AC2 Fic: Exhibit
First time I've posted Shaun/Des off the meme, so try not to kill me if they're completely off. Most history is from wikipedia, the rest from google - though I am basing this exhibit off one I actually did go and see. So yeah, just yell if you notice anything off. Same goes for spelling errors/etc.
Title: Exhibit
Characters: Shaun Hastings/Desmond Miles
Summary: In an effort to help Desmond come to terms with the Bleeding Effect, Shaun takes him to see an exhibit on the works of Leonardo da Vinci.
“It’s wrong,” Desmond announced suddenly, rather too loudly for Shaun’s liking. It was loud enough that several passers-by (other visitors to the exhibit) stared at them. After a moment, they pressed the little button on their headsets to restart the audio tour. Those that didn’t moved on when Shaun glared venomously at them. They shouldn’t stare at Desmond. Only he could stare at Desmond. In fact, he was staring at Desmond right now. Despite a large “Do Not Touch” sign about a foot to their right, Desmond was gently running his hand down the model he had declared incorrect. The model in question was a large, full-scale model of a flying machine designed by the one and only Leonardo da Vinci. Or, to be significantly more accurate, what the historians thought was a full-scale model of a flying machine designed by the one and only Leonardo da Vinci. The actual machine had several differences that, despite never having seen the original aside from on a computer screen, Shaun could pick out instantly. The most obvious difference was that this thing would never get off the ground. Ezio’s mission to defend the Doge would have ended significantly earlier if he’d tried to get there using this thing.
“This part here,” Desmond continued, pointing to a part of the wing, “this should be lower. That part should be moved over there, and a little longer. That...” He trailed off, furrowing his brow in confusion. “I have no idea what the fuck that’s supposed to be.”
Behind them, a mother of two young girls gasped at Desmond’s foul language. Covering her daughter’s ears, she rushed away, muttering loudly about the rudeness of strangers. Shaun ignored her, stepping forward to place a comforting hand on Desmond’s shoulder.
“I know, mate,” he murmured quietly, keeping his voice low enough that only Desmond could hear. His heart (contrary to popular belief, he did have one) twisted in sympathy. They shouldn’t have come here. It had been a bad idea from the start. They’d thought it would help Desmond sort through the emotionally chaotic input from Ezio. Obviously, they’d been wrong. “They’re idiots,” he continued softly, “but-“
“He was so proud of it,” Desmond said dejectedly. If Shaun didn’t know better, he’d think he was being ignored. A ridiculous concept, really. Desmond wouldn’t dare ignore him. “You didn’t see the look on his face when it worked. And then they have to go and turn it into this... this... this pezzo di merda!” Furious, Desmond lashed out, kicking the false flying machine vehemently. A security guard appeared out of nowhere and started to approach them even as the machine wobbled dangerously. Shaun swore. Loudly.
“Right,” he said sharply, his tone authoritative. So much for not drawing attention to themselves. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” he suggested in a falsely cheery tone. Desmond seemed to hesitate for a moment, but a particularly violent tug from Shaun got him moving. The security guard accelerated, obviously noticing his prey was escaping. Shaun broke into a jog, relieved when Desmond followed in suit. It seemed the idiot had finally realised he’d caused a fuss. Of course, he only noticed afterwards. Just like Ezio. Honestly, sometimes Shaun wondered why he bothered. The man was an idiot. The pair reached the exit just as a particularly loud crash rang out. The model, unstable from Desmond’s vicious assault, had finally collapsed. Desmond grinned maniacally, evidently pleased with himself. Shaun rolled his eyes. Definitely an idiot - just like his ancestors, come to think of it.
“Yes, yes, well done, but we’re supposed to be escaping. Remember?”
A week later, things seemed to have returned to normal, or at least as normal as things got with Shaun and Desmond. What Shaun had taken to calling “the da Vinci Incident” had not been forgotten, but Desmond had spent a sufficient amount of time begging for forgiveness. The exhibit had been forced to close after substantial losses due to vandalism, something which Desmond seemed to find amusing. Shaun had spent a good hour lecturing Desmond - or at least, that had been the plan. He’d sort of lost his place about halfway through, when Desmond interrupted him with “you’re cute when you’re mad”. Shaun, of course, had promptly forgotten what he was saying, too busy protesting that he was not cute in the slightest. Sulking would have been his normal response, but then Desmond had done that wonderful thing with his tongue, and he’d forgotten to complain about that, too. So a week later, the da Vinci Incident was all but forgotten. Desmond was scanning the paper for any sign of Templar activity, despite having defeated Abstergo several months ago. Shaun watched quietly, taking great pleasure from the cup of real tea he’d made - proper English Breakfast. None of that cheap nasty stuff. The perfect brew to sip while staring at Desmond. Though he’d never admit it, Shaun loved to watch Desmond. For one, it gave him a distinct advantage, knowing exactly what he was thinking from the tiniest expression. It provided the few seconds of warning that had told Shaun countless times he was about to hear something incredibly stupid. The look appeared on Desmond’s face, and Shaun barely suppressed a groan. It was too early for this. Desmond should be gagged until lunchtime. Perhaps permanently.
“The Hashashin - that’s us, right?”
“Yes, Desmond,” Shaun said as though he were explaining something to a small child. “Assassins are good, Templars are bad. Do you remember that, sweetheart?” Sweetheart showed just how annoyed he was: Shaun never used pet names. They were too childish, and as such he only used them when Desmond was being childish (this, he felt, happened far too often). Desmond scowled at the sarcastic tone. Desmond, Shaun noticed, looked very good when he scowled. He’d have to remember to antagonise the man more often.
“I mean Masyaf. There’s an exhibit on it at the local museum.”
“No.” Really, Shaun thought it was an achievement he’d managed to make such a flat response. He’d been tempted to hurl his cup of tea at Desmond’s face. Desmond had only been saved by the fact that it would be a waste of good tea.
“But-“
“Desmond, do you even know where the name ‘Hashashin’ came from?”
“No, but-“
“Hashish. As in, drugs.”
Desmond blinked like the idiot he was. “What? But that’s ridiculous. Altair-“
“I know.”
“-would never have-“
“Christ,” Shaun interrupted, but Desmond didn’t stop. Shaun rubbed his temples. At this rate, Desmond was going to give him a headache. “What’s it going to take to shut you up, Miles?” he asked rhetorically. Apparently, the answer was no, because Desmond didn’t stop talking. Very deliberately, he stood up and stalked over to his partner. Desmond continued to prattle on about his ancestors, something about how Altair wouldn’t even touch alcohol, let alone drugs. Shaun did the only thing he could do in that situation. He kissed him.
It was, after all, the only way to get Desmond to shut up.
Title: Exhibit
Characters: Shaun Hastings/Desmond Miles
Summary: In an effort to help Desmond come to terms with the Bleeding Effect, Shaun takes him to see an exhibit on the works of Leonardo da Vinci.
“It’s wrong,” Desmond announced suddenly, rather too loudly for Shaun’s liking. It was loud enough that several passers-by (other visitors to the exhibit) stared at them. After a moment, they pressed the little button on their headsets to restart the audio tour. Those that didn’t moved on when Shaun glared venomously at them. They shouldn’t stare at Desmond. Only he could stare at Desmond. In fact, he was staring at Desmond right now. Despite a large “Do Not Touch” sign about a foot to their right, Desmond was gently running his hand down the model he had declared incorrect. The model in question was a large, full-scale model of a flying machine designed by the one and only Leonardo da Vinci. Or, to be significantly more accurate, what the historians thought was a full-scale model of a flying machine designed by the one and only Leonardo da Vinci. The actual machine had several differences that, despite never having seen the original aside from on a computer screen, Shaun could pick out instantly. The most obvious difference was that this thing would never get off the ground. Ezio’s mission to defend the Doge would have ended significantly earlier if he’d tried to get there using this thing.
“This part here,” Desmond continued, pointing to a part of the wing, “this should be lower. That part should be moved over there, and a little longer. That...” He trailed off, furrowing his brow in confusion. “I have no idea what the fuck that’s supposed to be.”
Behind them, a mother of two young girls gasped at Desmond’s foul language. Covering her daughter’s ears, she rushed away, muttering loudly about the rudeness of strangers. Shaun ignored her, stepping forward to place a comforting hand on Desmond’s shoulder.
“I know, mate,” he murmured quietly, keeping his voice low enough that only Desmond could hear. His heart (contrary to popular belief, he did have one) twisted in sympathy. They shouldn’t have come here. It had been a bad idea from the start. They’d thought it would help Desmond sort through the emotionally chaotic input from Ezio. Obviously, they’d been wrong. “They’re idiots,” he continued softly, “but-“
“He was so proud of it,” Desmond said dejectedly. If Shaun didn’t know better, he’d think he was being ignored. A ridiculous concept, really. Desmond wouldn’t dare ignore him. “You didn’t see the look on his face when it worked. And then they have to go and turn it into this... this... this pezzo di merda!” Furious, Desmond lashed out, kicking the false flying machine vehemently. A security guard appeared out of nowhere and started to approach them even as the machine wobbled dangerously. Shaun swore. Loudly.
“Right,” he said sharply, his tone authoritative. So much for not drawing attention to themselves. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” he suggested in a falsely cheery tone. Desmond seemed to hesitate for a moment, but a particularly violent tug from Shaun got him moving. The security guard accelerated, obviously noticing his prey was escaping. Shaun broke into a jog, relieved when Desmond followed in suit. It seemed the idiot had finally realised he’d caused a fuss. Of course, he only noticed afterwards. Just like Ezio. Honestly, sometimes Shaun wondered why he bothered. The man was an idiot. The pair reached the exit just as a particularly loud crash rang out. The model, unstable from Desmond’s vicious assault, had finally collapsed. Desmond grinned maniacally, evidently pleased with himself. Shaun rolled his eyes. Definitely an idiot - just like his ancestors, come to think of it.
“Yes, yes, well done, but we’re supposed to be escaping. Remember?”
A week later, things seemed to have returned to normal, or at least as normal as things got with Shaun and Desmond. What Shaun had taken to calling “the da Vinci Incident” had not been forgotten, but Desmond had spent a sufficient amount of time begging for forgiveness. The exhibit had been forced to close after substantial losses due to vandalism, something which Desmond seemed to find amusing. Shaun had spent a good hour lecturing Desmond - or at least, that had been the plan. He’d sort of lost his place about halfway through, when Desmond interrupted him with “you’re cute when you’re mad”. Shaun, of course, had promptly forgotten what he was saying, too busy protesting that he was not cute in the slightest. Sulking would have been his normal response, but then Desmond had done that wonderful thing with his tongue, and he’d forgotten to complain about that, too. So a week later, the da Vinci Incident was all but forgotten. Desmond was scanning the paper for any sign of Templar activity, despite having defeated Abstergo several months ago. Shaun watched quietly, taking great pleasure from the cup of real tea he’d made - proper English Breakfast. None of that cheap nasty stuff. The perfect brew to sip while staring at Desmond. Though he’d never admit it, Shaun loved to watch Desmond. For one, it gave him a distinct advantage, knowing exactly what he was thinking from the tiniest expression. It provided the few seconds of warning that had told Shaun countless times he was about to hear something incredibly stupid. The look appeared on Desmond’s face, and Shaun barely suppressed a groan. It was too early for this. Desmond should be gagged until lunchtime. Perhaps permanently.
“The Hashashin - that’s us, right?”
“Yes, Desmond,” Shaun said as though he were explaining something to a small child. “Assassins are good, Templars are bad. Do you remember that, sweetheart?” Sweetheart showed just how annoyed he was: Shaun never used pet names. They were too childish, and as such he only used them when Desmond was being childish (this, he felt, happened far too often). Desmond scowled at the sarcastic tone. Desmond, Shaun noticed, looked very good when he scowled. He’d have to remember to antagonise the man more often.
“I mean Masyaf. There’s an exhibit on it at the local museum.”
“No.” Really, Shaun thought it was an achievement he’d managed to make such a flat response. He’d been tempted to hurl his cup of tea at Desmond’s face. Desmond had only been saved by the fact that it would be a waste of good tea.
“But-“
“Desmond, do you even know where the name ‘Hashashin’ came from?”
“No, but-“
“Hashish. As in, drugs.”
Desmond blinked like the idiot he was. “What? But that’s ridiculous. Altair-“
“I know.”
“-would never have-“
“Christ,” Shaun interrupted, but Desmond didn’t stop. Shaun rubbed his temples. At this rate, Desmond was going to give him a headache. “What’s it going to take to shut you up, Miles?” he asked rhetorically. Apparently, the answer was no, because Desmond didn’t stop talking. Very deliberately, he stood up and stalked over to his partner. Desmond continued to prattle on about his ancestors, something about how Altair wouldn’t even touch alcohol, let alone drugs. Shaun did the only thing he could do in that situation. He kissed him.
It was, after all, the only way to get Desmond to shut up.