1739

-/-

As winter slowly began to fade into spring, Haytham seemed to warm up along with the weather. By the time the last of the snow had vanished, he seemed downright cheerful. One night, instead of allowing Jenny to ramble her way through her memories as they occurred to her, he asked for something specific.

"What was I like when I was a baby?"

Jenny straight up laughed at him, and for once he smiled back instead of scowling at her. "What?" he asked. "I want to know!"

"Why?" Jenny asked. "You weren't anything special. You did a lot of pooping and crying and crawling around…"

Haytham elbowed her playfully, and Jenny obligingly rooted through her memories until she found something worth telling. It wasn't that she hadn't spent any time with her brother when he was a baby, it was just that he really had spent most of his time soiling his pants and crying. He wasn't that much more interesting than any other baby, and most of the strong memories Jenny had of him were tied into other important events, or particular conversations.

Well, he would just have to be happy with what she remembered.

-/-

1727

-/-

Jenny leaned against the wall of the nursery, trying to fight the smile on her face. There had been a lot to smile over lately, and her face had gotten used to the expression. A lot had changed recently. Ever since Desmond had killed the templar at the funeral- more than fourteen months ago now- their training had taken a subtly different form. Up until then, Desmond's progress had always been more important than Jenny's. Not in any really obvious ways, but Edward had never quite been able to let go of the idea that Jenny somehow needed protecting.

Except that now Desmond had decided he didn't have it in him to kill, and he spent more of his time on other subjects. He spent his time gathering information, finding out what the templars were doing and why. It was more of a support role, but it seemed to suit him. He was definitely happier, and since Jenny was getting more combat training now, she was happier as well.

"What are you smiling for?" Desmond asked, glancing up at her. "This is serious business."

Jenny snorted before she could stop herself, and dropped to the ground next to him, settling in a cross legged position. "I don't think you really get the point of babysitting," she said. "You don't have to sit there and stare at him the whole time."

"Hmm," Desmond said, and went back to staring at Haytham. "I don't know. I think he might make a bolt for it any second."

"He's not even two," Jenny protested. "He's not physically capable of bolting. The best he could manage would probably be a toddle."

"It's a cunning deception," Desmond admitted. "How about it, Haytham?"

The toddler made a happy sounding noise and grinned toothily, before rolling over and examining his toes with apparent fascination.

"Yea," Jenny said. "He's a real escape artist."

"Alright," Desmond grumbled. "You win. But seriously, who do you think your dad's going to blame if anything happens to him? Because I'm pretty sure it would be me."

"You worry too much," Jenny said. "He'll be fine."

Desmond shrugged, but didn't look particularly reassured. "Do you ever think what it would be like to have kids?" he asked.

"No," Jenny said. "Why, do you?"

"Sometimes," Desmond admitted. "It looks hard. I mean, you have this whole human being that can't do anything for itself, so you have to make sure nothing happens to it, and that it grows up okay and learns how to take care of itself, and then after all that it probably doesn't even like you."

"I think most kids like their parents," Jenny said, cautiously. She wasn't quite sure where Desmond was going with this.

"I guess," Desmond said. Then, softly- "That must be nice."

"You never told me about your parents," Jenny said.

"I didn't like them much," Desmond said.

"I know they're assassins," Jenny said, when he didn't say anything else. "You told me that ages ago."

"Yea," Desmond said. "But I think... It was different on the Farm. It wasn't the same then as it is now- there was this feeling like we were being hunted all the time. There weren't many assassins left, I guess. We lived on this compound, guarded all the time, and everyone was taught to defend themselves. I mean, I was five when I left, and my dad had already started me on some basic training. It was a pretty grim life."

"I'm sorry," Jenny said, and she was. Her own childhood hadn't been the brightest days, especially with her mother sick in bed for most of it, but at least she hadn't been a prisoner. "Are you glad you're here instead of there?" she asked.

"Every single day," Desmond said. "It's not perfect here, obviously. Nothing's ever perfect. But I like it here. I feel like I have more freedom. And…" he looked over at Jenny. His face was splotchy and red. "I like the people here better, too."

Jenny felt her own face start to go red too, and quickly turned her attention back to Haytham, who had started to fuss again. "That's good," she said. "I'm glad you're happy."

And from there, the conversation petered into a tense silence. More than once, Jenny started to say something, but stopped herself each time. If she asked Desmond the question she wanted to ask, the one that was nearly burning her tongue she was so desperate to ask it aloud, and if he said no…

Nothing would ever be the same.

So Jenny said nothing, and Desmond said nothing, and the only break in the silence between them was Haytham's happy babbling on the carpet between them.