2012

-/-

They were due to meet with another assassin at the airport, a (hopefully) loyal assassin to replace Lucy, the traitor. By this point it had been days since they left her behind, days that felt like weeks, full of constant travel and checking over their shoulders for the templars they knew must be coming at any time now.

It would have been bad enough without the animus, but the truth was they still needed information from Desmond's ancestors. And so he found himself trapped in the machine half the time, wandering through the Rome of five hundred years ago while Shaun and Rebecca worked their asses off in the real world to keep the three of them alive.

Finally they managed to track the apple down to its final resting place, and after retrieving it, they were free to leave the country at last. Hence the trip to the airport, where their contact was supposed to be waiting.

Only they were late, of course. Because, Desmond thought bitterly, it wasn't like they were allowed to have any good luck, ever.

"Who's supposed to be coming, anyway?" he asked.

"Dunno," Rebecca said. "I know it's someone out of one of the cells based in America, but I have no idea who."

"Well, they're late," Desmond grumbled. "Whoever they are."

"Desmond," Shaun said.

"I mean come on," Desmond went on. "We've been in Italy too long anyway. It'll be a lot safer when we move on."

"I know," Shaun said. "But seriously, Desmond, you might want to-"

"Desmond..?"

This time it wasn't Shaun speaking, and it wasn't Rebecca either. Desmond half glanced over his shoulder, and saw a somewhat older man, with a stern face and a frown that looked very at home there. A glance at him through eagle vision assured Desmond that the man was an ally, and presumably the American assassin they had been waiting for.

Only, that didn't explain why he was looking at Desmond like he could barely believe his eyes, or the way Shaun suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable, or how come Rebecca looked very much like she wanted to be somewhere else at that moment.

"What-"

"You don't remember me," the man said.

Desmond frowned, wracking his brain, trying to place the face, or the voice- but no. Nothing. "Should I?" he asked.

The man opened his mouth, then shut it again before he managed a single word. He nodded once, sharply, and finally managed to say, "It was a long time ago, of course. Twenty years."

Desmond only stared blankly. Twenty years ago would have been before the time travel. His life back then had been limited to the Farm and the people there, and those weren't memories he revisited very often. He really had no idea who this man was.

"Oh for God's sake, Desmond," Shaun muttered. "He's your father."

Desmond felt his mouth fall into an 'o' of surprised comprehension. He felt like the world had suddenly frozen- until that moment, he hadn't even realized he'd forgotten his own father's face. The only really clear memories he had of the man were from his last night in the twentieth century, and that night… had not been a good one.

He'd known, of course, that his father was still active in the order. During the last nine years, even though Desmond had kept himself more or less out of assassin business, he'd still managed to hear his father's name floating around in certain circles.

But to actually see him-

They watched each other, until finally Desmond shook his head and walked off. They'd have plenty of time to talk on the plane, and in the days after. Right now, he wanted nothing to do with the man. He wanted… well, what he wanted was impossible, because he just needed someone to talk to, and the one person he felt most comfortable with was far, far away.

"You loved her, didn't you?"

He glanced around, saw Rebecca there, alone, and nodded. "I know it's ridiculous," Desmond said. "Or it sounds ridiculous, anyway. I haven't seen Jenny in almost a decade, and she's been dead for- what, two hundred years, probably? Also I guess we're related… it's-"

"Did anything ever happen?" Rebecca asked. "Before you came back?"

Desmond snorted. "Came," he said. "Forced, more like. I never wanted to be in this century. I was happy when I left, and I was happy the whole time I was gone. I had a life, people I cared about, a purpose- now I have nothing, and on top of it all I'm losing my mind. I swear, sometimes I wish-" he growled something under his breath and went on. "I miss her," he said quietly. He would never have admitted it to anyone else, but Rebecca at least seemed to understand. Or at least, she was willing to listen.

"Then tell me about her," Rebecca said. "I know it's not the same, but tell me something. Anything."

She didn't have to ask twice.

-/-

1728

-/-

September of 1728 passed peacefully. Summer that year had been unusually hot, and when temperatures finally came down in early September, all of London seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Even the assassin-templar conflict had settled down for a while, both sides seemingly grateful just to be out of the heat for a while.

But for Desmond, there was an entirely different reason to enjoy September. Jenny had been away since the beginning of July, learning from some assassins in France. Desmond wasn't entirely sure what she was learning- in the letters she sent home, there was a lot of talk about dresses and dances and other things Desmond didn't really care about. From that, he sort of guessed that she was learning to pass in high society, which was probably a useful skill to have but sounded absolutely horrible. Desmond decided to think himself lucky he wasn't a woman and didn't have to learn any of that.

She was different when she came back. It had barely been two months since she left London, but in that time it seemed she had transformed, from a girl in a too-tall body that was growing too fast for her to keep up, into…

Desmond was inside the house, waiting for her when she came back, and the change caught him completely by surprise. Still, it was only when Edward (who had also been waiting for Jenny to come home) gave him a whack round the back of the head that Desmond realized he'd been staring. The hit had been halfway teasing, but there was a real note of warning there too, and Desmond fled the room before anyone could say anything else.

He didn't really want to talk to Jenny- not until he'd sorted out exactly how he felt about her transformation, anyway. But of course she tracked him down within fifteen minutes, because she knew all his hiding places. Better than he did, in most cases, and before long Jenny had wedged herself into the linen closet next to him. It wasn't the classiest hiding place, but there was a little recess in the back, behind the shelves, just large enough for one person to fit into comfortably. Or two, if they didn't mind being close.

"What's the matter with you?" Jenny asked. "What are you hiding in here for?"

"I'm not… hiding, really," Desmond said, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Jenny only rolled her eyes. "I'm sure," she said. "You just enjoy sitting in the dark all by yourself, right?"

Desmond mumbled something that was only half intelligible, even to himself. He was starting to feel really stupid for running, but… "You're just… you look weird," Desmond said. "Good weird, I mean! Not- You look very nice, I mean, and-"

"Desmond," Jenny laughed. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"I always think-," Desmond said, before he could stop himself, and he was very glad for the darkness of the cupboard. His face felt like it was on fire, and he couldn't stop himself from flushing.

He expected Jenny to laugh, or say something teasing, but she did neither. Instead, he heard a short, sharp intake of breath, and then felt her hand on his face. They were very close together now, and Desmond was acutely aware of every inch of her next to him. Her hands moved across his face, as if Jenny were trying to map his features.

"What are you doing?" Desmond asked, but she didn't answer. Instead, she seemed to lunge forward, and for a single panicked second, Desmond had no idea what was going on. Then he felt her lips brush against his, and thought, 'Oh.'

It was everything a first kiss was supposed to be- messy and fumbling and awkward as they both tried to figure out what they were doing. It would have been horrible with anyone else, but this was Jenny, and Desmond had been dreaming of exactly this for months now. Once, when he was small, Jenny had been the only friend he had in the world, and he'd loved her as a friend. Enough to follow her from Wales to the Caribbean, and then back to England, to live with her in London. But over time- so gradually he couldn't have said when it started- she'd become more than a friend to him.

He was in love with her, and he didn't know what to do. Until this moment, he hadn't ever believed she felt the same, and he could barely believe it now. Maybe she didn't like him that much, maybe she just wanted some fun-

The door of the cupboard opened suddenly, and Desmond jumped away from Jenny, banging his head on the low ceiling. He opened his mouth, not sure what exactly he was about to say, but Jenny pushed her hand over his mouth before he could say anything at all. There was a light in her eyes that did things to Desmond, made his stomach flip around like an acrobat doing tricks.

The person in the doorway gathered a few sheets then left, having never seen the two of them hiding behind the shelves. The door closed again and, safely hidden in the darkness, Desmond started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Jenny asked, and she sounded hurt.

"Nothing," Desmond said. "It's just- I've wanted this for so long, and we're hiding in the back of a linen cupboard and it's a little- I don't know."

"Oh," Jenny said, and she laughed a little too, almost a giggle. "Well, I guess that's a relief. That you've been thinking about this too, I mean, because I've been trying to work up the courage to do this for months, and then I left for France and you were all I could think about-"

Then they were both talking over one another, excited and loud and happy. Desmond felt like the words were spilling out of him, even though he knew there would never be enough words in the world to explain how he felt or why. Finally, they trailed off into silence, and Jenny took his hand and squeezed it in the darkness. "My dad's going to kill you when he finds out," she said cheerfully.