Fanfiction: Visitors (Gratuitous Wish-Fulfilment Edition), Part Five (Assassin's Creed)

[rionaleonhart]

I am still writing this. Was there ever a time when I wasn't writing this? It seems a distant dream.

(Don't misunderstand me; I've loved every second of it. This section was particularly fun because it contains a great deal of Edward being ridiculous.)

Title: Visitors (Gratuitous Wish-Fulfilment Edition), Part Five
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Shay Cormac/Aveline de Grandpré (occasionally), various others
Wordcount: 10,000 (this part; 43,100 cumulative)
Summary: Visitors was a collection of scenes from a universe in which most of the Assassin's Creed protagonists kept meeting through involuntary time-travel. This is the same, only now they all cuddle and fall asleep on each other. Don't give me that look.
Notes: The full Visitorverse, including stories by others, can be found here on AO3.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four


“Impressive view.”

It seems that every visit brings a fresh annoyance. This one, for example, is taking place whilst Altaïr is perched precariously on top of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. If he fell from here, he would have a good few seconds to regret it before the ground took all regret from him. It is not a situation in which he needs distraction.

People appearing out of thin air is, it turns out, somewhat distracting.

“Anyway,” Edward says, “I don’t think we’ve met. Although I take it from your clothing you’re one of that lot.”

“That lot being those who have earned the right to wear these robes?” Altaïr asks.

“So I’m told,” Edward says. “Incessantly. I killed the man who wore them before; I’d say that’s earning them.”

Altaïr launches himself off the building in a leap of faith. A moment later, there’s a very loud yelp from behind him, followed by some of the most creative cursing he’s ever heard.

At street level, Altaïr leaps at once from the haystack, just in case Edward actually manages to hit it. But it’s clear there’s no danger of that. He’s plummeting towards the street, clawing at the air like he’s trying to swim through it, and-

Edward vanishes an instant before he hits the ground.

Altaïr looks for a while at the spot he would have hit. A person can’t be killed while they’re visiting, perhaps? Perhaps it’s a coincidence, perhaps the visit would have ended at that moment anyway, but it’s probably worth bearing this in mind.

He goes about his business.

Later, as he sleeps in the bureau, he’s woken by a sharp kick in the ribs.

“You tried to kill me!” Edward snaps at him.

Altaïr sits up. It seems safe to assume that this morning’s visit was a recent one on both sides. “I knew you would survive.”

“How, exactly?” Edward demands.

“You said we had never met,” Altaïr says. “But I have met you before. In your future. Which you would not have if you died today.”

Edward’s mouth works silently for a moment. He throws up his hands. “Then why make me fall? Don’t try to tell me you didn’t know I’d be dragged after you.”

“You told me you killed an Assassin and took his robes,” Altaïr says, getting to his feet. “I promised an intriguing friend of yours that I would not kill you, and I hold to my promises. I made no promise that I would not frighten you.”

“Well, you’ve certainly succeeded in that,” Edward mutters. “I’ll be having nightmares the rest of my life. All you knew for certain was that I wouldn’t die? You didn’t meet a future me who said, ‘Oh, hello, whatever-your-name-is, the man who definitely never shattered all my limbs’?”

“It was a risk I was prepared to take,” Altaïr says.

“Fine,” Edward says. “All the visitors I’ve had so far, I want you to know you’re the one I like least.”

Altaïr feels he can probably survive this revelation. He’s never particularly needed to be liked.

“So who’s this ‘intriguing friend’ I owe my life to?” Edward asks. “Another visitor?”

Altaïr shakes his head. “Another Assassin.”

Edward snorts. “The Assassins aren’t my friends. You’ve made that plain enough.”

Perhaps he hasn’t met Mary? Or perhaps he doesn’t yet know of her allegiance. Best not to speak further of her; she, at least, is someone Altaïr respects, and he will not give away her secrets.

“And who exactly are you?” Edward asks. “What is it you do, when you’re not pitching new acquaintances off rooftops?”

Edward will know his name in the future; there seems little point in withholding it now. “My name is Altaïr.”

“A pleasure,” Edward says, with an extremely sarcastic bow.

“And what I do is no concern of yours,” Altaïr says. “But I will not be interrupted or interfered with.”

“Much though I’d love to do whatever you want,” Edward says, “I actually have a better idea.”

And Altaïr is suddenly thrown out of his body.

“Let me back in!” he snaps.

Edward, in Altaïr’s body, winks at him, and then starts to - starts to strip off, there in the middle of the Assassin’s bureau.

“What are you doing?” Altaïr demands.

“Look,” Edward says, throwing Altaïr’s cloak aside and getting to work on his boots, “if I don’t make the two of us even now, I’ll have to get back at you on the next visit, and then we’ll be trapped in an endless cycle of revenge.”

Altaïr can only gape as he becomes more and more exposed. Where can this possibly be going?

“So you just let me do this,” Edward says, “and we call off this feud before it gets started, and maybe one day we’ll be able to speak as friends.” He considers Altaïr for a moment. “Maybe friendship’s too high to aim for. But we’ll see how I feel when the fact that you threw me off a building isn’t so fresh in my mind.”

Which is how Altaïr ends up watching himself standing nude in the Acre bureau, methodically shredding his own underclothes with his hidden blade.

The rafiq comes in halfway through. He leaves extremely quickly.

-
There is a strange man in her bedroom, uninvited. Before the visits began, Aveline would have had her blade to his neck without a second thought. Now... well, it seems this is just something she will have to get used to.

For a moment they stand looking at each other. The man is young, in Assassin robes with the hood down. There is a scar on his lip, in the same place as Desmond’s and Altaïr’s. It’s strange. If she didn’t already have such a scar of her own, she’d think they had all scarred themselves as a sign of their bond as visitors.

“May I help you?” she asks.

“You can see me? You are the one I am visiting?”

Aveline shrugs. “Perhaps I merely felt like asking ‘may I help you?’ to my empty room.”

A smile breaks out over the man’s face.

“I did not realise women could visit,” he says. “The others have all been men.” He bows to her. “Ezio Auditore da Firenze.”

Ah, one of the celebrities amongst them. She knew from Desmond that she was likely to meet him sooner or later. Perhaps this Ezio is too young to know the mark he will leave on the Brotherhood, though.

“Aveline de Grandpré,” she says. “I am honoured.”

“And you are also an Assassin?” Ezio asks, nodding to the symbol on her belt.

She raises her wrist to show him the blade there.

“Strange,” Ezio says, “that I should learn of the Assassins so recently, and suddenly my life seems filled with nothing else.” A smirk touches his lips. “Although I cannot complain, if all Assassins are as fine in form as you. How well do you handle a blade?”

Ah.

“Expertly,” Aveline says. “I can spill a man’s blood in an instant. I would prefer not to demonstrate here.”

Ezio takes a swift step back. “I have no wish to make myself unwelcome.”

From an enemy, Aveline welcomes flirtation, paradoxically enough; it tends to make it easier to obtain information, or to tempt her target into letting his guard down. From an ally, though, it can all too easily become an inconvenience. And if said ally is now likely to show up in her life at any moment...

Well, it’s probably best to make sure they both know exactly where they stand.

“We are strangers to each other,” Aveline says, “and this visiting business is new to both of us. I hope we can be on warm terms. But perhaps it is too early to aim at anything more intimate than that.”

“I understand,” Ezio says, bowing his head. “I would be honoured to be considered your friend.”

That was surprisingly easy. “In that case, I’m sure we will get along very well.”

And then, of course, Ezio sees fit to add, “But know that, should you ever desire a moment’s pleasure without consequences, my bedroom door is always open to you.”

He frames it as such a generous offer. It’s hard not to smile at the absurdity of it.

“You have a strange approach to friendship, Monsieur Auditore,” Aveline remarks. “Is this an offer you extend to all your new acquaintances? Are you careful to let everyone know that you are happy to conduct your friendship in a bed?”

“I do not mention it so directly to the men,” Ezio says. “It might alarm them.”

Aveline is startled into laughter. That’s not what she was expecting. “But you’d take the opportunity, all the same?”

Ezio shrugs, smiling. “If it arises, why waste it?”

In a strange way, it puts her more at ease. Ezio hopes for the same thing as her: that they can be friends and allies. It’s just that Ezio’s definition of ‘friend’ embraces the possibility of sleeping together, given the chance.

She can’t pretend it hasn’t crossed her mind, the question of whether sex as a visitor is possible.

Perhaps another time.

-
“I can’t believe I’m actually this close to Leonardo da Vinci,” Desmond whispers. A little of the excitement goes out of his face. “Well. In my head.”

“You’ve been admiring his work in the Animus?” Ezio asks, amused.

“In the Animus?” Desmond echoes. “No, this guy is really famous in my time. Like, about as famous as a person can get. Everyone knows his name.”

Ezio laughs, delighted. “I can think of no man who better deserves immortality. What is he known for?”

“The...” Desmond hesitates. “Da Vinci... Code?”

“A code?” Ezio asks. That wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. Still, Leonardo is certainly skilled with codes, and in his strange mind it’s probably exactly the legacy he’s always dreamt of.

Desmond shakes his head. “No, forget I said that. God, Shaun would literally murder me if he could hear me right now. But trust me, he’s really famous.”

“Would you like to speak to him?” Ezio asks.

“Are you kidding? What would I say to Leonardo da Vinci? ‘Congratulations on...’?”

He hesitates. Ezio has to struggle not to laugh. Leonardo is famous in the future, and yet the people of the future do not know why? It seems strangely fitting.

Desmond snaps his fingers. “The Mona Lisa! Pretty sure that was him. But he might not even have painted it yet. Do you know if he has?”

“You do not need to worry so much,” Ezio says. “Leonardo is not a difficult man to talk to.”

“Look,” Desmond says, “it’s bad enough when I feel like I’m boring people who aren’t Leonardo da Vinci.”

Ezio laughs. “You have come to us from the future. How could you possibly bore him?” And he gives up control of his body to Desmond.

Desmond looks down sharply at his body - well, Ezio’s body, now - and then up at Ezio, something like panic in his eyes. “No, seriously, I don’t think I can talk to him. Does he even know what’s going on? Do I have to pretend to be you?”

Being so close to a physical duplicate of himself is a rare pleasure, but Ezio tries to keep his focus. “He-”

“It’s done!” Leonardo exclaims, coming into the room and brandishing his translation. “This one is particularly interesting; if you assume that the first line of numbers is actually giving instructions on how to rearrange the other sets...”

Ezio smiles, watching Desmond’s expression fade from alarm to amusement as Leonardo talks incessantly about codes. Ezio could, of course, ask for the codes himself on a visit to Altaïr, but it seems wrong to do so when Leonardo takes such pleasure in solving them.

“...nothing to help you in your cause specifically, I’m afraid, but what a piece of history!” Leonardo is saying, his eyes bright. He laughs. “Although, of course, with your friends from other time periods, perhaps it’s nothing special to you.”

“You know?” Desmond asks.

Leonardo looks up from the codex page. “Hmm?”

“Uh,” Desmond says, suddenly selfconscious again.

“He knows,” Ezio says. “Tell him your name.”

Desmond shifts. “Uh, I’m not actually Ezio. My name’s Desmond. I’m a visitor. He... I guess he told you how we can take over each other’s bodies?”

Leonardo laughs again. “Ah, of course.” He drops into an elaborate bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Desmond.”

“This is excellent,” Ezio says. “I am sure you will be able to convince him of visiting.”

For a moment Desmond stands frozen, staring at Ezio.

“You said he knew!” he exclaims. “I thought you meant he believed it! How am I meant to convince someone this is real? This isn’t real! Now I’m going to look like an idiot!”

“If this truly is not real, I apologise for making you look foolish in front of a figment of your imagination,” Ezio says. “But please do make the effort to convince him. I would like to have a friend in my own time who understands.”

“No, actually, this is perfect,” Desmond says. “I can do whatever I like, and if he thinks it’s just you, great! I don’t have to be worried about looking like an idiot in front of Leonardo da Vinci, because I’ll just be making you look like an idiot. And you’ll deserve it for shoving me into this stupid situation.”

“If you think you can embarrass me, I invite you to try,” Ezio says.

Leonardo is beginning to look slightly concerned. “Ezio, are you feeling well?”

Desmond hesitates.

“I am fine, Leonardo,” he says. “Only a little tired.” He takes the codex page and the translation. “Thank you for your work on this.”

He’s changed the way he holds himself. After all the time Desmond has spent watching Ezio through the Animus, living as him, he is probably skilled at mimicking him. A strange thought. It’s never really occurred to Ezio before.

“Any time, my friend,” Leonardo says, his expression clearing. “I suppose you have work to attend to? Or can you stay for a while?”

“I can stay,” Desmond says. “Tell me more about these codes.”

Leonardo looks a little startled. “Are you sure?” And then a smile breaks over his face. “No, don’t think about that question. I would love to tell you about codes.”

They talk together until the visit ends, about all sorts of subjects Ezio’s never had the time to listen to. It’s strange to watch. Desmond seems relaxed, almost happy, or at least happier than Ezio has seen him before. But it’s because he’s slipped into Ezio’s skin, into Ezio’s mind. Ezio can’t imagine him ever being so comfortable as himself.

“Ezio?” Leonardo asks. “Is something troubling you?”

Ezio looks up at him. He knows why Leonardo is asking; the visit ended ten minutes ago, and Ezio has been much quieter than Desmond was. Today, in this workshop, it seems Desmond has been better at being Ezio than Ezio himself.

“I am worried about a friend of mine,” he says.

-
Connor and the man in the hat are both here (Connor bristling with disapproval, as he always seems to be), but Shay must be the one they’re all visiting; he’s kneeling atop someone, and it isn’t a visitor. It’s-

It’s-

It’s Adéwalé. Older, but unmistakeable. Shay is pinning Adé down between his knees, extending his blade-

“No!” Edward shouts.

Shay stiffens, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Adé.

“Sir?” he asks. There’s a tremor in his voice. “Any chance of a change of orders?”

“It’s Adéwalé, man, can’t you see?” Edward demands. He tries to launch himself into Shay’s body, to take control, but - nothing happens. There’s not even the resistance of a visitor on guard; there’s nothing. He might as well be trying to take possession of a table leg.

So he physically launches himself into Shay instead.

Shay is knocked sideways with a grunt of surprise, and Adé rolls instantly with the movement, bringing up his own blade, and no, Edward doesn’t want Shay to die here either-

“Shay!” the man in the hat calls, and he throws himself onto Adé.

He’s not visiting?

No time to think about that now.

“Hat Man, don’t kill him!” Edward exclaims. “Whatever your quarrel is, he’s a friend of mine.”

He thinks he sees hesitation there. Well, Adé’s still alive, and most of the visitors are quick at killing when they mean to, so the man in the hat must be hesitating.

Edward glances to Connor for support. Connor looks... frustrated, upset, but resigned, as if he knows the outcome of this already.

Maybe he does. Edward feels dread catch in his stomach. There’s time travel involved here; maybe Connor’s seen how this turns out.

“What is this?” Adé hisses into Hat Man’s face. “Playing with me before you strike? Kill me, if that’s what you’re here for!”

Maybe Hat Man’s the one Edward is visiting, if he’s really here with Shay. Edward tries to take him over, but of course Hat Man is on guard against it.

Another physical strike? If Adé gets free, though, both Hat Man and Shay could be killed.

Maybe they’d deserve it.

Shay’s moved to put himself between Edward and the struggle.

“Edward,” he says. “Please don’t make me choose between you and him.”

“You’re helping him murder my friend,” Edward snaps. “Looks to me like you’ve already chosen.”

His eyes dart to Hat Man, who’s...

He’s retracted his blade, and Edward hardly dares to breathe.

Hat Man, keeping Adé’s arms pinned down with his knees, reaches down to unstrap the blade at Adé’s wrist (and when did he get that?). He works it free and starts on the other one.

“You came here to disarm me?” Adé asks, incredulous.

“That wasn’t the intention, no,” Hat Man says. He holds the blades out to Shay (who takes them, looking relieved), and begins to pat Adé down for other weapons. “But our mutual friend would be very unhappy if I killed you, and I don’t favour our chances of retreat if I leave you with so much as a letter opener.”

There’s no mirth in Adé’s laugh. “Don’t try to pretend you loved him.”

“Believe what you will,” Hat Man tells him, coldly. “But there must be some reason you’re living to see another sunrise. Shay? Surely you can spare a few belts; you wear more than enough of the things.”

They leave Adé trussed up and cursing, but alive. Edward has a lot of very angry questions to ask, but Connor gets there first.

“You spared him,” Connor says. He’s staring at Hat Man. “I pleaded with you countless times to spare our informants, and not once did you show mercy.”

“That’s yet in my future, Connor,” Hat Man says, “but I don’t doubt it. Sparing informants is an excellent way to tip off one’s target.”

“Then why did you spare Adéwalé?”

Hat Man glances briefly at him. “Would you rather I’d killed him?”

“Of course not,” Connor says.

“Then why are we having this discussion?”

“Well, if you won’t answer him, maybe you’ll give me something,” Edward says. He’s shaking; he doesn’t know whether it’s anger or relief. Adé’s alive, which is something, but it’s hard to get past two men you counted as friends - well, one man you counted as a friend and one you counted as an infuriating mystery - attempting to perforate another friend’s throat. “What was any of that? Why were you fighting Adé? Why d’you have Shay licking your boots?”

“Wouldn’t say that,” Shay mutters.

“You asked me to spare your friend,” Hat Man says, striding ahead without a glance at Edward. “I did. He may well come after me and Shay; he’s hardly going to forget us.” Now he looks back and meets Edward’s eyes. “I’ve endangered my life for you. I don’t owe you any answers.”

Edward’s still cursing when he finds himself back at the wheel of the Jackdaw, clutching it so hard his knuckles are white. Adé is looking into his face, frowning.

“Captain?”

Edward drops the wheel and throws himself on Adé, in a hug so violent they’re both knocked to the deck.

He doesn’t let go, despite Adé’s protests, for at least five minutes. The Jackdaw nearly runs aground.

-
“Another merchant vessel?” Connor asks, watching the burning wreck they’re leaving behind.

“Oh, it’s you,” Edward says, glancing at him. “I’ve seen you sinking ships from your Aquila, same as me. Don’t act so high and mighty just because your reasons are different.”

Connor frowns. Having different reasons does seem a relevant consideration. “They are the aggressors.”

“Well, my targets are aggressively keeping all the cargo to themselves. I can’t just sit back and let it happen, can I?”

“How many did you kill for this cargo?”

“As many as I needed to,” Edward says. “You’re no fun at all, do you know that? At least Ezio can laugh sometimes.”

“At the deaths of men guilty of nothing?” Connor asks.

“Maybe not that,” Edward admits. “But you’re about to be glad I plundered all this rum, because now I’m sharing it with you.” He takes a swig from the bottle he’s holding. Holds it out to Connor.

Connor shakes his head.

“No fun at all,” Edward mutters again, before draining the bottle.

“Kenway?”

Kenway? Connor never took that name. And who would be addressing him by it here? It’s not the voice of a visitor.

He looks around. They’ve been joined by another sailor, a young man in a red bandana.

Edward raises his bottle to the stranger. “Good hunting. Should’ve got involved. Actually, I think you should join the crew on a more permanent basis.”

“Life under a drunken fool? Don’t know how I’ll refuse.”

“We’re all drunken fools here,” Edward says. “If you didn’t secretly enjoy it, you’d be a banker.” He looks back at Connor. “This is James Kidd, and you’re not allowed to kiss him.”

“Sound advice for yourself,” Kidd says. “Or are you talking to one of your visitors?”

Edward nods. “New one for you, actually. He just needs to hear the rules. Connor, promise me, all right? No kissing.”

Kidd shrugs. “Not a rule, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I have no intention of kissing anyone,” Connor says, slightly bewildered.

“Good,” Edward says. “And you’ll hold to that promise, won’t you? Even if circumstances prove to be... not as you first thought?”

“Careful, Kenway,” Kidd says.

The name sends something sharp through Connor every time he hears it. “He calls you Kenway.”

“Because it’s my name,” Edward says. “D’you want to speak to him?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Suddenly, Connor is in Edward’s body. The empty rum bottle slips through his startled fingers and falls to the deck, but the glass is too thick to break.

“How much did you drink?” Connor asks, a little alarmed. The ship and the world both seem to be pitching independently, out of rhythm with each other.

“I’m sober!” Edward protests. “Or close enough, anyway.”

If Edward thinks this is sobriety, he’s never been sober in his life. Which is perhaps not that surprising, as revelations go.

“So you’re Connor, are you?” Kidd asks.

“Yes,” Connor says. “I was not expecting to meet someone new.”

“Well, it’s happening, so you’ll have to manage,” Kidd says. He holds out a hand. Connor takes it after a moment’s hesitation, and Kidd tilts his wrist slightly as they shake hands, exposing the blade strapped there.

It’s a deliberate movement, Connor thinks. A threat? A sign?

“Edward stole his blades,” he says, wary.

“Some of us earned them,” Kidd says. “I hear you’re a brother.”

Connor glances over at Edward, careful to keep Kidd in his peripheral vision.

“Yes, Kidd’s one of you,” Edward says. “Just as tedious about it, too. You can drink together and talk about how morally superior you are.”

Connor nods. “Yes, I am a brother.”

“Not a conversationalist, though,” Kidd says. “That’s fine; I’ve tongue enough for the two of us.”

Edward, for no reason Connor can see, buries his face in his hands. “In the name of God, Kidd.”

It’s true; Connor is no conversationalist, and he’s never been skilled at making friends. He finds it easiest to connect with people if he can help them in some way, or if they share in some sort of danger together. In a situation like this, what is he to say?

“So what can you tell me about your time?” Kidd asks. “Anything interesting?”

Should he tell Kidd that the Colonial Brotherhood will be almost wiped out in the next few decades? If there’s nothing Kidd can do to affect it, why give him the pain of that knowledge?

“Not getting anywhere with that one? All right.” Kidd leans back against the ship’s rail. “So, what was the moment you realised exactly how unfortunate you were to be stuck in a miraculous time-travelling bond with Edward Kenway, of all people?”

Connor pauses.

“Don’t answer that,” Edward says.

It’s not a story Connor wants widely known, but perhaps the rum in Edward’s system overcomes his reserve.

“It is difficult to pin it down to a single incident,” he says. “But my target once escaped because he possessed my body and went looking for alcohol.”

“You can’t hold that one against me; it was urgent!”

“You’re not joking, are you?” Kidd asks, staring at Connor. “Jesus. If I had this visiting thing with him, I’d have killed him years ago.”

“It is occasionally tempting,” Connor admits.

Kidd grins. “See, we’re going to get along fine, you and me.”

“I’m not that bad,” Edward mutters.

-
Edward doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t, and to be honest he doesn’t much care. Kidd’s dead, everyone’s dead, and right now his best option is to keep drinking until he wakes up a decade ago, all his decisions undone.

It takes him a good while to register there’s someone sitting next to him. Aveline, in one of her fine dresses, staring into space.

He knocks his tankard against her arm to get her attention. When she looks at him, her eyes are red. Something wrong. Well, there’s something wrong for everyone, isn’t there?

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I... my father, he died. I wasn’t there.”

“Kidd for me,” he mumbles.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Aveline says, after a moment. “I liked Kidd.”

Edward nods, and then Aveline’s situation manages to filter through. “Sorry for your dad.” He drains his tankard in a toast to... something, probably. Raises his hand for another.

For a time they don’t speak. Aveline can leave if she wants to, Edward thinks, but she’s still here, even though he can’t be the greatest company. Still, he can understand if she wants a moment away from her life. Right now, he’d happily tear his own life up and burn it.

“How long did you know Kidd?” Aveline asks, eventually.

Edward shakes his head. He can’t manage numbers at the moment, and thinking about the past hurts.

“She was... she was the last of us, near enough,” he says. “There’s nobody left.”

“You were important to her, I think,” Aveline says, touching his arm gently.

He looks down, at her hand on his arm, and then he looks up to her face, and he knows what’s about to happen. An instant later, he sees her realise it too.

He waits for a moment, to see if she’ll move away. When she doesn’t, he shifts closer and runs a hand through her hair, disturbing the elaborate curls. They must have taken her ages. Kidd would never have taken the trouble.

Her eyes flutter closed when he kisses her.

It feels good, or something close to it. She’s not Kidd, but there’s something of Kidd in her, even dressed like a lady, and maybe what he needs for now is a mouth to find harbour in, a pair of warm thighs. He needs to - to lose himself in feeling, just for a time.

He slides his hand down her side. She covers it with her own and guides it inward, to the buttons down the front of her dress. Sighs against his mouth.

Some part of his mind’s tugging at him, like there’s something he should be remembering. That they’re in a tavern, that there are people around? But he’s never cared that much about what others think of him, and if this is what they both need...

He’s suddenly pulled away from her, so sharply that his stool overbalances. In truth, she was probably the only thing keeping him vaguely upright. His impact with the floor registers only vaguely in the flare-up of indignation, and then the memories of Kidd hit again, as if they were waiting to ambush him the moment he lost the shelter of Aveline.

“Aveline.” It’s the man in the hat, his voice sharp with anger. “What are you doing?”

“What business is it of yours?” Aveline demands.

Edward can taste salt on his lips. Tears, he thinks, but there’s no telling whether they’re his own or Aveline’s.

Hat Man goes quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “What year is it for you?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Well, if we’re not yet on speaking terms, I suppose you’re most likely innocent,” Hat Man says. “I apologise.” He rounds on Edward. “And what about you? Can you think of any reason I might be unhappy with this? Or a mutual friend, perhaps?”

There’s a pause.

“Shit,” Edward mutters.

Hat Man sighs. “As I feared. Perhaps it was foolish of me, but I expected better of you.”

He hadn’t forgotten about Shay, exactly - hard to forget two of your friends are a couple when you’ve caught them in the act multiple times - but somehow Shay hadn’t seemed a relevant consideration. In Edward’s head, Shay wasn’t exactly going to begrudge a friend a night of consolation with Aveline. It occurs to him now that this might not have been entirely accurate.

“Aveline, leave us,” Hat Man says. “Edward and I need to have a discussion about loyalty.”

“You can’t throw her out on her own!” Edward objects. “Her father’s just passed; she needs comfort!”

“Do not tell this man anything about me,” Aveline says sharply.

Just for a moment, Hat Man looks stricken. Or... affected somehow, anyway. His intrusion has brought Edward a little more solidly back to the world, but he’s still not nearly sober enough to read expressions with confidence.

“Perhaps she does,” Hat Man says. “But not like this, and not from you.”

“Maybe not like this,” Edward admits, reluctantly.

“I still don’t see how this matters to you,” Aveline mutters, glowering at Hat Man. Edward finds himself wondering what quarrel they have.

“Aveline,” Hat Man says, “it may be some time before you can believe in my sincerity, but I am truly sorry about your father.”

Aveline’s jaw tightens. She disappears.

Hat Man sighs, and then takes the stool she was on. Edward considers trying to get back onto his own stool, but he’ll have to set it upright again first. It seems an insurmountable task. And the floor’s comfortable enough.

“Edward,” Hat Man says, “I know you’re close with Shay. What possessed you?”

The question brings it all rushing back, everything he’d managed to push out of his mind for a scant few moments. He looks away, his eyes stinging. “Mary.”

“Mary?”

“She died,” Edward says, his voice thick in his throat. “Almost in my arms. I was meant to save her.”

There’s a pause. He’s expecting more of a lecture, and in honesty he probably deserves it, but instead Hat Man eases himself off the stool. Crouches beside Edward. Rests a hand on his back.

It’s an awkward gesture of comfort, but it’s a gesture nonetheless. Edward closes his eyes and tries to forget everything else, to narrow his focus down to that one point of warmth.

-
It took Altaïr a long time to be comfortable sleeping in the presence of visitors. He will not sleep when Templars are present, of course, but by this point he’s at ease in the company of his fellow Assassins: Ezio, Aveline, Connor. And Desmond, which is fortunate, considering how often he finds Desmond sleeping beside him at Masyaf.

Tonight he’s found himself in Desmond’s time, in the darkened temple. Desmond is asleep, curled into himself, wrapped in the sort of one-person fastened blanket Altaïr can’t remember the name of.

There’s rarely anywhere comfortable to rest here, and it’s colder than he prefers, but Altaïr has long been able to sleep in harsh conditions. He settles on the bare floor a short distance from Desmond, takes off his cloak and tucks it around himself, closes his eyes.

Altaïr sleeps, but he sleeps lightly, and he’s awake the instant he registers someone moving around nearby. He opens his eyes a crack. He’s still in Desmond’s time. A visitor? Or someone from Abstergo, here to take Desmond?

It’s difficult to make out the figure silhouetted against the occasional patches of cold blue light, but there’s something familiar about it. And then Altaïr catches that scent that always seems to accompany Edward, salt and some sort of alcohol, and he can relax a little.

Edward is not an Assassin (or Altaïr has yet to meet him as an Assassin, at least; an older Ezio has told Altaïr that Edward will one day join their order, although Altaïr doubts whether he is suited to it), and in the early months Altaïr refused to let his guard down around him. But Edward rescued Altaïr from drowning. It seems unlikely that he would do Altaïr harm now.

Assuming this isn’t an Edward from too soon after that Cathedral of the Holy Cross incident. But it’s probably safe to go back to sleep.

He stays aware for the moment, just in case. Edward walks around behind Altaïr, out of his sight, and Altaïr sharpens his senses. He’s tempted to roll onto his other side, to keep Edward in his visual range, but he can’t let Edward know he’s awake; that way lies inevitable conversation, and Altaïr is not particularly in the mood for conversing.

From the sound of things, Edward is lying down as well. Perhaps a little closer than Altaïr would like, but an Edward who wants to sleep is still preferable to one who wants to talk or fight. Altaïr can wait until Edward has fallen asleep, and then he can shift away.

Edward shuffles up to fit himself against Altaïr’s back. Rests an arm over his waist.

What?

Altaïr tries not to tense up too obviously. He has to remain asleep in Edward’s eyes. He just has to endure this until Edward starts snoring, and then...

No. He isn’t comfortable with this. It’s doing something to counteract the cold, certainly, but... no.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, trying not to wake Desmond.

“You’re awake?” Edward asks brightly, making no apparent effort to keep his voice down.

He doesn’t seem to have any intention of withdrawing his arm, either, so Altaïr takes it upon himself to remove it. From his waist, rather than from Edward’s shoulder, although the latter is tempting. He stands and turns to glare.

Edward swears very loudly. Desmond wakes up with a yell.

“What in God’s name, man, you can’t just go turning into Altaïr like that!” Edward protests, sitting up. “That’s terrifying!”

“What’s wrong?” Desmond asks, frantic, confused. “Edward?”

“Desmond?” Rebecca’s voice comes through the temple, echoey and distant. Desmond’s companions used to sleep near him, Altaïr knows; perhaps they moved away after one too many visitor-related interruptions. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” Desmond calls back, although he sounds a little uncertain. He drops his voice. “Edward? ...Altaïr?”

“Edward,” Altaïr says. “What were you doing?”

Edward stares at him. “Trying to get some sleep! What are you doing here?”

“You know as well as I do that I had no control over coming here. I was also trying to sleep. And then you decided to intrude.”

“I wasn’t intruding,” Edward says indignantly. “I’m not even tired; it’s the middle of the day for me! I could’ve woken you so I’d have someone to talk to, but instead I was considerate enough to take a nap-”

“Against me,” Altaïr says. “Holding me.”

“I thought you were Desmond! We’re in his time, it’s dark, you two look very alike - has anyone ever told you that? I see someone in Desmond’s time, looking like Desmond; I don’t think I can be blamed for making assumptions.”

It’s said as if it’s an explanation. Edward seems so confident that this explains everything, in fact, that it takes Altaïr a moment’s thought to realise it offers no answers at all.

“You thought I was Desmond?” It proves no more enlightening when Altaïr says it himself.

“Uh, we don’t have to go into this,” Desmond says.

“I don’t see what you’re making such a fuss about,” Edward says. “It’s a friendly embrace. It’s not as if I tried to make love to you.”

Altaïr takes a moment to fight off that image.

“Thinking I was Desmond?” he asks, against his better judgement.

Edward laughs. “No. Well, there was that one occasion-”

“Edward,” Desmond says, desperately. “Please stop talking.”

And Edward does. Edward actually listens to someone and follows instructions. It feels like a momentous event.

“Can we all just... go back to sleep?” Desmond asks. He hesitates for a moment before adding, “Separately?”

“Sleeping apart?” Edward asks. “Not talking and sleeping apart? What a waste of a visit.”

“It’s too awkward,” Desmond mutters, with a glance at Altaïr.

“Fine,” Edward grumbles, lying back down. Altaïr moves to the other side of Desmond before settling down himself. It seems best not to ask any further questions.

When Altaïr next wakes, he sees that Edward and Desmond have shifted close together in their sleep. He watches for a moment. He’s used to seeing Desmond restless in his sleep, fidgeting, but now he’s calm and still, tucked up against Edward’s chest.

The temple seems colder than ever. Altaïr thinks about Edward, warm against his back.

He rolls over, so he can’t see them, and closes his eyes.

-
By the time Edward turns away from the bar with his drink replenished, Ezio and Aveline have joined Desmond, Haytham and Shay at the table. He frowns.

“Getting rather crowded in here,” Edward remarks, pushing Ezio off his stool to reclaim it. “I’m not about to die, am I?”

Haytham shakes his head as Ezio, grumbling, takes another seat. Good. If there’s any truth to that strange thing Jenny said at Haytham’s birth, Edward should have a few years yet, but it’s probably worth checking.

Aveline raises a hand to greet him. Her wedding ring glints on it, which is a relief, especially as this is a post-marriage Shay as well; it means Edward doesn’t have to worry about minding his tongue. It’s ridiculous that everyone expects him to keep their secrets from their own past selves.

“Ezio was just telling us a curious story about the Rosa in Fiore,” Aveline says, a touch of amusement in her voice.

“The one where Connor tried to get him banned?” Edward asks. “I’ve heard it.”

“The one involving you,” Haytham says, looking as if he’d prefer to be anywhere else. This doesn’t actually narrow things down a great deal; Edward can personally recall at least four incidents at the Rosa in Fiore that might make Haytham uncomfortable. “The one involving you rather too heavily. Having dropped in on the aftermath, I don’t see why I should be subjected to this again.”

Ah. That story.

“And you know how we ended up in bed in the first place?” Ezio asks, with the sly smile of a man reaching his favourite part of the anecdote. “Edward was hoping for guidance on courting a young man who had caught his eye. A young man named Kidd. You might also know him as Mary.”

Shay shakes his head, looking torn between horror and laughter. “This can’t be true.”

“It is, sorry to say,” Edward says. “The visit had barely ended when I learnt my lad had been a lass all along. Wasted my time, didn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ezio objects.

Edward smirks. In truth, he wouldn’t consider it a waste either, but he’s hardly going to say that in front of Ezio. He gestures towards Haytham and Desmond. “And of course these two showed up to disapprove.”

Aveline quickly covers her smile with her hand. “Ah, inevitably. Poor Desmond.”

“And do you know what Edward said?” Haytham asks. “Don’t act like you’ve never kissed a fellow. As if it were a universal experience. Even though it was an experience he himself had only had that day.”

“I was right, though, wasn’t I?” Edward asks. “Well, not about you, but Desmond - oh!” He turns to Desmond. “Oh! I always wondered who that fellow was you kissed, the one you whispered to Haytham about! It was me, wasn’t it? From later on.”

“Thanks, Edward,” Desmond mumbles.

“You kissed Desmond?” Aveline asks, incredulous. “And he was willing?”

“Yes, he was willing! What do you take me for?”

“It’s not like I was enthusiastic,” Desmond says, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“Don’t say that!” Edward protests. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing! I just...” Desmond shakes his head. “It just kind of... happened. Once.”

“Ezio and Desmond?” Shay asks. He whistles. “I’m feeling mercifully left out. Any more of us, Edward? Altaïr, maybe?”

Aveline gives a small cough. “Actually...”

“What?” Shay asks, looking sharply between Aveline and Edward. “No. Tell me you didn’t.”

Aveline laughs. “It was before us, Shay! And just a kiss,” she adds, evidently catching Shay’s glance at Ezio. “It seems I had to dabble in the wrong visitors before I found the one for me.”

Edward feels he’s being very unfairly put down by this discussion. At least Ezio doesn’t seem to regret their evening together, even if it technically was the result of a mistake. “And I’m ‘wrong’, am I?”

“Frequently,” Haytham murmurs. He’s shifted back from the table slightly.

Desmond looks like he’s struggling not to say something. It’s a struggle he loses, in the end. “So how did it happen?”

“Look, we don’t need to hear about this,” Shay mutters.

Aveline’s smile fades a little. “It’s not an especially amusing story, I’m afraid. We were both upset. I had just lost my father. And Edward...” She hesitates.

“I’d lost Kidd,” Edward says, quietly. He can see she’s trying to think of a way not to say it directly, to spare his feelings, but it’s what he’ll hear anyway. “Or Kidd had died, at any rate. I don’t know if I ever really had her to lose.”

“It’s for the best that Haytham prevented us from going any further,” Aveline says. “We weren’t thinking clearly.”

“Hold on,” Shay says, slowly. “Me and Aveline, we’ve visited as a couple when you were with Kidd.” He’s staring at Edward. “You knew about us.”

Oh, look, it seems today’s the day he dies after all.

Aveline looks puzzled for an instant, and then her breath catches. “I never really thought about it before. Yes, he must have known.”

Haytham buries his face in his hands. Desmond vanishes, his visiting time apparently up. Edward sort of wishes he could do the same.

“You kissed my wife?” Shay asks, quietly.

Edward holds up his hands. “Can we take the fact that she wasn’t your wife at the time into consideration?”

“You could say she isn’t my wife now,” Shay points out. “This is your time; she hasn’t been born yet. So would you kiss her here, in front of me?”

“Don’t fight,” Aveline says sharply, and Shay, who’s half-risen from his stool, sits back down. Edward considers making a joke about who wears the breeches in their marriage. There’s a chance it might not go down well.

“So, to clarify, Aveline is out of bounds even if she visits from before your relationship?” Ezio asks, frowning slightly.

“To anyone who knows about me and her, yes!” Shay snaps. “You shouldn’t need to clarify this!”

“It strikes me as a unique situation,” Ezio says. “What if we learn that your relationship does not last? If knowing that you will one day be together means we should act as if you are always together, does knowing that you will one day be apart mean we should act as if you are always apart?”

Shay opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns.

“What if I meet my younger self and find him with Aveline?” Ezio asks. “He doesn’t know about your relationship, and neither does she. Do I have a responsibility to stop them?”

“This never happened, did it?” Shay asks, with a slightly desperate glance at Aveline. She waves away the question, beginning to shake with laughter.

Ezio shrugs. “I am merely curious.”

“Please stop asking about the circumstances in which you can have sex with my wife,” Shay says. “And - everyone present, if you meet an early Aveline and you think you have a chance with her, don’t. Let’s forget about the technicalities of cuckoldry and just call it a favour.”

Aveline collapses onto the table and laughs herself breathless.

“So, er,” Edward says. He almost falters at the glare Shay directs at him. “I’ll happily agree to this favour for a friend. But, as the rules weren’t laid out clearly before, surely we can forget about certain drunken indiscretions?”

“Edward,” Haytham says, sharply, “you knew very well at the time to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Oh, come on,” Edward says. “Where’s your family loyalty?”

Shay folds his arms. “Oh, you’d like to talk about loyalty, Edward?”

“You didn’t see him, Shay,” Aveline says. She’s mostly managed to compose herself; she’s sitting up again, brushing back the strands of hair that have escaped her braids. “He was so upset. You know how close he was with Kidd. And it was just a kiss. And I was unattached at the time.”

“Not in his mind,” Shay mutters. But some of the tension’s going out of him.

Aveline sends Edward a grin. “You could kiss Shay to even things. Just once, mind you.”

Shay stares at her. “No, he can’t! How does that make any sense?”

“Will you forgive me, then, if I don’t kiss you?” Edward asks, innocently.

“Oh, aye,” Shay says. “Threats. That seems exactly the way to patch up our friendship.” He considers Edward for a moment. “I’ll probably forgive you eventually. But it’ll take-”

He disappears as he’s speaking.

Well, with any luck Edward’s younger self will already have gone through Shay’s next few visits, and he won’t have to worry about any future hostility. Edward’s already met a Shay older than this one, so he knows they’ll end up on cordial terms again.

Aveline looks for a moment at Shay’s empty seat, then turns to Edward.

“You probably shouldn’t have kissed me,” she says, reproachfully.

“I know,” Edward says. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. But thanks for not saying that in front of Shay.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want to make things worse between you. And I probably shouldn’t have kissed you, either, so I suppose it’s fair. You actually were married, and I knew it.”

Edward sighs. “She’d passed by then, though I hadn’t heard.”

Aveline leans across the table and squeezes his hand, briefly. Very briefly. Edward stares at the tabletop for a moment, thinking of Caroline and Kidd, and then he looks up at her.

“So does your offer still stand?” he asks. “I get one kiss with your husband?”

Aveline rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You’ll have to persuade him first.”

“You’re also married, Edward,” Haytham reminds him, firmly. “To my mother.”

Edward tries to keep any sign of abashment off his face. “I just like to know what my options are.”

-
“Father,” Connor says, wary. It always feels strange to see him on the homestead, wrong somehow. A shadow of the life he never had, haunting the life he’s building for himself now.

Haytham nods briefly. “Connor.”

He’s frowning, something evidently on his mind. Just once, Connor wishes his father would look pleased to see him.

“Have you seen Edward recently?” Haytham asks, abruptly.

Connor frowns. “Three days ago.”

“Did anything strange happen?”

Edward was asleep on a rooftop, cuddling a dead pigeon. “No.”

“And on any visits before that? Was he behaving strangely?”

“He is Edward,” Connor says.

Haytham sighs. “He is, isn’t he?”

Connor doesn’t understand why Haytham wants to know about Edward, but the questions have reminded him of one he has himself.

“Do you and Edward know each other?” Connor asks.

“Of course we know each other, Connor; we’re visitors.”

“His name is Kenway. Or that is what his friend Kidd calls him.”

Haytham looks at him for a moment. “A coincidence, as far as I can tell,” he says. “There are plenty of Kenways.”

Connor nods. “So why are you worried about his behaviour?”

Haytham’s lips twitch in distaste. “On my last visit, I caught him in bed with Ezio.”

“You are sure?” Connor asks, taken aback.

“Fairly sure,” Haytham says. “There is, of course, always the possibility it was Altaïr and Desmond in elaborate wigs.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So you understand the situation, and because I don’t believe they would object to their encounter being made known,” Haytham says. “Edward has also kissed at least two others of our number, but for their sake I won’t specify names. I hope he doesn’t intend to work his way through the entire array of visitors, but I wished to make absolutely certain that he hadn’t approached you... inappropriately.”

“You are worried about me?” Connor asks.

“The others can make their own poor decisions,” Haytham says. “You are my son.”

Connor hesitates, uncomfortable. The images now in his mind are ones he could happily have done without. “He is very free with physical contact. But no more with me than with anyone else, I think.”

“That is normal,” Haytham says. “Tedious, but normal. But he hasn’t tried anything beyond the bounds of friendship?”

Connor shakes his head.

Haytham sighs in relief. “Good. I don’t think I’d ever have slept again otherwise. If he ever does try anything, stop him immediately.”

For once, his father has given him an instruction he has absolutely no desire to disobey. “I do not need you to tell me that. You fear I might...” He hesitates. “You fear I might lie with a man?”

“I fear Edward will lie with anything that breathes,” Haytham says. “He’d likely take it as a challenge if I tried to warn him away from you, which is why I’m approaching you instead. Take a man into your bed if you must, so long as it isn’t that man. And you’ll need offspring at some point, of course, so Desmond can one day come to be,” he adds, as an afterthought. “Have you made any progress in that direction?”

Connor flushes. “I have had other concerns.”

It’s never really struck him before: what if he does have children one day? Well, it’s certain that he will, if Desmond is to be believed. Haytham will be their grandfather. Should he invite Haytham to see them?

Perhaps not. His relationship with his father is a strange thing, complicated and painful, and perhaps his own children would be better off without it.

But he can’t prevent the visits.

“Ah, yes,” Haytham says. “Other concerns. Your ‘duties as an Assassin’.”

“My people,” Connor says. “My revenge.”

“Of course. Vengeance will bring you nothing, you know.”

“It will bring me peace,” Connor says. “You loved my mother as well. Or you claimed to.”

Haytham falls silent.

The bizarre opening to the visit is still haunting Connor. He considers asking why his father is so troubled by the thought of him with Edward specifically. But this has been an extremely unfortunate conversation, and Connor is reluctant to reopen it.

The two of them stand in silence, looking over the homestead, until Haytham disappears.

---

It’s mostly a low-level thing, just kind of in the background when he’s around Ezio, and for a long time Desmond’s able to convince himself it’s not there. Just normal intrusive thoughts. Sometimes you’re going to picture people naked (not that he needs to do much picturing, the number of times he’s dropped in on Ezio in a compromising position), or you’ll be up close and you’ll find yourself wondering how they’d react if you kissed them. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything; it’s just your mind trying to make your life awkward.

It does happen a lot with Ezio specifically. But Ezio has way less regard for personal space than most of the others, so it makes sense.

So he manages to keep it buried until that one weird, lonely moment when he kisses Edward. And then he realises he has a problem. Because there’s a part of him that’s going, Look, it only felt good because you were lonely and it was someone paying attention to you. And that’s true; he’s not particularly attracted to Edward specifically. It was just... good to be that close to someone, anyone, for once. So he’s still straight, right? He doesn’t have to readjust his image of himself.

But deep down, when he was kissing Edward, he thinks he might have been picturing Ezio. And somehow none of that seems like an especially straight thing to do.

He can explain it away when he lies awake thinking of Ziio; that’s the Bleeding Effect, Haytham’s view of her as a lover and Connor’s view of her as a mother uncomfortably tangled up with each other. But Ezio? There’s no easy explanation.

So the feelings have to be Desmond’s own, and he doesn’t really know how to deal with that.

“Desmond?”

By this point, it’s kind of hard to be startled by sudden voices. It’s Aveline, crouching beside his sleeping bag.

“Hey,” Desmond says.

“Are you going to sleep? I can leave.”

Desmond shakes his head. “Can’t sleep.” He sits up. “Everything okay with you?”

“I’m fine. What is keeping you awake?”

For an instant, it seems like a great idea to tell Aveline everything. She and Shay have worked out a romantic relationship as visitors, after all. But, then again, she and Shay live in the same time. And Desmond doesn’t know if he really wants a relationship with Ezio; he just... kind of wants a night or two with him.

Oh, yeah, a couple of nights with his hallucination of his long-dead ancestor. Because that makes sense. God, what’s wrong with him?

“Just... I don’t know,” he says. And then, because he’s an idiot, he somehow finds himself adding, “Thinking about Ezio.”

Aveline laughs. “Trying to make sense of him? I don’t think it can be done.”

“Trying to make sense of something, anyway,” Desmond mutters.

“He is a strange man,” Aveline says. “I wasn’t sure whether we would be friends, the first time we met. He was very... forward.”

No surprise there. It’s hard to assess Aveline’s age in the dim light, but he’s pretty sure she’s post-Shay. “I’ve heard from certain Templars you can be pretty forward yourself.”

Aveline sits back on her heels and assumes an innocent expression. “If certain Templars would open their eyes on occasion, perhaps I wouldn’t need to be. But what about Ezio is troubling you?”

Desmond shakes his head. “Nothing. Forget I mentioned it.”

“I’ve lost sleep wondering about him myself,” Aveline says. “You know, the first time I took possession of his body, he asked me to kiss him? He said it was something he had always wanted to try.”

Desmond snorts out a tired laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like Ezio. Did he tell you he ended up fulfilling his dream?”

Aveline covers her mouth. “Did you...?”

“No!” He tries not to think about whether he’d have taken the chance. “No, it was literally two hims. He was visiting Haytham and Connor at the same time. They were really unhappy about it.”

And now he’s picturing it, of course. He tries so hard not to think about that day; it makes him really uncomfortable, and not in the way it should. Ezio rolling around with himself on the grass, kissing and kissing and kissing him, hungrily stripping his clothes off as if...

As if...

As if this really was something he’d always dreamt of.

Desmond presses his hands over his face. “Fuck,” he breathes.

“Desmond?” Aveline asks.

“The next time I visit Ezio,” Desmond says, “I’m going to have something to say to him.”

-
The next time he visits Ezio is only a few hours later. From his talks with the other visitors, it seems like Desmond’s visits come way more densely than anyone else’s. There was a while when he tried to figure out why, before remembering this was all just happening in his head.

“Ah, Desmond,” Ezio says, smiling. They’re in his room, in the Monteriggioni villa. Desmond is a little more aware of how alone they are than he’d like to be. “Good afternoon.”

Desmond takes a couple of quick steps back from Ezio, trying to gather his thoughts. How is he supposed to open this conversation?

“You’re really narcissistic,” he says, “and it’s messing me up.”

Ezio frowns slightly. “Half of that I cannot deny. Why does it trouble you?”

“Look,” Desmond says. “I get the feelings of the people I’ve lived as in the Animus, right? And... and...”

God, what is he doing? How is this confrontation going to bring him anything but awkwardness? It’s not like Ezio can pull these feelings out of his head.

“And?” Ezio asks.

“I thought they were my own feelings!” Desmond snaps. “I thought there was no way I’d ever been anyone who wanted to make out with you in the Animus, right? That didn’t make any sense. But I was wrong. You wanted to make out with you. Who the hell is this attracted to themselves?”

Ezio considers him for a moment.

“You are saying you are attracted to me?” he asks.

Desmond makes a frustrated noise. “I’m saying I shouldn’t be attracted to you. They’re just your feelings coming through.”

“But you still have them,” Ezio points out. He takes a step closer. “So if I were to touch you, you would not complain?”

Desmond’s mouth is suddenly dry, his heart pretty much beating out of his throat. He can suddenly see all the possible outcomes of this moment, bright lines leading away into his future. They all end up at regret sooner or later.

“It’s a bad idea,” he says. “It’s a really bad idea. Maybe someday I’ll get rid of the Bleeding Effect, and then I’ll look back and I’ll just feel weird about it.” He hesitates. “You’re saying you’d want me to take over your body first, right? So I’d look like you?”

Ezio shrugs. “It would add something, certainly, but I do not think it essential.”

Oh, okay. His great-great-times-a-million grandfather is happy to make out with Desmond as Desmond. Good to know. It’s probably technically outside the boundaries of incest law, but Desmond’s still pretty weirded out by this.

Although the offer itself isn’t nearly as unsettling as the fact that it’s really tempting.

“It’s a bad idea,” he says.

“You said that before,” Ezio says, with a smile. “But what is your answer?”

Desmond hesitates. Shakes his head.

“Very well,” Ezio says. And then, clearly just to make sure there’s no way Desmond’s ever going to stop being haunted by the option, he adds, “Come to me if you ever change your mind.”

Part Six