slowly until he was asleep again, a tiny warm bundle in his arms. Maybe it was just the late hour, and the quiet of the house, but Desmond suddenly felt very solemn. He was holding another person, a tiny, helpless person who could barely even poop without help.

This baby could grow up to be anyone. He could be strong and brave like his father, or kind and understanding like his grandmother, or loyal and stubborn like his sister. Desmond had been lucky to find Jenny when he first came to this century- all the Kenways had been much kinder to him than he deserved, really. He had no doubt that whoever this kid grew up to be, the world would be a better place because he was there.

But for now- well, for now, the child was only a child, and Desmond put him back in his basket to sleep. Then he went to his own room, closing the door softly behind him as he left.

-/-

1738

-/-

Jenny noticed right away that when she got to the part of her story where Haytham was born, her brother got much more interested. It was kind of a relief, actually, because he'd been unnaturally quiet since their last conversation about assassins. Jenny had no idea what he was thinking, and didn't much want to. Mostly, she just wanted to see him happy again, the way he had been when they were younger.

He wasn't exactly happy now, but he was at least talking again.

"It's your birthday today," Jenny said cheerfully.

"I know," Haytham said. "Why do you mention it?"

"Cuz maybe a birthday is a big deal?" Jenny said. "I should have gotten you a present but I sort of forgot and it's not like I know what you'd want anyway."

"It's just a birthday," Haytham said. "Who cares?"

Jenny snorted and rolled her eyes. "You're terrible," she told him. "I remember, when you were a baby-"

"Yea?" His voice was suddenly eager, and he leaned halfway out of his chair.

"Why the sudden interest?" Jenny asked.

"I just…" He glance quickly down, then back up again. "I don't remember much from before dad died and you left to find Desmond. But they were happier times, weren't they?"

"Mostly," Jenny said. And she told him more.

-/-

1725

-/-

The Christmas after Haytham was born was the first holiday Jenny had really enjoyed since coming to London. Nothing could really compare to the year she'd spent Christmas on a Caribbean beach, surrounded by assassins and pirates, all reveling in a rare day without conflict.

London Christmases were cold, and quiet, and lonely. Jenny missed the crowds sometimes, and the chaos, although things had gotten better lately. She liked the daily lessons she and Desmond had with Edward, liked feeling herself grow more confident with the weapons and in her freerunning skills. She'd even started to like her stepmother (a little), and she liked Haytham rather a lot, even if he did spend most of his time crying and smelling like the backside of a privy.

He definitely made Christmas more interesting. Having a newborn in the house seemed to give everyone permission to be less formal, and for the first time, the house really feels like home. There was an air of family that Jenny wasn't really used to- it was almost like Haytham had been the missing link, and now that he was there, they could really be a family, together.

As the day wore on, and night began to creep into the house, Jenny found herself alone at the table, absolutely stuffed full of food and in a sleepy, almost dreamlike state as she watched the others. Her father and Tessa sat side by side next to the fireplace, talking in quiet voices that Jenny was too far away to overhear. Haytham slept nearby, his tiny face twitching slightly in his sleep.

Desmond sat by himself by the window, staring outside at the freshly fallen snow, and Jenny found herself watching him, taking advantage of his distraction to stare unabashedly. He was finally starting to grow a little, and soon he might even be taller than she was. He looked sort of like a broom these days, all skinny limbs with elbows and knees everywhere. There were pimples too, little red dots bursting out like mountains all over his face. She would have felt sorry for him, except that his awkward puberty didn't seem to matter as much as the way he smiled, and that hadn't changed at all.

Except for tonight- there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his expression was distant and sad. Too sad for Christmas, Jenny decided, and crossed the room to sit next to him.

"You okay?" she asked.

He jumped, then nodded sheepishly. "I didn't hear you come over," he said.

"You looked kind of out of it."

"Yea…" Desmond rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping lately."

"Sick?"

"Just nightmares," Desmond said. "They're sort of starting to get better, I guess. But… yea. Not too much fun."

"Oh," Jenny said. "Do you… do you want to talk about it?"

Desmond frowned and shook his head, but didn't say a word. Jenny sat too, and Desmond didn't complain. They just stayed there together in silence, watching the snow gather into great piles outside the window.

"Hey," Desmond said, after a half hour or so. They were alone by this point, since Tessa had gone up to put Haytham to bed, and Edward had followed after, making slightly off color jokes that Tessa would probably not be laughing at quite so much if she weren't a little bit tipsy.

"What?" Jenny asked.

"The snow's stopped," Desmond said. It seemed a completely innocent comment, but he smile when he said it in a way that made Jenny think that maybe he had something planned.

"And?"

"Let's go outside."

He didn't have to ask twice- in less than five minutes, the two of them were outside, throwing snow at each other and shrieking in laughter. It was pitch black outside, but both of them had eagle vision (Jenny's, of course, had gotten hers just before her mother died, while Desmond had struggled with his for nearly a year after Edward first brought it up during training). Jenny could see Desmond as a bright streak of blue, but the snow he threw at Jenny was practically invisible. It was chaotic and half mad, and Jenny could feel her face going red with the cold and her stomach hurt from laughing.

This really was the best Christmas she'd had in years.