They take Desmond to a sort of examination room, and poke and prod at his ears.
"This might be him," one of the guards tells the other. He says it quietly, but Desmond has fucking wolf ears and of course he hears them. It worries him, because if he is 'him,' whoever 'him' is supposed to be, then Desmond is in a lot more trouble than he'd thought (and he'd already thought himself in a lot of trouble). That means the king or his men are looking for him, and that means… something worse than an ordinary death is waiting for him.
"Do we tell the king?" the second guard asks the first.
"We don't," the first says. "You think either of us is walking out of here alive if we're wrong? No—we'll pass this up the chain, let someone else deal with it."
"Sounds good to me," the second guard says, with obvious relief. "Let's go find the captain."
When they're gone, Desmond sits up on the exam table and tries to breathe normally. He's still struggling not to hyperventilate when he smells something animal in the room. And it's not just animal, it's also… familiar. Desmond sits where he is, face slightly upturned, trying to get enough of the scent to place it. Where has he smelled this before? Because he definitely has—every animal has a distinct scent, as recognizable as a person's face. And Desmond remembers making a particular note of this one. He closes his eyes, tries to will himself back into the place and time he had been in when he first smelled this.
And he remembers… he remembers being at a dock, and he remembers Haytham turning into a squirrel… but that… it can't be that smell, can it? Because Haytham Kenway had lived hundreds of years ago, he's Desmond's ancestor. How can he still be alive?
But Desmond can smell him here.
What?
He hops off the table and follows the smell until he finds a little hole in the wall. He puts out a hand, and after a moment a squirrel hops through and onto his palm. Desmond eyes it uncertainly—it definitely smells like Haytham. And… he thinks it sort of looks like him. But honestly he has less than great vision, and… one squirrel looks a lot like any other. Desmond stares at the rodent in absolute confusion.
"Are you…?" he doesn't finish the question, because he feels kind of stupid talking to a squirrel.
The door makes a screeching noise as it opens, and Desmond turns around quickly, stashing the squirrel in the pocket of his hoodie as he turns. It makes the pocket bulge weirdly, but hopefully the guards won't notice. "Come on," one of the guard barks at him. It's the first one from before, the one that had told his partner Desmond might be 'him.' He sounds smug, and Desmond thinks with a sinking heart that maybe he is the one they've been looking for.
"Where are we going?" Desmond asks. He tries to make his voice hard and tough, but it comes out as more of a squeak. The guard doesn't say anything, just laughs and turns around. Desmond takes the opportunity to move the squirrel out of his pocket and put him back on the floor. Wherever he's going next, he doesn't need to drag the squirrel down with him.
He turns before the guard can snap at him again, and follows the pair down the hall. "In here," the second guard says, and Desmond is shoved sideways into a room with the word security on the door. He falls hard on his ass, and gets a glimpse of the squirrel dashing through the door after him. And behind the squirrel is… Haytham. The not so nice one from Connor's world. He doesn't look any more solid than the last time Desmond had seen him, but… but what is he doing here? Why is he still alive?
Desmond opens his mouth to ask one of the hundred or so questions burning in his mind, but Haytham shakes his head quickly and says, "Quiet."
He shuts his mouth. Haytham's voice is rough, and it sounds like he hasn't had anyone to talk to in a very long time.
"They can hear you," Haytham goes on. "But they can't hear me. So be quiet, and listen."
The guards are rooting around on shelves for… something. Probably something horrible. Haytham glances at them, then back at Desmond. "I don't think you have much time," he says grimly.
-/-
Haytham had not particularly liked Desmond, two hundred odd years ago when they had first met. He had been a strange visitor to their time, not much of a help. But he knows Connor, and he can identify him. There is no doubt at all in Haytham's mind that Connor will try to kill or otherwise remove Desmond from play. Time after time, Haytham has watched the people of this world attempt to rise up against the King. He has watched them throw everything they have, all their resources, their very lives, at killing Washington. Some of them have gotten very close indeed. But they'd all miscalculated, because none of them had known that Washington is nothing but a puppet. While they are distracted with him, Connor kills them all. Every time.
It's been… difficult to watch.
That means that Desmond is the only one that knows about Connor. He may not even know that Connor is the king, Haytham remembers Desmond vanishing a while before that. But he has spent the last two centuries watching his son gradually grow less and less sane, and more and more paranoid. He has no doubt at all that Connor will eliminate Desmond just on the off chance that he'd seen something.
Haytham is inclined to let him live for the same reason. If anyone, anyone at all, will ever have a chance of stopping Connor, it will have to be someone that knows the truth. And that means Desmond. There is literally no one else.
He glances over at the boy in question, and sees Desmond looking pleadingly back at him. No doubt waiting for his promised explanation. Haytham clears his throat (it's been far too long since he spoke at any great length, but he'll have to, now). "Washington has been dead for centuries," he begins. Desmond's mouth falls open in absolute shock. "Ratonhnhaké:ton and Connor killed him. The apple passed from Washington to Connor, and it's been—" his face spasms for a moment before he can get it under control. "It's been possessing him ever since. Don't ask how that works, I have no idea—but I can tell you that he will try and kill you. He has been waiting over two hundred years to kill you, because you knew who he was before he was a walking sack of meat for the apple to use. You are a threat to him, as no one else ever has been."
Desmond is pale as snow, but he doesn't say whatever it is he's so obviously bursting to say. Instead, his eyes flick downward to the squirrel, and then back up to Haytham. The guards are on Desmond now, tying him up. Haytham watches them, and is disappointed to see that these men are clearly experienced in this.
"No," Haytham says, when the question in Desmond's eyes gets more urgent. "Connor's taken care of all the rest of us already. I'm invisible. I pose no threat. And the other two…" he sighs and reaches a hand down to the squirrel. It chitters in a familiar kind of way, friendly but generally uninterested. Of course it is. Animals simply don't care about humans the way other humans do.
"He and I were once the same," he says. "For the first several decades of our lives, we were identical. We were born to the same father. Lost him in the same tragedy. Grew up in the same way. Fell in love with the same woman. Fathered the same son. But then things changed, and… never mind, we don't have time for that. But the apple took them." He points again at the squirrel. "Ratonhnhaké:ton and him. It took away everything human about them. They are no more a threat than any other wild animal. As far as I can tell, they are nothing but instinct and fur any longer."
"Shit," Desmond breathes.
One of the guards hits him on the back of the head, and then cuffs his wrists together with what looks like a brand new pair of handcuffs. Fresh out of the box. "Walk," he says. "The king wants to see you."
-/-
Seeing Desmond again, after hundreds of years, is strange. Some part of Connor (beaten, battered, full of holes where the apple has taken pieces of him away) curls up happily at the familiar sight. He likes Desmond.
But Desmond wants to kill the king, the apple reminds him. And Connor is the king.
Except—Desmond doesn't know that, does he? Connor only remembers him ever talking about Washington. So—so it's okay, isn't it? They don't have to hurt him.
He asks without any real thought that he'll get what he wants. It has been so long now since the apple took his body that Connor knows what it is likely to give ground on, and this is not one of those things. But he has to try.
So, question asked, Connor doesn't even wait for the apple to say no. He knows it will, so he curls up deep inside his head where he won't have to watch while the apple does what it wants.
Unfortunately, he still has to listen.
"You've taken an inconveniently long time to be born, Desmond," the apple says. "Loose ends are difficult. You are one that should have been eliminated a very long time ago."
"Oh," Desmond says, with complete relief. "Good."
Surprise stirs Connor into moving a bit, peeking out through his eyes to see that Desmond is actually, illogically smiling. The apple seems confused as well. "Good?"
"I didn't want Connor to kill me," Desmond says. "But you only look like him." He shrugs, an awkward gesture with his hands chained behind his back. "I know I have to die. I'm terrified. But a second ago I really thought that you were Connor, and I didn't want to be killed by a friend."
The apple considers this in confusion for a moment, then writes it off as human sentiment. Unimportant. Desmond still has to die.
"Can I talk to him first?" Desmond asks, just as the apple is preparing to wipe him off the face of the planet.
"What?"
"To Connor," Desmond says. "He's my friend, I want to say goodbye."
"No," the apple says.
"Why not?"
The apple ignores this. It reaches one lazy hand up to straighten the crown on Connor's head, and gets up. It is ten feet between it and Desmond. Then five. And then it is right on top of him. It reaches over, and closes both hands around Desmond's neck.
"Don't you want to hurt him, too?" Desmond asks abruptly, just as the apple starts to tighten Connor's hands around him. He sounds just a little bit desperate now, and breathless. "You hurt and you kill and you ha—" he chokes for a moment. "Hate everyone. But there has to be some Connor left in there somewhere, there has to be—" The apple is no longer squeezing, although its hands don't exactly relax, either. "And you must be so sick of him by now. Sharing yourself with a human? That has to be really hard for you. Why don't you give us just a minute? I'll die. He'll be in pain. Isn't that exactly what you want?"
Connor doesn't want to be in pain. The apple is his protection, it is his light and his everything. He can't be without it, and when he sees the apple actually start to consider Desmond's suggestion, Connor tries desperately to burrow deeper into his head, but that seems to be all the confirmation the apple needs to know that this really will hurt him, and for the first time in ages, Connor has full control of his body, his mind—everything.
It's the worst thing he's ever felt. There is a pain to having a physical body again after all this time, but more than that there is a sort of dawning horror, an unbearable revulsion as memory after memory of what he's done flashes through his mind. He'd—he'd killed people. Innocents. Enslaved, hurt, tortured—
He's a monster, he's…
Connor falls, slipping away from Desmond and hitting the floor hard. The apple laughs and laughs and laughs at him, reveling in the pain it has brought him. How could he have let the apple do all that" How could he have not even known it was wrong?
"Connor?" Desmond asks, and there are cool hands on his face. Desmond's hands. How—hadn't they been cuffed behind him.
"I'm so—" he cries. Sobs. He's done so many terrible things, the weight of them is tearing him apart. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
"Me too," Desmond says quietly, and he takes his hands off Connor's face, raising them to about eye level. "I couldn't think of another plan." Connor has just enough time to think that maybe something is wrong before Desmond brings his hands back down, hard. The metal in his cuffs hits Connor's head in just the wrong place, and all he knows is darkness.