"I really don't have time for a history lesson."

The Assassins' race through the hospital to find the missing doctor had earned them numerous stares from staff and they fled before they could attract any more attention.

"Desmond, what—" Shaun started when they were finally outside, blending in with the crowd of tourists wandering around the plaza in front of Notre-Dame.

Desmond held up his hand and shook his head. "Not here," he muttered. His head swiveled back and forth as they passed through the throngs of people, his eyes and ears keen to their surroundings. More than once, he flexed his wrist ever so slightly to feel the pressure of his hidden blade mechanism against it, ready to strike at any moment. It wasn't until they were safely in the confines of their hotel room—far from Île de la Cité and the hospital—before anyone spoke again.

"Okay, so what just happened?" Rebecca asked as soon as the door clicked shut. "Did we just see our only witness get murdered?"

Desmond nodded. "Looks like it."

"And by a doctor, no less."

Rebecca shook her head. "Poor Émilie."

"In all seriousness, I really hope it wasn't one of us that did this," Shaun said. "I'd hate to think that one of our own murdered an innocent woman just to cover their tracks."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Desmond reminded him.

"No, and I don't suppose it'll be the last, either. Still, this one hits a bit harder, in my opinion. She didn't even seem to know much of anything."

"Maybe he thought she knew more than she did." Desmond turned to Rebecca. "Any chance you could work your magic to find out who that guy was?"

"It might take a while, but probably."

"Better get started now then."

"On it," she said, opening her laptop and clicking away.

"In the meantime, I'll grab us some lunch. Who's hungry?" Shaun asked the group.

"I could definitely eat," Rebecca said, not bothering to look up from her screen.

"Same." Desmond took a step towards the door.

Shaun held his hand up to stop him. "Why don't you stay here, Des? Take a load off for a bit."

"You sure? I don't mind coming with you."

"Yeah, I've got this. You can help Rebecca with her search."

Desmond shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed.

"What does everyone want?" Shaun pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Looks like there's a deli just up the street within walking distance. I'm thinking maybe we get some things to make sandwiches, maybe some cheese, some fruit. How does that sound?"

As if on cue, Desmond's stomach let out a rumbling growl. "At this point I'll eat anything."

"Of course you will. Bex, does that sound alright to you?"

She waved her hand noncommittally. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

"I'll get her a salad, too," Shaun whispered to Desmond. "Just in case."

He nodded wryly. "Good idea."

Shaun left and Desmond watched as Rebecca's fingers flew across the keyboard, random bits of code streaming down one of the windows on her screen. In another window she had several images of their target pulled from the security cameras at the hospital. Desmond studied him while she worked.

He was a small man, smaller even than Desmond remembered, with short brown hair, beady eyes, and sharp features. In one of the images open on Rebecca's screen, his eyes were wide and the edges of his mouth were curled up into a malicious smirk, the same smirk that he'd had when he recognized Desmond.

"This is going to take forever," she grumbled. Putting her hands over her head, she sat back in her chair while a program cycled through dozens of faces per second, comparing them to the other images. "He'll be halfway around the world by the time we figure out who he is."

"I don't think so. I get the feeling he's going to stick around for a while."

"What makes you think so?"

"Call it a hunch." Desmond thought back to how the man had stayed within eyesight after killing Émilie. He could've disappeared, been a ghost in the wind by the time they'd realized what had happened. Instead, he'd stuck around, waiting and watching to see what Desmond would do. No, Desmond thought. He wasn't going very far.

She shrugged, opened another program, and began clicking away again. "There," she said with a final click. "I've got a tracking system set up so now we'll know if he's still in Paris or not. If your hunch is right, hopefully we'll catch him on one of the cameras around the city."

"Any idea how long it'll take?" he asked.

"No idea."

"Great," he said sardonically.

"If I could make it go faster, I would. In the meantime, I'm going to take a quick shower."

"Anything I should look out for?" He pointed to the screen.

"Not really. A new window should open whenever it finds anything, but I doubt it'll finish before I'm done," she said as she disappeared into the bathroom.

Desmond laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes until he grew bored. He yawned and thought of taking a quick nap, but when he closed his eyes he flashed back to the end of his dream in the Grand Temple again. He snapped them back open and inhaled sharply.

He sat himself in the chair in front of the computer to distract himself, propping his feet up on the desk and watching the faces scroll past in a blur. His gaze wandered across the screen until a folder near the top of the screen caught his attention. "For Bill?" he whispered. Intrigued, he dropped his feet and leaned forward as he clicked on it. Inside he found several more folders, some detailing information on Abstergo Entertainment, some about the very first Animus subject, and some about the Templars' various future projects. He smiled when he came across the recordings he'd left for his father, grateful that—thanks to Shaun and Rebecca—Bill had been able to hear them.

But as he delved deeper into the files and into a folder marked "Subject 17," he began to come across other information, things he didn't already know, but things that he wanted—no, needed—to know.

A chill ran down his spine as he flipped to the next page, where he saw a detailed photo of his scorched arm. The entire length of it was charred, save for a small spot in the middle of his hand where it looked like his skin had been flayed off rather than burned.

That must've been where I…

He shook his head and let the thought drift off as he clicked on the next file. His breath hitched and his heart skipped a beat as he stared at a photo of himself, dead on a gurney, three Abstergo researchers standing over his body.

The deeper he dove into the folder, the faster he clicked, like an addict needing the next hit. Eventually he became almost numb to it all, looking past himself and focusing on the details as if it'd all happened to someone else and not him. Even the video report—where Abstergo agents were handling his lifeless body—was surreal to watch. Like a car crash, he couldn't look away, even as they'd begun carving into him. His hand instinctively went to his chest, feeling the slight indentation running down the center, and he couldn't help but be grateful that, of the things he could remember, this wasn't one of them.

Not realizing how closely he'd been leaning into the computer screen, Desmond sat back in the chair while he watched himself being dragged away in a body bag as the video ended. He swallowed deeply and closed his eyes while he focused on his breathing, trying not to think about everything that had happened…

"Des?"

Rebecca's raspy voice startled him and he nearly fell out of the chair. He'd been so enthralled by what was in front of him that he hadn't even noticed Rebecca emerge from the bathroom.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm alright. Just a little, uh, distracted."

"That has to be really weird, looking at stuff about your own death."

"It's definitely not something most people get to see. But I guess it's not as weird the second time."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side.

"I came across a copy of the file back at Abstergo," he explained. "Though the video was new to me."

"That couldn't have been easy to watch. I know it wasn't for me."

"It… brought some perspective on things," Desmond said delicately. "And it's nice getting some answers."

"You can always ask us. We'll tell you whatever we know."

"I know, but if I'd have asked you guys, would you have shown me the video?"

Rebecca looked down at the floor. "No, probably not," she admitted.

"See? Now we're all on the same page. Now things don't have to be awkward."

She chuckled. "The only one who would've made it awkward is—"

Shaun burst through the door at that very moment, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed to set two large canvas bags full of groceries on the table. "You would not believe who I almost just ran into," he panted as he tried to catch his breath. "It's a damn good thing you—" he pointed at Desmond— "didn't come with me. And that we didn't end up making it to the laboratory this morning."

"What? Why?" Desmond scoffed.

"Who'd you run into?"

"Do you remember that obnoxious woman that stole our coffee yesterday morning?" Shaun asked Rebecca.

"No, not at all."

"Dark complexion, dark hair, even darker mood? Wore a leather jacket? Ready to murder anyone that so much as looked at her wrong?"

Rebecca shook her head and shrugged, then looked to Desmond who did the same.

Shaun rolled his eyes. "Well you were a little preoccupied with your phone, I suppose. Anyways, she's here and she's brought Otso Berg with her."

"Berg is here!? That's…not good." She frowned.

"Who the hell is Berg?" Desmond asked impatiently.

"Only one of the Templars' strongest agents. He puts Cross to shame, if that's any indication," Rebecca explained, her frown deepening.

"They'd just come back from investigating the explosion when I saw them."

Rebecca glanced towards the window, as if expecting to see them outside their hotel room. "Did they see you?"

"No, I don't think so. They were across the street and walking away from me. And just in case, I took the long way back. I think you'd be quite proud of me," he added, puffing out his chest.

"Good job," Desmond said with a hint of sarcasm, patted him on the shoulder condescendingly

Shaun let out a huff of annoyance.

"Still, we probably don't need to be hanging around here for long if they're here."

"Why not? It's not like we don't have backup now," Shaun gestured to Desmond.

"Maybe let's try not to get him killed on his second day back? I think he's been through enough the past day and a half already."

Desmond gave her a small nod and appreciative smile.

"Well you're no fun," Shaun grumbled, pulling their food from the bags and setting it out on the table.

Rebecca grabbed her salad and started eating. "Wait a minute. Are we sure Berg isn't our German?"

"Berg is Finnish."

"I know that, but Émilie might not have. What if she got his accent mixed up?"

"I suppose it's possible."

"So we're just looking for the American now?" Desmond asked as he unwrapped his sandwich.

At that moment, Rebecca's computer let out a series of quick beeps.

"Hey, we got a match! Heinrich Hart."

"American?" he asked through a mouthful of food.

"Nope. German."

"That's Hart? Not exactly what I imagined." Shaun joined her, his own sandwich in hand. "Squirrely-looking fellow, isn't he?"

Desmond swallowed. "You know him?"

"Sort of. We've, erm, forcefully requisitioned his services under penalty of death for an odd task or two."

"What Shaun's trying to say is, we blackmailed his sorry ass into helping us a couple times. He works for Abstergo, so we've put some of that knowledge to use, but mainly we've used him as…an explosives expert, of all things."

"That explains a lot."

"It really does, doesn't it?"

"So if you've worked with him before, how come you didn't recognize him?"

"We've only ever spoken with him indirectly, and usually it's Gavin that "requisitions" him, as Shaun put it," she said with air quotes. "We've never met him face-to-face."

"Wait a minute," Shaun said suddenly, "Gavin!"

Desmond and Rebecca looked at Shaun with confusion.

"What about him?" she said.

Shaun swallowed the current bite of his sandwich with a gulp. "That's why he was being so bloody secretive earlier! He's probably the one who sent Hart!"

"Then why not tell us? It's not like he hasn't told us when he's used Hart before?"

"Hell if I know."

"Could he be the American Émilie talked about?" Desmond asked.

Shaun and Rebecca simultaneously raised their eyebrows.

"It fits. So that's two out of the three." Shaun held up two fingers. "Add the scary woman from Abstergo and we've got our three suspects," he said, putting up a third.

Rebecca crossed her arms. "So Gavin, our Mentor, is working for the Templars now? What the fuck?"

"It's like Desmond's the only one that can spend any time around Abstergo and not turn evil. You're not evil, right?"

"You just spent time working for Abstergo. Should I be worried?" Des asked only somewhat sarcastically.

"Well we all knew Rebecca was evil before Abstergo came along—"

"Hey!"

"—and I'm infallible and can do no wrong."

Desmond was going to argue that last point when the computer beeped again and another window on Rebecca's screen opened.

"You were right, Des," she said, pointing at the video feed now on her screen. "Hart's still in Paris."

There he was, Heinrich Hart, sitting at a table outside a cafe as calm as could be, as though he hadn't just murdered a woman in cold blood only a few hours before.

Desmond narrowed his eyes. "This is live?" he asked, scarfing down the last bite of his sandwich.

"Yep."

"Up for a little reconnaissance, Desmond?"

The corner of his mouth upturned and his eyes twinkled with excitement as he pulled his hood up around his face. "Let's go."

An hour later, they were sitting on a park bench around the corner from where Hart was finishing his dinner. While Rebecca tinkered with their surveillance equipment, making sure everything was in working order and ready for Desmond's use, Shaun continued to keep an eye on their target via the city's cameras. A quiet, familiar buzz came from the miniature drone as she turned it on, sending it into the air above their heads. It hovered in place while she worked to connect its video feed to her tablet.

"Here," she said, handing each of them an earpiece. "Check that these work."

Desmond hooked it over his ear. "Testing, testing."

"Hello?" Shaun half-yelled. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear. A little too loud…"

Shaun sneered at him and adjusted his earpiece.

"Okay, I think we're ready. Everyone can hear okay? Good. I've added GPS tracking to both the drone and the earpieces so if we get too separated, we should be able to find each other."

Shaun nudged Desmond with his elbow. "Y'know, I get the feeling she doesn't want to lose track of you. I don't think you'll ever be a free man again."

"You got that feeling, too, huh?"

They both smirked at an annoyed Rebecca.

"Are you sure you're ready to do this?" Shaun asked Desmond, the humor gone from his face now. "Seems like an awfully big risk when we could just follow Hart with Rebecca's camera."

"It'll only work for another thirty minutes before it gets too dark," Rebecca reminded him. "After that, we won't be able to see anything."

"I know, I just want to make sure he's ready and that we're not sending him back out into the field prematurely."

"Shaun, nothing's changed. I'm still me and I've got a job to do."

"Oh, right. 'Nothing's changed' my arse," Shaun grumbled.

"He knows your face now, Des. You can't be seen," Rebecca reminded him.

He nodded. "Got it."

The buzzing drone disappeared high above his head as he rounded the corner towards the cafe where his target was sitting.

"I've got eyes on him," Rebecca said. "Looks like he's just finishing up now."

Desmond crossed the street and blended in with a group of pedestrians walking along the sidewalk opposite from where Hart was sitting. He caught a glimpse of his target as he drew closer, ducking down a dark alleyway directly across from the cafe. He pulled his hood up, concealing his face from the streetlight overhead and the rain that had started drizzling from the sky. Between the thick crowds that continued to pass by and the shadows that encompassed him, Desmond was all but invisible to his prey.

Hart checked his watch and stood up to leave.

"He's moving," Rebecca said.

"I see him." Desmond merged with another crowd heading in the same direction.

Hart criss-crossed the rainy streets of Paris, every so often checking behind him to make sure he wasn't being followed. But between the clusters of umbrellas, hats, and hoods that materialized along with the rain and the darkness of night pressing in further, Desmond remained undetected.

Once, his stomach dropped when Hart abruptly stopped in the middle of the street and looked upward, towards where Rebecca's drone floated only a hundred feet above his head.

"Oh shit," she said.

"Get it out of here," Desmond hissed under his breath quickly. "Now."

Less than a second later, the drone flew off in the opposite direction, disappearing from sight. Desmond held his breath as he watched Hart spin in place, his beady eyes now scanning the throngs of people milling about the busy sidewalks. Not willing to take any chances, he ducked into the entrance of a crowded toy shop to get out of Hart's line of sight.

"He's moving again," Rebecca said into the earpiece. "But Des, I can't keep up for much longer. It's getting too dark and if I get too close he'll know he's being followed."

"That's alright, I've got it from here," he whispered, ducking back out onto the sidewalk.

Hart's head swiveled back and forth as he crossed another two streets, speeding up his pace when he passed through an ornate wrought iron gate leading into a large cemetery. Desmond nearly lost him when he disappeared amongst the many rows of tombs, but found him again when he stepped onto the main path. Tall, dense trees lined the walkway, blocking out almost all of the light from the rest of the city. Raindrops pattered down onto the leaves overhead, covering Desmond's footsteps as he lightly stepped along the cobblestones. He remained close to the edge, ready to duck behind any one of the many mausoleums that lined the path. Every so often, he'd have to make use of them when Hart would inevitably glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't followed. Hart led them deep into the heart of the cemetery, where it felt like they weren't even in the city anymore. It reminded Desmond of Central Park, but with more dead people.

"This place is enormous," Desmond whispered to himself as they continued zigging and zagging along the never-ending paths.

Forgetting about his earpiece, he tensed when Shaun replied, "it's Père Lachaise, the largest cemetery in Paris. Built over two centuries ago—"

"Shaun, I really don't have time for a history lesson right now."

"Noted. Shutting up now."

The rain had stopped by the time they finally reached the other side of the cemetery, where Hart disappeared amongst a crowd of people waiting on the street corner. Desmond took a deep breath in and focused his senses, trying to pick him out of the group, but he quietly groaned in frustration when Hart remained as elusive as before.

"Everything okay?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine," he grumbled. He relaxed a bit when he saw his target dash across the street, breaking away from the group. Desmond quickly followed, deftly maneuvering his way through the crowd of people now crossing the road themselves. Ahead, Hart checked his watch, then ducked down around another corner, going the opposite direction of everyone else.

Desmond waited to get a little bit of distance between them before peering down the side street that Hart now navigated. It was dark, darker even than the cemetery had been, with few street lamps and no moon in the sky to provide light. Still, Desmond kept to the deepest of shadows as he rounded the corner and followed his prey through what looked like a cluster of abandoned warehouses.

He slowed his pace as Hart walked towards one door in particular, pulling it open with a loud creak and slamming it shut behind him. Desmond didn't dare enter the same way, but as luck would have it, he wouldn't have to.

Quickly and silently as he could, he climbed up the fire escape of one of the neighboring warehouses and walked along the edge of the rooftop towards a skywalk connecting it to the building Hart just entered.

"He went into one of the other buildings across the street," Desmond whispered into his earpiece as he jumped down and crept along the top of the enclosed skywalk. "I'm going in after him."

"Be careful," Rebecca cautioned. "Hart's really crafty and clever from what we've heard. He knows how to get out of sticky situations."

"Got it," Desmond said, taking a few running steps near the end to propel himself up the wall high enough to climb into a broken window one floor up. He shimmied through the opening and landed silently inside.

"...see him… anybody…hear me Desmond?"

"Rebecca?" he whispered as loud as he dared. He tapped the earpiece a couple times but only heard static back. The connection went dead as he tiptoed across the floor and deeper into the building. The building was completely silent except for the faint whistling of wind blowing through the cracked windows, so silent that Desmond hardly dared to breathe for fear Hart might hear him coming.

His eyes slowly adjusted as he made his way through the darkness and down a flight of stairs, stepping lightly to avoid any creaks in the old, wooden floors. Once, the edge of his foot brushed up against the side of an empty beer bottle sitting on the ground, sending it skittering across the floor. Desmond tensed and held his breath. When he was sure nobody else had heard it, he continued down another two flights of stairs, taking them one step at a time.

It wasn't until he was another three floors down that he first heard someone else in the building. Two voices—one German, one American—were arguing, though about what Desmond couldn't quite hear. He inched closer, stepping into a dim pool of light coming in through a dingy window from a street lamp outside. He timed his footsteps with the steady drip drip of water coming from one of the many exposed pipes overhead, moving towards a one-foot hole in the floor where more light—and the voices—came from. He crouched low and listened.

"...how else do you explain the Assassins finding me at the hospital, Wilson?" Hart spat.

"What? At the hospital? How the fuck should I know? I wasn't there!"

Wilson? So the American wasn't Gavin, Desmond thought. Shaun and Rebecca will be relieved to hear that.

"No, but I know they didn't follow me there, so someone must have told them!"

Wilson crossed his arms indignantly and scratched at a fresh tattoo on the back of his right hand of an inverted cross with a star at the top. It looked familiar, and Desmond couldn't shake the feeling he'd seen it somewhere before. "Well, it wasn't me, Hart. I did as you said and laid low. How do you even know they were Assassins?"

"Those Idioten are easy to spot when you know what to look for. And why did you get that tattoo of all things? Do you want to be found out?"

"I thought it'd be a nice tribute to her. You know, show my appreciation and all."

Hart rolled his eyes. "The Assassins aren't the only Idioten around here, it seems."

"So what do you want to do about them?" Wilson asked, ignoring Hart's insult. "And what are we going to do about Berg and Da Costa?"

"What about Berg and Da Costa? They're both in Montréal."

"Not anymore. They were snooping around the Abstergo building this morning. Or rather, what was left of it since you, y'know, blew it up."

"They are here? Both of them!?" Hart grabbed onto the front of Wilson's jacket and started shaking him. "Why didn't you tell me!?"

"I thought you knew!"

"How would I know? I've been busy cleaning up your messes all day!" Hart let go while he let out a string of swears in German and started pacing around the room. "Now it seems I have to clean up another one. But no more. I will not have any more mistakes by you."

"Of course not, I promise I'll—"

But before he could finish his promise, Hart whipped out a taser from his inside jacket pocket and fired it at Wilson. The barbs dug into his chest and he let out a howl of pain which drowned out the crackling of the electricity as it flowed from the taser and through his convulsing body. Hart continued to hold the taser on his partner even as the smell of burning flesh permeated the air and his body went limp.

Desmond shifted his weight just as Hart released the trigger and as he did so, a board underneath his feet creaked.

"Who's there!?" Hart shouted in his direction, quickly changing out the cartridge.

Before Desmond could respond, the second one flew past his head, the barbs sinking into an old, rusty pipe. He had only a moment to register that it was a gas pipe before electricity crackled up through the wires and into the probes.

He launched himself across the room as fast as he could just as the pipe exploded, sending shrapnel and debris flying in every direction. The shockwave sent him flying across the room even more, throwing him into the far wall.

"Des!?"

"Des, mate? Are you alright?"

They sounded far away through the ringing in his ears. He tried to respond but every word was cut off by deep coughs as he choked on thick dust that now filled the air.

"Y—yes. Gotta…gotta get out," he gasped. He pulled himself to his feet and dragged himself towards the nearest broken window. Wheezing, he hurled himself through the opening, hung onto the bottom sill for half a second, then dropped to the ground two stories below. He staggered away from the building—now creaking and groaning loudly as the structure began to crumble from the inside out—and back out onto the main street, where crowds were now gathering to see what all the commotion was about. Avoiding making eye contact with anyone, he limped into a nearby alleyway.

"I'm…I'm okay," he coughed.

"We're on our way. Where are you?" Rebecca asked him, panic rising in her voice.

"Across…the street."

"I've got him on GPS. Let's go," he heard her say to Shaun.

"Stay there, mate. We'll find you."

He leaned against a wall and took in deep breaths to keep the vomit from rising up while he waited for the others to join him. He could hear in the distance as the last of the building's infrastructure had at last given out and the warehouse came crashing down.

"I'm okay," he repeated—more to himself than the others—as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. When they found him a few minutes later he was squatting against the wall, holding his hands over his head.

"Des?" Rebecca squatted next to him and laid her hand across his shoulders.

"'M fine," he groaned. "Just a little nauseous still."

They sat there for a minute as sirens that blared in the distance quickly closed in on them.

"Not to rush you or anything, but we should probably get out of here," Shaun said.

Desmond nodded and took a deep breath as he stood up. Pushing the nausea from his mind, he followed the others and the three of them sprinted away from the destruction, disappearing like ghosts into the night.

A/N: And the plot thickens! Dun dun dun... Anybody want to take a guess as to what's going on?

Also, poor Desmond just can't catch a break, can he? (Sorry 'bout that)