There are assassins in the place where Lucy takes Desmond, and he's not sure what to expect from that—people like his parents, militant and paranoid? Or… well, probably they won't be anything like Connor, which would be Desmond's only other experience with the brotherhood. So he has no expectations in mind apart from a general sense of unease as he follows Lucy along the streets of a city he doesn't even recognize.
"It's just up here," Lucy says at last, pointing at a nondescript building at the end of a block full of other, similar buildings.
"Finally," Desmond sighs. His legs are aching. "I feel like we've been walking for hours."
"Sorry I couldn't steal a horse," Lucy jokes, and Desmond flushes at the thought of sharing a horse with Lucy, riding pressed up against each other—
He calls his mind back forcefully before that particular tangent can go any farther. "Yea, well…" he fumbles for something intelligent to say, preferably on some other subject. "Maybe if we can get rid of the king, whatever government replaces him will let everyone have cars, instead of just the people he likes best."
"Yea, right," Lucy laughs, and Desmond feels his face flush. He focuses on making sure his hood is pulled up and over his ears. This is his only chance to make a first impression, after all.
They walk up two flights of stairs and Lucy opens a door. There's a moment of silence, and then suddenly Lucy and another woman are talking excitedly, hugging each other and doing that thing women do when they haven't seen each other in a long time. Desmond watches through wide eyes, overwhelmed, until a man steps up next to him with his hand outstretched. "So you must be Desmond?"
"I—yea." He shakes the outstretched hand clumsily. "Sorry, I don't know who you are."
"Shaun Hastings," he says, then raises his voice and says, "The sane one, yea?" pointedly to the two women.
"Sure," calls the one Desmond doesn't know, and the happy reunion doesn't stop at all.
"Women," Shaun scoffs, and Lucy flips him the bird in response. But at least she pulls away and calms down a little.
"Sorry," she says. "Desmond, this is Rebecca; Rebecca, Desmond."
"Hey," Desmond says. He flushes and sticks his hands in his pockets as Rebecca grins at him. "So… not that I'm not grateful, but what happens now?"
"You mentioned wanting to go back in the animus," Lucy says, and Desmond shrugs.
"It's not that I want to. It's just that the king needs to be stopped, and that seems like the only way to do it."
"You're a brave guy," Rebecca says. "And if you're sure you want that, then yea, we have an animus you can use."
"And we'd be happy to get rid of the king," Shaun adds, twisting his face up into an annoyed scowl. "Bastard."
He says it in a whisper, but the other three shush him quickly anyway. Insulting the king like that, anywhere in the king's borders, is a death wish—he has eyes and ears everywhere. Even though this place is supposed to be safe… it's not worth tempting fate.
"I'll get things set up with the animus," Rebecca says, into the sudden silence. "Hasn't been used in a while."
"Thanks, Becca," Lucy says. "Need help?"
Rebecca nods, and the two of them retreat to work on what looks (to Desmond's untrained eye) like an extremely ugly red chair. He turns to Shaun, starts trying to make small talk. "So," he says. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"What, did the accent give it away?" he asks.
"Sorry." Desmond isn't sure if Shaun's actually angry for him, or if he just sounds like that all the time. But he apologizes anyway. "I just wondered what it's like. Outside of Washington's rule?"
Shaun sighs, sitting down. Desmond does the same, slightly hesitant. "Different," he says. "Technology's generally better. There's… what, maybe a hundred cars in Washington's domain? There were more than that in the town where I grew up. Computers won't run you a year's salary, either. A lot of people think the king's been holding things back here because he's been around a couple hundred years already, and he's not all that comfortable with new things."
"What else?" Desmond asks eagerly.
"Well, it's not illegal to enter or leave most other countries, for one thing," Shaun grumbles. "People are generally not kidnapped off the streets, and that whole bowing thing that happens here? Doesn't really go on anywhere else."
"So in some other country you could watch the king or… president? Is that a thing other countries have?"
"Presidents," Shaun says. "Prime ministers."
"But you could look at them, without having to kneel?" When Shaun nods, Desmond lets out a breath. "So why would you come here?"
"Because this is where the assassins sent me," Shaun says, but he's looking at Rebecca, and Desmond nods. Well, at least that makes sense. "So, do you have any other questions, or can I get back to work?"
"Um… just one." He hesitates, then pulls his hood down. "Are there people… like this? Like me, anywhere else in the world?"
Shaun barely looks surprised. Maybe Lucy had warned him, or maybe he's just good at hiding what he's feeling. "No," he says. "That's definitely not something you see outside America."
"Oh," Desmond says, and lets Shaun get back to work. After a while, Lucy comes over to tell him the animus is ready for him, and Desmond is almost grateful to climb in. Things here are confusing, and he can feel three pairs of eyes on him, every time they think he's not looking. He wants to send his mind back in time, to Ratonhnhaké:ton and Connor, because Ratonhnhaké:ton understands and Connor is sort of starting to get it. He settles into the chair as Rebecca starts telling him about the differences he'll see between this version of the animus and the one he'd used at Abstergo.
"Do you think it'll be able to record footage?" Lucy asks, when Rebecca pauses for breath. "Vidic's animus couldn't deal with whatever Desmond was doing, and we weren't able to see anything that happened."
"Sure," Rebecca says enthusiastically. "And if it doesn't work at the beginning, I'll figure something out."
"Great," Lucy says. "Thanks, Becca."
She nods, and grins at Desmond. "Plugging you in now," she announces.
-/-
Haytham is still exhausted when morning comes around again, which doesn't surprise him much. He doesn't know exactly how long he's been in Washington's cell, but he knows Ratonhnhaké:ton had just been learning to speak when he'd been captured. Now he's thirty, at a guess. Connor looks a little older, but that might just be the eyes. Cold, especially when he turns them on Haytham (Colder than they have ever looked before).
Regardless of the exact dates, it has been a very long time since Haytham slept somewhere safe (if this place truly is safe, with Connor on the other side of the door, fully armed and having already proven himself willing to kill his father). He can't stop himself from jerking awake in terror at every sound (no, not fear, it's not fear or terror when that same instinct has saved his life hundreds of times, from soldiers that are bored or angry or afraid, looking to amuse themselves by killing some prisoners).
Well, maybe it has. But that doesn't mean Haytham is any less afraid.
The pressure in his head is uncomfortable as well, the weight of two lifetimes worth of memories where there should be one. It is not so much that there are two distinct people in his head, as he is one person with all these stray thoughts that keep starting arguments with himself. It's very annoying.
The door opens and Haytham is relieved to see Ratonhnhaké:ton in the doorway instead of Connor. This version of his son is (strange) his, and the sight of him doesn't make Haytham irrationally angry. "Good morning," he says, once he has managed to compose himself. He does trust Ratonhnhaké:ton more than Connor, but he hasn't fully trusted anyone since he was ten years old and his father died. No reason to let anyone know exactly how weak he's feeling at the moment.
"Not exactly," Ratonhnhaké:ton says. "The king's men spent the whole night searching for us, and there's no sign they'll stop anytime soon."
"As expected."
"I suppose. (Where's Connor?)" And there it is again. Because Haytham doesn't care much for Connor, but there is still that other piece of him carrying all its baggage around in his head.
"He went out," Ratonhnhaké:ton says.
"He can do that?"
"Not far," Ratonhnhaké:ton says. "But far enough to scavenge for food. I think—he doesn't really want to be around you."
"(Something we agree on.)"
Ratonhnhaké:ton flinches a little in response to that, and Haytham feels extremely bad for him, caught in the middle the way he is. "I think you upset him," Ratonhnhaké:ton goes on, and Haytham feels a mild spike of irritation in response (because what right does he have to be angry when he's the one that killed me?). "He's been sad."
(…sad?)
Haytham says nothing, and Ratonhnhaké:ton shifts uncomfortably (He does not know how to be still the way Connor does, or maybe he simply never learned to value the skill. He is not an assassin, after all. His face is not so closed off either, and Haytham can read his discomfort plainly). This is a line of inquiry that no part of Haytham is comfortable pursuing. He is still trying to find a safe topic for conversation when Ratonhnhaké:ton speaks up first. "Connor and I were like you," he says. "When he first arrived."
"How so?"
"He was in my mind at first," Ratonhnhaké:ton says, touching one hand to the side of his head, against the elaborate wolf pelt he uses as a hood. "But buried deeper than you are, I think. I barely knew he was there."
"How did he get out?" Haytham asks, legitimately curious and hoping Ratonhnhaké:ton's strategy will be of some help to him. He can't help longing for peace in his own mind again, and part of him is curious to know what it would be like to talk to himself. A rare chance at intelligent conversation, no doubt. Maybe even a chance to talk over the things that have been worrying him, the ones he can't trust anyone else with.
Ratonhnhaké:ton shrugs, (which is no help at all). "Washington almost killed me," he says. "I was bayonetted in the stomach." Haytham winces—Ratonhnhaké:ton must have been extremely lucky to survive a wound like that. "When I woke again, he was there."
Well, Haytham is not planning on having any near death experiences. That option is clearly best left unexplored. Still, knowing that it is possible to separate the two parts of himself gives him a little bit of hope. He is about to start asking more questions, hoping to get some more solid information, when Ratonhnhaké:ton interrupts with one of his own.
"Are you completely human?"
"(Of course). Not entirely."
"What?" His son's face reflects an entirely understandable confusion. "Which is it, then? Yes or no?"
"No," Haytham says firmly. He knows Ratonhnhaké:ton has had the tea, of course. It is obvious for someone that knows the signs to look for. "I drank the tea as well. But the part of me that comes from Connor's world is having… difficulty accepting that."
"Oh. Well, Connor doesn't like it much either. What animal did you meet, when you drank the tea?"
Haytham shakes his head. "Best not to talk of it."
"But—"
"I'm asking you," Haytham says calmly. "To please let this go."
And Ratonhnhaké:ton nods, uncertain but obedient. Before either of them can ask anything else, a third man appears in the space between them, invisible like Connor but freakishly mutated, with a wolf's ears where his should be. Haytham swears strongly and backs away, but Ratonhnhaké:ton seems entirely unconcerned. "Don't worry," he says. "That's just Desmond."
-/-
Everyone is just sitting around in awkward silence when Connor comes back, carrying far less food than he'd planned on returning with. Ratonhnhaké:ton and Haytham and Desmond, looking marginally more cheerful than he has in Connor's experience so far.
"Welcome back," Connor says.
"Thanks." He shoots a nervous look at Haytham, who looks far from welcoming at the moment. "I'm in a new animus."
"You look exactly the same," Connor says, and Desmond shrugs. "Yea, well, I have Lucy and Rebecca in my ear telling me how much better the footage is they're getting from this one."
"There are people watching us now?" Haytham asks sharply, narrowing his eyes at Desmond.
"Well—yea," Desmond says, looking as nervous as any sane person would in the face of that glare. "But if it helps any, none of them are going to be born for like hundreds of years."
For a second it looks like Haytham's going to take issue with that, but then he scoffs and shakes his head. "Nothing else in this whole world makes sense," he says dismissively. "Why should this?" He crosses his arms. "In that case, we might as well move on. What are our next plans?"
"Food," Connor says. He divides his meagre rations three ways, then hesitates and pushes some of his own into Haytham's pile. Because he is capable of being the bigger man here, and his father is barely skin and bones, half starved from his time in Washington's prison. He needs to eat.
Desmond watches them in silence, and shakes his head when Connor offers him a part. "No," he says. "My body's not even here, I can eat in my own time."
"Fair enough."
Haytham half turns away from the others as he starts eating, and they in turn pretend not to notice the way he eats. Like he can't get the food into himself fast enough, like it's been an age since he's had even as much as this to eat. He doesn't waste any of it either, not a single crumb.
Desmond fidgets as the others eat, ears twitching toward every sound he hears. When Haytham—the only one of the other three that doesn't look capable of talking and eating at the same time just now—is done eating, Desmond asks, "What do we do after food?"
"Go after the king," Ratonhnhaké:ton says at once.
"That's a big target," Haytham says.
"It's the only one that matters," Ratonhnhaké:ton points out. "Aren't you guys supposed to be assassins, or something? Isn't that what you do? Kill people?"
"Connor is an assassin," Haytham says sharply. "I'm a templar."
Ratonhnhaké:ton looks at him blankly, so Desmond nudges him in the side. "They're the bad guys."
"Not exactly," Haytham says, teeth gritted. "It's a war, Ratonhnhaké:ton, a war that has been waged all over the world, in one form or another, since mankind won the world back from those who came before?"
"Who?" Ratonhnhaké:ton and Desmond ask, in almost perfect synchronization.
"A story for another day," Haytham says. "The point is, Desmond, that you're a fool if you think it's as simple as good guys and bad guys."
After a short pause, Connor says, "He does still kill people, though."
"You should talk," Haytham says sharply. "But—yes, to oversimplify things drastically, I do kill people."
"So this is the perfect group to bring Washington down," Ratonhnhaké:ton says earnestly to Haytham. "You all do this for a living!"
"I don't," Desmond objects. "I just… they're helping me. But I'm nobody really. I'm just a bartender."
"That travels through time and has wolf ears," Haytham says. "I don't know much about you, Desmond, but it is pointless to argue that you're nobody. Useless perhaps, but not nobody. Now, Ratonhnhaké:ton—" and he turns away from Desmond, ignoring the way the younger man seems torn between looking pleased and insulted. "Killing something like Washington isn't something any of us have experience in. The powers he has are something we can't match."
"We have powers too, though," Ratonhnhaké:ton argues. "The tea."
"It might help," Connor says cautiously. He doesn't trust the tea as completely as Ratonhnhaké:ton does, and he certainly doesn't like the idea of relying on it entirely in the fight against Washington.
"What about the rest of it?" Desmond asks, and the other three all turn to look at him. He flushes.
"What do you mean, the rest of it?" Haytham asks.
"It's just…" he turns and looks almost pleadingly at Ratonhnhaké:ton. "I saw your friend had some at the prison. Kanen'tó:kon. You took it from him, didn't you?"
"I—well, yes. I did."
"And when were you going to tell the rest of us?" Connor demands.
"I don't know. Maybe when we figured out what father is doing here?" he suggests. "There were other things that seemed more pressing. But yes. I did take the tea Kanen'tó:kon had on him when we broke him out." His eyes flash defiantly at Connor. "I plan to drink it as soon as things calm down a little."
"That's a bad idea," Connor protests.
"But it's also my decision," Ratonhnhaké:ton insists. "You two have training. I just want to level the playing field a little bit. I want to help, because we need to get rid of him."
"As much as I hate to agree with Connor," Haytham says. "He is right in this case. That tea is dangerous."
"You drank it," Ratonhnhaké:ton says. "You told me that you did."
"Which is how I know what the effects are."
"He killed my mother," Ratonhnhaké:ton snarls. "He needs to die."
"Ziio is—she's dead?"
"Murdered."
Haytham looks at him for a long moment. Then he nods. "Drink it," he says. "And then as soon as you've recovered, we leave for New York. That's where he was before I was captured, I assume he's still there."
"But what gives you the right to make that decision?" Connor snaps.
"Nothing," Haytham says. "But I'm not taking no for an answer."
-/-
Opinion time: Should the two versions of Haythams stay together, or sperate?
Second opinion time: What kind of animal should Haytham be able to turn into from the tea? I'm torn between something super dangerous and something that's just really embarrassing. :P