#ooc: //I will never stop pining for Desmond Miles

[ridingtorohan]

Content: Spoilers for AC1-3 and the events surrounding Lucy. A paragraph pushes it to PG-16 with reader lamenting wanting Desmond with direct references to the below verse. AU: Alpha/beta/omega verse Alpha Desmond, Omega female reader. Cross-links: ao3 A/n: Written 2018, formatted but not edited 2022. This first section is written non-linear.

Desmond had been something of an urban legend back at the Farm- he wasn't someone you knew personally, but now was someone you couldn't imagine being without. Surviving the Eye didn't change that fact- but it leads to something else.‏‎

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ WHAT LIES WITHIN YOUR EYES ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ part I (you are here) ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ───※ ·❆· ※───

It had only taken two days for them all to reach a general agreement about the place. William had held initial reservations about the Manor and Shaun had all but complained the entire way there. Rebecca had spoken earnestly about the idea, voice chipper as she twirled the headphone cord around her index finger with a face-splitting grin. Desmond hadn't particularly reacted to the suggestion- but nobody really pressured him into giving one either.

The Davenport Homestead hadn't felt particularly welcoming - but only in the sense that it was unlivable, hostile to everyone by proxy. Every other building other than the Manor was rundown and barely more than splinters held together by nails, a crude mockery of the fine establishment it was supposed to be. It also felt like home though, enough like the Farm that the three of you had once lived on, with the wooden walls and trees that dotted the horizon, so thick it was a wonder that it hadn’t overtaken the buildings itself.

It was almost hard to believe that the Manor still stood as it did, forgotten by the civilized world as it was. Your lessons spoke of the siege during the 1920's that ripped the Assassins from it. As Desmond traced his fingers fondly along the stair railings and the faded paintings in the basement, you found your tongue stilled. You wouldn't do anything to hurt him and with part of his mind still living as Connor, it might not have turned out well for him if you brought it up.

Connor was the reason why you all ventured there - he had never left the Homestead, not even in the end. Where else did he have left to go? Rebecca swore up and down that the Templars weren't interested in the place since the siege and even Shaun begrudgingly admitted that as a former Assassin stronghold, it would be able to support them. William had relented and admitted to wanting any artefacts left behind but you had a feeling that it more likely had to do with Desmond. You all had agreed to be there for Desmond.

Desmond was … different since the Temple.

All of you had expected him to die - and each time you think of it the fear clogged up your throat and made your hands clammy. His resoluteness was the worst of it - even back at the Farm he had been calm and flippant but that had been something different. None of you spoke of it - of how he almost hadn’t made it out alive.

Somehow, he had saved the world. It was only right that the four of you saved him. When one was haunted by ghosts, the ghost had to be put to rest. Connor's body would help with that - all the missing years from his daughter's conception to his death.

What the four of you couldn’t tell was if it did help more than hinder - Desmond had been quiet since they arrived, barely gave more than one-worded answers or a shake of his head. You had all opted to leave him be and while you didn’t know what it was like to be stuck inside your head, not to the degree that he was, you didn’t leave. Not too far anyways.

You wished you could say that you had always been close with Desmond - that you had always looked up to him and that you only knew the concept of love through him. The truth of the matter was far from it. As a boy years your senior, he was in a separate training class from the Farm. Even then, there was the matter that you weren’t really from the Farm. From a sister branch, your family moved there to help pater out the bloodline and prevent too close of inbreeding. Assassins tried to teach the people of the world and the truth of it, but it is a hard and bitter pill to swallow and not many acclimate to the lifestyle.

No, you hardly knew Desmond. You met him once. Before. He had been a withdrawn boy even then, pock-faced and pudgy but from your limited interactions with him he had never been unkind to you. Your memories of him were foggy at best.

Months and years after the fact, Desmond became something of an urban legend at the Farm. They spoke of rebellions against his father, of a short temper and quick comebacks. He had been the only one foolish enough to leave. In the end it was later transcribed to be bravery.

Desmond told you once of what Juno and Minerva offered him - save the world or damn the world. How the world would have burned but the lot of you would have been safe, trapped in a place separated from the rest of Earth by time and otherworldly constructs. They’ve lied once before, he had said and in the same breath, I couldn’t be a leader to anyone. And that was enough to know that he had thought about it, even for just a moment.

You had thought of how he had been the first to leave from the Farm of their own volition. How the Assassins tried to tail him and lost him somewhere in Kansas, something perceivable due to lack of credentials but no small feat compared to how many Assassins came after him.

Desmond had been the first but he hadn’t been the last. The rest of the younger members took a chance of their own. Stories came back that some were captured and tortured for information or lost at sea, the fact remained that he had started a revolution of his own. His kindness had not gone amiss at a desolate place like the Farm. Even before his ancestors had left their imprints on his mind he had been a leader. He just hadn’t realized it.

You hadn’t told him that, not when he had looked at you with woeful eyes. Self-belief was a difficult thing to nurse.

Some days, it wasn’t Desmond that spoke to you. The horrible thing was that it was difficult to tell when the slip happened. On occasion he would slip into another language and the lot of you would work to soothe him out of the Bleed, but other times none of you had caught onto it until he would have a slight misstep and fumble or even dazedly ask what happened. Those were the days that you would end up holding his hand or sitting close to him, fingers always a constant on his skin when you could. There was a sense of dreaded hopelessness about the situation where all you could do was reassure him of his own presence there - his name in every other sentence or a newspaper detailing the events. Anything to keep him in touch and rooted here with you.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he had kissed you. Perhaps it was his own fumble with reality, his own tightened grip on his sanity. Certainly not one of his ancestors at any rate - there was enough tentativeness to not be Ezio, it simply wasn’t like Connor to do that, and from what you knew of Altair he wouldn’t have kissed you like that, it would’ve likely just been another task for him. You had sworn it was Desmond who did, who leaned down and breathed you in and pressed his fingers to the back of your nape and tilted your head up.

Desmond hadn’t been your first love, hadn’t lain out that foundation for the rest of your life. You had every bit of belief that he would be the last. What you felt for him was slippery - intangible and messy and so horribly painful and bright. A thunder in your veins and the tension in your skin - it was easy to get lost in him, to believe with full conviction that you would not object to anything that he wanted.

The problem was that Desmond did not want easily. You both knew the Farm - knew of how easily and firmly its own code could constrict someone. You hadn’t known you had been a prisoner of a cult in near everything but the walls and name until you had left with William.

It hadn’t been much of a choice on his part - you were one of the few who hadn’t left after Desmond, let alone died on the initial rescue mission. The Creed advocated for freedom but it was difficult to believe in it when it encroached upon everyone there, where the only law you followed was the Tenets that still stood.

Desmond was a pushover to an extent. Even with all the rumours that followed after him after his departure, all the rebellious streaks that was supposed to have happened … it all seemed moot when in comparison to the young boy that you had known. He had followed after his father in the end, had gone through the rigorous training and submitted himself to that way of life. Until he hadn’t anymore. But even then, he had hung low and out of sight, only caught by a foolish mistake. He had been admirable in that, that he had lasted for years without being found out by the very people who specialized in stealth.

He had not objected to the Animus though, hadn’t uttered a word of regret or denial concerning his own impending death. You could recall his resolution back in the Temple, his tired voice and knitted brow. Even as he faced death, he had not turned his back on it. Every time he was told to get in the Animus, he eventually did. He hadn’t even protested when they all came to the Manor the second time, when Rebecca had brought it up to him.

There was nothing but the sound of silence and snow in the stillness of winter. There was no other choice, not when they had made it and followed through on it. None of them were keen on traveling once snow blanketed the ground. Spring was still a few months off especially in the frontier. Desmond had a tendency for cabin fever from what you knew, had reportedly been out of sight every night back in Italy. He had been adamant about leaving to face Cross and Vidic himself, to collect the power sources and carry on his way.

Desmond had sworn he wasn’t capable of being leader and yet the four of you had agreed willingly. William had come as a surprise to you given his accompanied alpha status, the very same as his son. The fights that you had witnessed between the two of them hadn’t been pretty. Desmond had wanted to confront Vidic. Shaun and Rebecca had no conflicts about it in the end, resigned themselves to the best option.

You hadn’t spent long in the field yourself, could not argue that this wasn’t the best course of action. Your work was better covering your tracks and finding signals on the web - all proven moot when in comparison to the likes of Rebecca. You hadn’t been worth much now that both you and William had met up with the group but while it had been the two of you it had suited the both of you just fine.

Somewhere along the way, the five of you had unwittingly become a pack, had every dynamic of one that completely functioned. Lucy had been the alpha of the last one, the head of the group. Here, it had fallen to Desmond and he wore it exactly like how he settled into his genetic memories. Easily and seamlessly. Even with your heart in your throat, you had offered no protest to him going to Abstergo.

You had cared for Desmond in your own way, had admired his steadfastness and determination until he had nearly killed himself for it. Your first introduction to him was to a boy with a face with a frown and the second was to someone equally as desolate. His sleep had not been peaceful, comatose and unresponsive to the world.

“Get him in the Animus” William had said and Desmond was strapped in. Even when the Animus went on the fritz and tried to deny his mind, when he had outright flatlined more than once, he had remained strong. When Desmond chased after Vidic, stood tall on that skyscraper, mic attached to his shirt, you could hear the wonder and awe in his voice. While you couldn't see his face, you could see what he did. Despite the grainy feedback, you saw where he stood at the end of everything.

It’s it beautiful? He had said. With your heart permanently glued to the inner lining of your throat, you had agreed. Desmond had stopped to admire the view and you had done it with him. Until it had been time to go, time to kill and move on and go go go go go.

None of you could stop, not even for a moment, not for some sight seeing or to catch their breaths. But the memory had implanted itself in your mind, solid and true. You had understood then why Desmond had left. And when Desmond took a Leap of Faith afterwards, you had inadvertently fallen with him.

Desmond had not forgotten your agreement. Even when everyone else had ushered him to hurry on, you had spoken in positive response. Even when the threat of the world hung around all your shoulders - and the doom it had spelled for him - he had pulled you aside on the rare occasion that he had been lucid and handed you his phone.

“You had liked the view too,” he had said with a worn smile and half-lidded eyes. It was not something that you had easily forgotten either. You were all but deftly reminded of his unfailing kindness and selflessness then. How he had taken the time to take a picture just for you.

“Thank you,” you had said. It was almost all that you could. He had smiled, something far more genuine that only solidified the feeling in your chest. He had clapped a hand to your shoulder and was ushered back into the Animus.

The situation between you two had shifted then. Because alphas and omegas were historically known to generally get along you had to endure nearly a dozen of Shaun’s ribbing comments already. It had been senseless banter and shameless teasing before, implications present in the edge of his voice. It was not something that could be ignored anymore, not anything that you wanted to let go of.

You didn’t want to replace Lucy, nor could you properly. She had been an alpha. You had known of her importance to the group, how hard her absence and betrayal had hit them. William hadn’t tried to replace her, even as another alpha he could sense her own placement there.

Lucy was a sore subject, a soft whisper if even that. You knew she had been close to Desmond but the truth hadn’t hurt before. If you could even call this feeling hurt- you couldn’t envy a dead woman, couldn’t chastise her for her own wasted opportunities and lament about what could have been between the two of them.

But in a way, you had taken her spot. She had tended to Desmond and now you did. The wedge between you - the wall formed by your arrival with his father had began to dismantle. Desmond didn’t necessarily need to be cared for, he could stand on his own and effortlessly carried the weight of the entire group. The admiration you had felt for him shifted since the phone, since returned to him so he could fiddle with it and record some audio clips you believed, had settled into something warmer and more wanting.

You couldn’t help him entirely, not in the way that mattered most or most effectively. You would like to believe it had been enough.

You were not entirely obtuse in your feelings for him - Rebecca had eyed you plenty a time over the edge of her computer. Shaun for his part had tried to arrange it so that the both of you were together. William pretended it wasn’t happening and perhaps for that alone you were thankful. Desmond, in his own way, had not remained oblivious either.

Rather, it had been Desmond-as-Ezio who had caught on. As Rebecca had told you, Ezio was a flirt through and through. While Ezio knew the ways of sex like the back of his hand, he knew love even greater. He had always fallen hard and fast. You had known it was Ezio at the forefront of Desmond's mind by the way he had watched you and curled his vowels.

Shaun had translated once, had remained stone-faced for far longer than you thought he would, before he said that Ezio suggested you tell him. “I have known love and I have lost it,” is what Shaun had translated. “Do not lose your chance.”

Time waited for no one. When Desmond had stood before the pillar and said his goodbyes, begged them to leave, to let him be to his fate, you thought to ask him to stay. Desmond pressed his phone into your hand and pulled you into a hug in the same motion.

He smelled of alpha-sweat-blood-dust-cold metal-whiskey-cinnamon-home-home- home. You hadn’t wanted to let him go. “I should have kissed you,” you whispered out. Instead, Desmond had let go of you - and leaned in to do exactly that.

Hours later, when the rumble of vehicles threatened overhead, their position compromised, you all struggled to gather what you could. You all had left him there to stand before his end. The end of the world had not come - but neither did Desmond leave. Time was wasted sitting there, incapable of mobility after most of your items had been packed - none of you had wanted to touch Baby, not yet. You feared you would still feel his warmth there, that if you so much as touched anything that belonged to him you would break down and cry.

Desmond had came out of the Temple and you had done exactly that anyways. “It didn’t need to be me,” he had say in way of explanation, eyes a swirl of that familiar glint of gold before he blinked, voice full of disgust, rigidness, and resignation. “It was my blood. It has always been my blood.” Then he had tucked himself in the back of the van right next to you and pressed his chin to the flesh between your shoulder and neck.

He Bled regularly as you drove along. William cursed up a storm each time he regressed and you could only clutch him tighter each time that he did and with every harsh motion of the van. You had almost lost him. You all had.

Even if you all hadn’t tried to Bleed Connor out of his system, the drive back was well worth it. The tires hadn’t survived and all of you had cricks in your neck but it had been enough. The Manor welcomed you all well enough but Desmond most of all.

Perhaps it had been the Connor inside of him that reacted, that still saw it as his den. Unlike his other ancestors, Connor had no proper pack of his own, not outside of his children, Achilles or even for that odd encounter with Shay. He had found solace in the Manor and so had Desmond.

William spoke of leaving after spring, of reports about a modified Animus and how Abstergo hunted one of their own. You had read the reports yourself but you had Desmond in your mind’s eye and so that was all that William’s comments had remained - comments. Even as an alpha, he couldn’t dictate what the pack chose. No one dared speak of going their own separate ways despite what the eldest seemed to imply.

Even with nearly two years as William's accomplice and with a reliable bond, it couldn't compare to what you shared with the others. William had not asked you to leave with him though, not then. For all that he had done wrong, from what you knew, it was a saving grace. You would not have picked him.

Connor was never an aggressive presence with Desmond though. The younger Altair, when he bled through, was a downright terror and an equally as young Ezio was too rambunctious, Connor had never mucked up much trouble. So when each Animus session with Desmond that lead him closer to the end that was written for Connor, you had seen less of him. It had been almost February when Desmond had whispered into your skin with a slur to his words, “He’s still there. Just resting.” Desmond ended up telling the others but you had been the first.

William eyed the van then and you had seen Shaun’s mouth form words of his own to comment but Rebecca had only smiled and clasped her hand to Desmond’s own. “You’re doing good, Desmond.” And he had softened and sent her a smile of his own and everything seemed right in the world, a little more sturdier.

Desmond did not want easily. He always put everyone else’s needs above his own, always followed their rules and their dictations. Even lost in his own world he obeyed the commands rigorously trained into him. He still chose his own meal if given a choice, still wanted to watch a surprisingly high quality movie on Rebecca’s computer with you - but he didn’t contribute to the discussion of where to go and what to do. He had fought so hard for his own life and it was barely with a fumble that he slipped back into that same old mold.

You remembered the day of when he had been found to have disappeared. How it had happened without warning. Ages past the fact had twisted the story, had stated that he had been found missing and his mother had crudely screamed and woke the whole household. The stories went that he had rallied up a small group of fellow recruits and taken a few with him after burning down an old outhouse. That he had threatened to leave numerous times before and successfully done it and that he would leave for good. That he took a car and blasted out of there with the radio on full blast.

You remember the truth of it. It took near four hours after wake up for anybody to even notice. It wasn't unusual for Desmond to venture out to the forest or to go horseback riding. There was no screaming or crying fest, nobody hollered or threw things. You knew well enough that Desmond and William had fought the night before. There had been no border patrols or guards or even gates.

He had simply walked out and never looked back, hitchhiked and bussed as far away as he could. Nobody had expected for one of their own to walk out - hadn’t expected that anybody would want to. Desmond had already been gone long before he had run away, it was just a matter of his physical body getting the memo.

It had been a quick and quiet affair with nary a word from him then. While you doubted that he would leave the four of you there, that he would so quickly up and leave, you knew well enough that history repeated itself. Desmond’s genetic memories proved that time and time again. You feared that the man you loved wasn’t the one you thought he was.

So every so often, when that same feeling niggled at the back of your mind, you went looking for him.

You found him in Connor’s old room. Relief had came in with a sloppy tidal wave. A shudder passed through you the moment you stepped through the doorway.

All of you slept in the living room, had set up that room to be the most hospitable during the cold months. The fireplace had kept you all warm enough and if it hadn’t, Desmond would be there at your back, holding you to his chest. Even then, there were moments like these that he was separated from you, far away both physically and mentally.

He turned towards you at the sound of your cleared throat. Shaun’s words from Ezio haunted you. You almost lost him. “Desmond?” you asked, voice shrill in the slow trickle of the air. You sneezed twice at the dust that floated around. He had drawn a mattress up there and even placed it atop the bed frame still present. Not Connor’s, you knew, but old enough. You touched your hand to his blanketed shoulder.

“Yeah,” he sighed and ran a hand up his face. “It’s me.” It … hadn’t been what you were going to say, let alone ask. You frowned.

“Why are you up here alone?” you whispered. The bed creaked beneath you as you sat beside him. His blanket was drawn up around his shoulders, huddled around his head like a hood. There was an edge of sleepiness to his eyes and a few creases around his mouth, bruises beneath his eyes. Desmond hadn’t slept well since Abstergo, since the first Animus session. That or it was literally his genetics. He has been tired long before that.

Desmond let out a slow exhale of air. Not quite a sigh. Desmond never sighed. Your frown deepened. “I’m thinking,” he confessed, eyes not on you. He’s focused at something on the wall. You almost thought there was a painting there once, a long time ago. His focus slipped and he instead shifted his hand to rub at his eyes. “Didn’t realize I spent so much time up here. Are you doing okay?”

You thought about how to answer that. For someone who had the whole world on his shoulders, you’d almost have hoped that he’d take some time to himself. You retracted your hand to tug at his own, to stop his restless fingers and to soothe him with small strokes of yours across the back of his hand. “I’m worried about you,” you said truthfully.

“I’m okay.” The reply hadn’t come as quickly and selflessly as you thought it would. There was no conviction in the words. Your fingers stilled. His flesh was so warm, so present - you didn’t want him to leave you. But you didn’t want to be selfish either, didn’t want to cage him down. “I’m about ready to go. Dad was saying something about Egypt, I think.”

“You listen to your dad?” you joked, eyebrows raised. There was a soft huff of an exhale from him, never quite a laugh but almost. Almost.

“I try not to,” Desmond said with a light tone of amusement. He turned his hand around, palm against yours before he twined your fingers with his. He let out a hum of consideration, mouth twitched at one corner. It was the most display of emotion that you had seen from him in quite a while.

“I don’t think he appreciates that.”

“Yeah, probably not. But he can deal with it,” he quipped back just as easily. You reflectively sent him a smile and the tension eased out of his arm, hand going lax against yours. He was always so tense, so rigid, so prepared for the worst to come yet. You hoped that wasn’t the case - you’re not sure you could handle the rug being pulled out from beneath the both of you.

Desmond’s smile stilled at the sight of your frown and with another exhale he let go of your hand to grasp at the corner of his blanket to drape across your shoulders too. It meant that you had to draw closer towards him, not quite sprawled into his lap as you would have hoped for but at least hip to hip. Not even that was necessary. You just liked to reassure yourself that he was there.

You echoed his exhale, drew it out into a sigh. “How are you really, Desmond?” There was a slight twitch in his eyebrow at that, at the pronunciation of his name. His expression lacked confusion though which was more comforting than you had expected.

“Tired.” His posture wavered and you worried he’d pitch to the side but instead he just pulled you closer towards him, one leg draped across his and his shoulder almost awkwardly pressed against your sternum. It was usually a hesitant fumble between you two to find an appeasing position for the both of you and eventually he settled to wrap an arm around your waist and let you rest your head against his chest. “We aren’t … happy with how things have turned out here.”

You stiffened against him involuntarily. ‘We’. Desmond had a penchant of referring to all the memories and voices inside his head as a collective ‘we’. Rarely did he refer to himself in the singular tense. It was just fortunate that he had been referring to himself for the most part.

Desmond drew away from you - and despite your initial thought, it wasn’t to get a better look at your expression. He drew a couple pillows from the headboard, shot a load of dust through the air in the process and positioned it up behind himself. He tugged you down beside him as you dragged the blanket with you and made sure to toss it over his socked feet, tucked your knees closer towards your body and curled towards him. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Desmond let his hand rest along your head and began to casually thread his fingers through the strands. There was a frown present on his lips again, deep enough to pull the scar across his lip tight. There was a shadow of a beard on his jawline, dark against his skin. He looked so aged from this position. You wanted to ease his burden.

“Achilles had entrusted this house to him,” Desmond spoke up finally, something sharp and jagged in his voice. His hand had stopped all motion in your hair. “It was-,” a pause as he searched for the right word, a violent lurch of his eyebrow as he knitted it and a hot breath of air from his nose before he relented with, “Connor’s house. When I was in the Animus, I - as Connor - had helped repair it. We had built this place, the entire Homestead. It was made by my hands - to see it like this...” His voice trailed off into silence.

There was a vacant glaze to his eyes, a ripple of uncertainty and fractured lifetimes. Desmond may have been with you in the room and that may have been his heartbeat beneath his hand but he has left you alone all the same.

“Desmond.” It was on the fourth time that he turned to face you, a couple pronounced blinks to his gaze as he seemed to focus on you. You raised your hand from his shirt to his face, cupped his jaw and let your thumb rest along his cheek. “Desmond, what you and Connor built was … was amazing. It still is. It’s just a little run down, that’s all.”

“It’s forgotten.” The impact behind his words had you falter for a moment. He didn’t say anything after that but he waited all the same. You bit your lip, wondered how much time he would give you to think of how to respond to that, to the tone of his voice.

“This is more than just about the house, isn’t it?” you asked him. Desmond didn’t immediately respond but his eyes didn’t trail from your face, insistent on staring into yours as he processed it. He closed his eyes, lovely brown obscured by the dark of his eyelashes. His head settled deeper against the pillow.

“Connor lived and died in this house. His wife lived here with him until she left. She took the kids. Connor had nothing left. Nothing but an old rocking chair and this house. And now here it is in ruin.” You wondered then if he would cry, if this would be what finally broke him.

You had heard that he had been unhappy when Monteronigirri had perished to flame and blade, when little to no one had been spared. You wondered if the memory was buried somewhere deep inside him, if it settled there as an unscabbed open wound. If it pestered him day in and day out. Ezio had years to get over the tragedy, if he ever did. Desmond didn’t have the luxury. It was still a fresh ache to him. To reopen the wound with Connor and his unlucky end ... 

“You remembered it,” you told him. “You’re here right now. Connor isn’t alone because .. he’s with you. You’re with him, and I’m with you. We’re all with you, Desmond. We’re not going anywhere without you.” You were firm to implant his name there, to affirm his hold on reality. You all had thought that if he relived Connor’s memories it would help soothe the Effect, that Desmond could go back to the life that he had before, that he could live unhindered and unburdened by it. Anything for it all to be easier for him.

“My Dad talked about Egypt,” there was a slight scoff to his voice. (I’m losing him.) “Why don’t we just go? I’m just holding you all back, this isn’t anything-”

“No.” You moved both hands to cup his face and he stared at you with impassive eyes. Desmond has not wanted much. He gave up a lot before, to get all of them to the end, to get them knowledge otherwise lost. He was willing to give it all up again with just a word. He would. “You’re keeping us all together, Desmond. We’re your pack, don’t you understand? Yours.” You leaned up to kiss him and your knee knocked against his before you settled your leg on the other side of his waist. He didn’t respond at first, let you pepper his face with kisses. Gradually, he seemed to react, upturned his face to return the gesture, to press his lips against yours. His hands settled along your hips, thumbs pressed into the clothed skin there. Your mouth lingered a fair deal more but it was him who dragged his tongue across your lip, had you shudder in response.

You could feel him smile against your skin, felt the uneven skin of his scar catch on you when you allowed him at your throat. You could feel a pattern begin to emerge in the light rubs of his thumbs, something almost like dialect. His kisses were slow, languid and light, a butterfly touch if you had ever felt one. You let out a breathy sigh of his name and he paused then.

“Desmond?” you prompted him and sat back on your knees, a leap in your chest, worried that you had overstepped a line.

“Just thinking,” he promised, a few seconds too slow. There was an upturn to his mouth, an appreciative look in his eyes. His hands hovered along your hips though and you knew that there was no use pushing your luck.

Desmond would likely relent if you pushed him to have sex with you now, if you begged him with a breathy tone to let you take his knot but you also knew that his heart wouldn’t be in it. That he might not want it. You couldn’t push him like that, you didn’t have it within yourself to.

“You think enough for four people,” you said pointedly and made sure to throw in a grin for good measure. You threw your leg off of him, tried not to let your disappointment surface in your scent. He had your neck exposed to him, he had already likely caught your arousal and anticipation in it alone. You weren’t disappointed in him though, never him.

“Hm,” there was a lighter turn of his mouth then, something pleased and adoring in that gesture alone. Even though he just had his tongue in your mouth and his lips and fingers on your skin, it was his smile that made you flustered. Go figure. You averted your gaze, tried to ignore the wider spread of his lips. “Definitely smart enough for four men.”

You swatted your hand against his chest as you collapsed next to him, made sure to draw your legs tighter together before you tugged his arm down and settled down against it. “Definitely,” you relented. Desmond’s look was appreciative and genuine, fond to the very end. “Or at the very least ripped enough for them.” You reached out a hand to pat against his stomach and then there was the laugh that you missed so much.

At some point, Shaun had started a running joke about Desmond being pudgy. He had been in his youth, sure, but most children were. Being on the run and doing a bunch of parkour promised at least some muscles. You grinned wide enough for the both of you when he rolled onto his side, albeit with a little bit of struggle with his trapped arm beneath you.

“Thank you,” Desmond said after a moment. “For trying to help.” You shifted enough for him to draw his arm out and he flexed his fingers experimentally, a falter to his earlier cheer as he stared at his hand. The very hand that he had supposedly clasped onto the Eye.

“Of course.” You told him. You leaned forward to press another kiss against his lips, let it linger and rest against the swell of his mouth. He inhaled your exhale and let his lips move against yours, calm and pleasant. When he pulled back, it was a wonder you hadn’t confessed to loving him. It would have been terribly easy. But the truth of the matter was despite your fear and insecurities, you knew that you had nearly all the time in the world - and isolated in the Manor as your pack was, it very well could have been.

Suddenly, you knew, that if this was what the end of the world had been like, you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t have minded at all.