For the first time in a long time, Desmond isn't sure what to do. He feels as helpless and as hopeless as he did during his very first time in the animus. Haytham's mind is closed and locked, and he can't get in. Trying to sync with him is like trying to sync with a locked door. All the thoughts, memories, emotions- everything he's used to reading so easily in Altair and Ezio is hidden from him in Haytham.
He doesn't want to argue with his father. He just wants to sit perfectly still and try not to let his brain fall apart as he and Haytham move in different directions. "Desmond," Someone says, and for a second he tenses up, thinking it's his dad again. He doesn't need to deal with this right now. "Desmond," the voice says again, and Altair moves to stand right in front of Desmond, resting his hands on Desmond's hunched shoulders. "Listen to me."
"How long have you been here?" Desmond asks, his voice slurring a little. He's tired.
"A little while," Altair says. His voice is calm, and even though Desmond can hear the note of concern there, he's grateful for the attempt. "Listen. Do you remember the first time we spoke?"
"In the field?" Desmond says.
"Right," Altair says. "The one in your head."
"Who are you talking to?" William demands, but Desmond ignores him.
"You need to go back there," Altair says. "Now. It's the quickest way I can think of to get you two talking, and you need to work this out. Now."
"I can't sync with him," Desmond says.
"Then you need to try harder," says Altair. Desmond feels something drip from his nose, and reaches up to wipe a trickle of blood away. "Promise me you're going to try, alright?"
"I can't-"
"Don't tell me you can't," Altair snaps. "Tell me you'll try."
"Fine," Desmond says. "I'll try." He's been struggling to keep his eyes open, but now he lets them close. He feels himself fall, almost in slow motion, and then someone's hands lifting him back to the animus. Again. He's getting more than a little sick of blacking out and being carried to the animus, but he can only feel the annoyance dimly.
When he opens his eyes again, he's in the middle of a field, his head doesn't hurt, and Haytham's standing next to him, looking like he might be sick. Desmond's still trying to get his bearings when suddenly he's on his back, a blade pressed against his throat.
"I want to know what's going on," Haytham says. "Right now."
"Get off me," Desmond says, and he has to try very hard to keep himself from fighting back. He's very aware that they're inside his head right now, and he's not sure what would happen if one of them were to seriously hurt the other. He doesn't think it would be good.
"Who are you?" Haytham asks. He doesn't move.
"Maybe I could answer if you didn't have your blade on my throat," Desmond says.
Haytham stares at him for a long time, sizing him up maybe, or trying to guess his intentions. Finally, he nods and backs away.
"Okay." Desmond stands up, careful to keep a safe distance away. He doesn't trust Haytham, and he doesn't like having a stranger in his head. It's different from Ezio or Altair. He can read their thoughts and feelings, and he can understand who they are. Haytham is different. Closed off. Desmond can skim a few surface thoughts- enough to know his name, and basically nothing else. Everything else he can tell about the man are facts he can tell just by looking- he wouldn't even know he was a templar if not for eagle vision.
"I'm waiting."
Desmond isn't sure what to say. He doesn't want to tell Haytham everything that's going on, but he's also not sure how much more they'll be seeing of each other. Eventually, he settles on the bare minimum of truth.
As quickly as he can, he describes the animus and abstergo, leaving out assassins and templars altogether. He explains the animus- as much as he can explain it, anyway. It doesn't help that he barely understands the technology himself. He also does his best to skate over why anyone would want to go through another person's genetic memories in the first place.
"I don't want you in my head," Haytham says, when Desmond's finished.
"That's great," Desmond says. "I don't really want to be there. And trust me, if I had any choice, I wouldn't be."
"So this is going to keep happening." Haytham sighs.
"I'll try to keep out of your head as much as I can," Desmond says. He's not sure how well he'll be able to stick to that promise. Maybe, if he can convince the others not to put him into any more of Haytham's memories, he'll be able to keep the templar out of the Desmond-Altair-Ezio potluck of confusion. Maybe not. He has no idea.
"Fine," Haytham says.
"But I don't have that much control over it," Desmond says. "And... you might end up in my head sometimes, too."
"Like what happened earlier," Haytham says.
"Pretty much, yea."
"Alright, then." Haytham pinches the bridge of his nose, and gives Desmond a look, like he suspects he's actively trying to make his life difficult. "I try not to make it a habit to deal with assassins, but in this case I think I'll have to make an exception."
So trying to keep the assassins out of that story had been pretty much pointless. Of course, if Desmond can tell Haytham was a templar through eagle vision, there's no reason his ancestor can't have done the same.
"What's your deal?" Desmond asks.
"Neither of us can control this," Haytham says. "Correct?"
"Yea." Maybe someday, after enough practice with the apple. But not right now.
"You said, earlier, that you couldn't... 'sync'..." he pauses on the unfamiliar word, and Desmond nods. "You couldn't sync with me because we're too different."
"You're a templar," Desmond says.
"And you're an assassin," Haytham says.
Desmond nods, surprised by how confident he is in the answer. A few months ago, he hadn't known what side he was on. And a few months before that, he'd been hiding in New York, convinced he'd never have to deal with any of his parents' crazy conspiracy theories again. Somehow, in that time, he's become an assassin. Not just the skills, but the mindset.
He notices Haytham is glaring at him again, and says- "Two people with completely different worldviews, trying to move in different directions in the same body. It's just not going to work."
"Alright," Haytham says. "If it's a choice between losing my mind and working with you, I think I can moderate my actions while you're in my head."
"Well- okay then," Desmond says. Somehow, this is not the way he expected this conversation to go. "Working together instead of working against each other. It should work. I think. Maybe."
"Yes." Haytham offers a thin smile. "You sound extremely confident."
Desmond has to try very hard not to roll his eyes. There's something about Haytham's condescending tone that reminds him of his dad. "Well, here's hoping it never comes up," he says.
Haytham nods. "I think we can agree on that, at least," he says. "I'll be perfectly happy if we never have to speak again."