Fanfiction: Visitors (Gratuitous Wish-Fulfilment Edition), Part Six (Assassin's Creed)
I woke up to a comment on the Visitorverse saying 'it's been a long four days since I started binging this 'verse, and now I'm done'. I was perplexed: four days? Surely we couldn't have produced four days' worth of binging material since August? And then I checked the total wordcount. 178,000 words. How has this happened?
Title: Visitors (Gratuitous Wish-Fulfilment Edition), Part Six
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Shay Cormac/Aveline de Grandpré (occasionally), various others
Wordcount: 8,800 (this part; 52,000 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
Part Five
Altaïr is atop a tower, looking out over Jerusalem, when he feels the tingling in his head that means he has unwelcome company. He turns around, angry words on his tongue, and...
It’s a child. A small girl, gazing out through the arrow slits in the tower’s battlements.
For a moment, Altaïr can only look at her in bewildered silence. At last she turns around and sees him there.
“Where did the chicken go?” she asks.
“The chicken?” Altaïr asks, blankly.
“I was chasing a chicken,” she informs him. “It’s gone. Where are we?”
“You are in Jerusalem,” Altaïr says. He thought at first that this was a new visitor, but... he has met the other visitors at various ages. Never this young, but is it impossible that he might see them as children? “Is your name Aveline?”
She brightens. “Are you one of Papa’s friends?”
How can he possibly explain how he knows her? Easiest to ignore the question, perhaps.
“I have work to do, Aveline,” he says. “Stay quiet and wait, and you will soon return to your home.”
Aveline, looking a little crestfallen, sits down against the battlements. Altaïr prepares to dive off the tower... and then he pauses.
If he jumps, Aveline will be dragged after him. She shouldn’t come to any physical harm, but she will still have that experience of plummeting towards the ground, and...
He glances back at Aveline. She’s wrapped her arms around her knees.
It’s the most convenient option, certainly, but can he really justify causing that sort of terror to a child?
Altaïr sighs. Crouches in front of Aveline.
“I need you to get on my back,” he tells her. “And hold on tightly. I am going to climb down this tower.”
Aveline laughs. “You can’t climb down. See how high up we are?”
“I have told you the truth,” Altaïr says. “But you must stay as still as you can.”
Aveline seems sceptical, but she clambers onto his back anyway, locking her arms and legs tightly around him. Altaïr stands and closes his eyes for a moment. This is idiotic. Aveline will suffer no physical injury if he leaps. If he tries to climb down with this extra weight unbalancing him, he could very well fall and die.
He eases himself over the battlements. Aveline gasps quietly.
It’s a very slow, very cautious climb, but eventually he reaches ground level and lets Aveline off his back. His legs are shaking.
“How can you do that?” Aveline exclaims. She’s staring up the tower they just came down, awed. “Could you climb up it again? Can you show me?”
“I need to return to the bureau,” Altaïr says. There was a man at the foot of the tower he had been hoping to ask some questions, but he’s gone by now, and in any case it would feel strange to conduct his usual method of interrogation in front of a child so young, even if she’ll grow up to be an Assassin herself. He has enough information to... well, not enough to satisfy Malik, perhaps, but enough to satisfy himself.
He travels through the streets to reach the bureau; travel over the rooftops seems ill-advised. For once, he’s glad of the ladder up to the roof that houses the bureau’s entrance. He’s not sure he’s ever bothered to use it before.
Of course, there’s no ladder down into the bureau itself. Suddenly this seems an oversight. Malik must keep a ladder somewhere, surely, after the loss of his arm? He imagines the scorn Malik will heap on him if he asks for it to be set up.
Aveline is clearly delighted to climb onto his shoulders again.
Inside the bureau, Altaïr kneels briefly so she can slip to the floor. “I am going to have a private discussion with my friend,” he says to her, quietly. Friend is perhaps not the right word, but brother makes him think of Kadar. “It is not for your ears. But I will return to you soon.”
“Who are you speaking to, Altaïr?” Malik calls from the next room. “If you’ve brought an outsider into our bureau, if you have the arrogance to disregard...”
Malik comes through the doorway, and the words die on his lips.
“No,” he says, after a moment. “You are merely talking to yourself. How did I fail to guess?”
“I have your information,” Altaïr says. “I will speak to you in a moment.”
“Ah, of course. I foolishly thought your duty to our cause might take precedence over conversations with phantoms of the mind. Please, come through whenever you deem it convenient.” He turns sharply and returns to his post.
Altaïr looks a moment at the doorway, then down at Aveline, who has tucked herself behind his leg.
“You’re hiding,” he says, puzzled.
“Maman told me not to draw attention to myself,” she mumbles. “When there are men who seem cruel.”
“Malik?” Altaïr asks. “Malik will not harm you.”
It bothers him, somehow, seeing her afraid. Or... perhaps it is not the fear, but that she believes herself helpless. She is an Assassin.
And then he realises what this moment could be for her, and he kneels to look into her eyes.
“Aveline,” he says. He gestures to the bureau wall. “Do you see that symbol?”
Aveline nods wordlessly.
“If you ever feel lost, seek that symbol,” Altaïr says. “And you will gain the power to strip those men of their cruelty.”
“I will,” Aveline says, quietly, and then she throws her arms around him. “Thank you, monsieur.”
It is perhaps fortunate that they are in one of the few places where Altaïr feels safe; he tends not to respond well when someone suddenly lunges at him. After a moment he touches his hand to her back, uncertainly, and she tightens her hold.
And then she vanishes, and Altaïr is left holding only air.
It takes him some time to remember his task.
“Returning at last to the world where the rest of us live?” Malik asks, when Altaïr enters his room.
“It seems so,” Altaïr says.
“You’re smiling,” Malik informs him. “I don’t like it.”
Is he smiling? It seems strange. This visit has been as inconvenient as any of the others; more inconvenient than most, in fact, given his precarious descent from the tower.
“Reflecting fondly on the last few minutes without you,” Altaïr says. “It will be gone soon enough.”
For a moment he almost thinks he sees a smile cross Malik’s face as well, but it’s for too brief an instant to be sure. “Tell me what you have learnt of your target.”
-
“Sorry,” Desmond says. “I just didn’t think I’d be meeting you so... young.”
It’s so strange to have this quiet, serious thirteen-year-old looking at him. How can he talk to a thirteen-year-old? He hasn’t done it since he was once himself.
“Anyway, sorry, I guess you’re pretty confused,” Desmond says. “I’m... okay, this whole thing gets kind of complicated.”
“I know who you are.”
Desmond blinks. “Huh?”
“You are Desmond Miles,” Connor says. “You are a visitor. You came to me often when I was younger, like the others, but then the visits stopped. And now they are starting again.”
This is weird. He knows visits can happen out of order, but the first time he met Altaïr, Ezio, Haytham... they were the first meetings on both sides.
Well, he thinks they were, at least. Ezio wasn’t very talkative on his first visit, so it’s hard to be sure. But Altaïr, Haytham, they acted like they’d never had visits at all before Desmond first met them.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Desmond says. “This is our first visit for me, though, so, uh... nice to meet you?”
Connor inclines his head, very slightly. “My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton.”
Oh, okay, this is before he gets his new name. Desmond can’t ever remember Connor’s original name himself, but the part of him that’s Connor knows it. He tries not to call on the Bleeding Effect too often, but... well, his mind’s a wreck already. Why not let himself think of Connor as Ratonhnhaké:ton for this meeting?
“You are the one who can see our lives in the Animus,” Ratonhnhaké:ton says. “Can you tell me whether the man who lives here will agree to train me?”
It’s only when he says it that Desmond really registers where they are: on Achilles’ homestead, standing outside his mansion.
“Yeah, he’ll train you,” Desmond says.
“How will I convince him? How long will it take?”
Desmond hesitates. “Uh...”
“Boy!”
Both Desmond and Ratonhnhaké:ton turn to look at the house. Achilles is standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on his stick.
“Come here,” Achilles says.
Ratonhnhaké:ton hesitates for only a moment before approaching.
Desmond follows, curious. He was still new to Ratonhnhaké:ton by this point in the Animus - he still is, really; it’s been barely any time since then - and he wasn’t able to sync up enough to see the moment Achilles actually agreed to train him, whatever it was Ratonhnhaké:ton did to convince him he had potential. Maybe this is that moment?
“I was watching you from the window,” Achilles says. “Who were you speaking to?”
Ratonhnhaké:ton tenses. “No one.”
“Oh? You don’t see a person there? Someone invisible to others, perhaps?”
For a moment, they stand looking at each other in silence.
“It’s not spoken of much,” Achilles says. “Some consider it a blemish on our history, or simply don’t believe in it. But both Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad and Ezio Auditore, two of the most significant figures in our order, were rumoured to have periods of madness, moments when they appeared to be speaking to people no one else could see.” He considers Ratonhnhaké:ton. “This may not be what you want to hear, boy, but you may be afflicted with the madness of the great Assassins.”
“The madness,” Ratonhnhaké:ton repeats. He looks distinctly unhappy.
“I have seen it once before,” Achilles says, “and I made a very grave mistake. I will not waste this potential again.”
Well, it looks like Achilles’ real reasons for taking on a pupil are going to remain a mystery. Whatever his reason, Desmond can be pretty sure it’s not that he saw Ratonhnhaké:ton talking to Desmond.
“So you will teach me?” Ratonhnhaké:ton asks.
“I will attempt to impart what knowledge I have,” Achilles says. “Whether you will actually learn it depends on you.”
“Well done, kid,” Desmond says. Feels a little weird to congratulate someone on being welcomed into a professional murder club, but at least it was Ratonhnhaké:ton’s choice.
Ratonhnhaké:ton shows no sign of hearing him. Ignoring him, maybe, selfconscious about his ‘madness’.
It’s not like Desmond loves being treated as if he doesn’t exist. It actually makes him really uncomfortable. His sense of self is so confused and fragmented these days, sometimes the fact that other people seem to see something when they look at him is the only thing that makes him feel real. But... well, if Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t want people to think he’s losing his mind, Desmond can relate.
“It’s okay,” Desmond says, quietly. “You don’t have to talk to me when other people are around.”
Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t turn to look at him. But he nods just slightly, as if in thanks, and Desmond finds himself back in the temple.
-
Connor has barely lain down to sleep when the temperature changes, and he knows without opening his eyes that he is on a visit.
He has an unpleasant feeling that he knows exactly where he has found himself. It seems that every visit he’s been on recently has been to Ezio at the Rosa in Fiore. This temperature, this scent in the air, it’s far too familiar. He would happily spend the rest of his life without ever seeing the place again.
“Ah, Connor!”
It’s Ezio’s voice, of course. Connor reluctantly opens his eyes.
Ezio has his clothes on, for now, which is at least an improvement on most of Connor’s recent visits. Connor gets to his feet, looks around. They are at the top of the main staircase, looking down into the lobby. Perhaps Ezio has finished his business here; perhaps they are about to leave.
“I was just trying to decide on a companion for the evening,” Ezio says, shattering Connor’s hopes. “If you’re to be watching, I suppose I should choose someone who appeals to you. Do you have a preference?”
No. Connor is tired and irritated, and he is not at all in the mood to watch Ezio pleasuring anyone. He has never been in the mood, he will never be in the mood, and he has had enough of this.
Ezio looks only briefly bewildered at being forced out of his body, and then his expression, strangely enough, changes to delight.
“You have decided at last to sample the beauties of the Rosa?” he asks.
What? “No.”
But Ezio is talking over him. “You are still untouched, are you not? I am privileged to be present for such a significant moment in a young man’s life.”
Connor can feel himself flushing. It will be more noticeable on Ezio’s face than it would be on his own, he realises, and he turns away to hide it. “I have no intention of...”
“Let us see,” Ezio says, considering him. “Alessandra is kind to the inexperienced.” He laughs a little. “Although she knows, of course, that I am hardly inexperienced. Tell her you wish to play at a first night with a woman, and she will serve you well.”
“That is not why I am here!” Connor snaps. “I am here because you are here, and you have been here on every visit I have made for weeks. Enough.”
“Enough?” Ezio echoes, raising his eyebrows.
“I am putting an end to it,” Connor says. “I will have you barred from this place.”
Infuriatingly, Ezio’s only response is laughter. “I would like to see that. Let me remind you that the Rosa in Fiore is run by my family. How do you expect to succeed?”
“Your family?” Connor asks, taken aback. He knew there would probably be obstacles, but...
“My mother and sister,” Ezio says. “I know you are not cruel enough to cut my ties with what little family remains to me. Claudia will sometimes deny me access when I have annoyed her, but it will take something more than that to have me barred permanently.”
Connor hesitates.
The smile falls from Ezio’s face. “Do you plan to harm the girls?”
“No,” Connor says at once, horrified. “Of course not.”
“Then do what you will,” Ezio says. “Destroy the furnishings. Burn this place to the ground, if you can bring the inhabitants to safety first. But know that I will fund a new location the moment you are gone. We cannot leave these ladies out of work, can we?”
Connor’s aim is beginning to seem less and less achievable. Can he close this business by... recruiting the ladies of the Fiore into the Brotherhood, perhaps?
Well, it might prevent Ezio from visiting brothels, but only because his time will be taken up by sleeping with his recruits.
“I will remind you,” Ezio adds, “that, even if you succeed, you may visit me at an earlier point, when the brothel was still at my disposal. So how will this benefit you?”
Connor draws in a breath, deep and slow, and casts aside the dream of a life uninterrupted by the sudden appearance of Ezio’s buttocks.
“I am sorry,” he says, stiffly. “I did not think this through. I will do nothing to the business or the women here.”
Ezio grins. “I am glad you have had a change of heart. But you should certainly consider doing something to the women.”
“Ezio-”
“Alessandra is over there,” Ezio says, gesturing. He has dropped his voice, although no one but Connor can hear him. “See her fine legs, see her magnificent hair? Imagine burying your hands in that hair; imagine burying your being between those legs. She makes the most extraordinary sounds. You must hear them.”
“Ezio,” Connor hisses, his face burning.
“There is no need to fear. I will be with you the entire time, talking you through. Many men would appreciate the opportunity to learn, and so pleasurably.”
“I am not one of them,” Connor says through gritted teeth, trying extremely hard not to think too long on the matter.
Ezio sighs. “A shame. Shall we go, then?”
Connor pauses.
“Go where?” he asks, warily.
“If you do not enjoy the Rosa, I can wait until you depart,” Ezio says. “A stroll through the streets of Roma, perhaps?”
Connor stares at him.
Ezio laughs. “You see, you had only to ask. Come; the light is beautiful at this hour.”
-
There’s a woman in the temple, looking around curiously. Not one of Juno’s apparitions; she’s solid, she’s real (real-looking, he reminds himself).
Desmond’s never seen her before, but he knows who she is. Ezio’s talked at such length about the one female visitor that it’d be pretty much impossible for him not to. Maybe the weirdest thing about his hallucinations is how consistent they are; visits always have the same rules, and if someone alludes offhand to a visit with a pirate, a Templar, whatever, it seems like Desmond can be sure he’ll be meeting them himself sooner or later.
“You’re Aveline,” he says.
A smile catches at the corner of her mouth. “I know, as it happens. And you are?”
“Desmond,” he says. “Hi.”
“Ah, yes, the one from the future.” She gestures to the dark, blue-tinted space around them. “And this is what that future looks like?”
“Not exactly,” Desmond says. “Most of it’s less sci-fi. Although I guess it’s probably still pretty sci-fi for you.” Not that that means much to her, going by her expression. “Uh, never mind.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says. “I should be practising my deportment; I’m not unhappy to be interrupted. You won’t disapprove if my posture’s a little unladylike, will you?”
Desmond laughs a little in surprise. That’s not what he was expecting. He knew she was supposed to be an Assassin; somehow that and training for ladylike posture have never really gone together in his head.
Maybe it explains the dress, though. It’s hard to imagine how anyone could move in that thing, let alone kill.
He’s been vaguely wondering about this since he first heard about Aveline, but actually meeting her has thrown the question into sharp relief. Is he going to be a woman in the Animus one day? There’s no way his hallucinations could predict the future, he knows that, but... he could swear Ezio was talking about visits with a Templar long before he went through Haytham’s memories.
Well, it’s not like things can get much weirder for him. Why not be a woman in the Animus? Why not wear some inconvenient-looking dresses and go through someone else’s posture training? Why not... possibly fall in love with a dude or two, if that’s her thing? They’ll be long-dead anyway, so it’s not like it’ll really affect his life; he’s never going to have to worry about confessing to them. He isn’t exactly going to run off with Sofia Sartor any time soon.
God, when did ‘at least the people you’re in love with died centuries ago’ become a bright point in his life? He needs to stop thinking about this.
“Does it get in the way of... work?” he asks, tapping his hidden blade. “Etiquette training or whatever?”
“Occasionally,” Aveline says, with a sigh. “But you would be surprised by how thoroughly one can take a man’s guard down with the correct approach.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Desmond says. His attempt to edge away from her evidently isn’t subtle enough, because she starts to laugh.
“You don’t need to worry.” She smiles at him. “You are an Assassin as well, are you not?”
“Kind of,” he mutters.
“Then I have no cause to kill you. Ezio can be inappropriate, and yet I let him live. Why would I harm someone who offers me no offence?”
Desmond winces. “Sorry about that.” He isn’t sure why he’s apologising, but... if one of his hallucinations causes trouble for another, he guesses it’s kind of his responsibility? Maybe?
“About Ezio?” Aveline asks. “It’s nothing unendurable. We will be friends, I imagine, once my novelty wears off.”
“He’s a good friend to have,” Desmond says. “Sometimes.”
“I hope we can be friends as well,” Aveline says. “But I hear you don’t believe I exist.”
Damn it. He was hoping maybe no one had mentioned it to her, maybe they’d be able to build a relationship without the awkwardness of her knowing he doesn’t believe she’s real. Which is, yeah, kind of ridiculous. He’s worried that things will be awkward with his hallucination if she knows he knows she’s a hallucination? But it seems like the visits are going to keep happening, and he can’t just cover his ears and close his eyes until they’re over. He might as well be friendly, and ‘by the way, I know you’re not real’ doesn’t really seem to help get things off on the right foot.
“Yeah, I know you don’t exist,” he says. “But... maybe we can be friends anyway?”
Aveline smiles. “I see no reason why not. In fairness, I’m not entirely certain you exist either.”
What?
“Okay, I definitely exist,” Desmond says. He isn’t always sure who he is, especially after a long day in the Animus, but he’s sure he’s someone real.
Aveline shrugs. “People miraculously appearing out of nowhere? It just seems a little strange.”
His hallucinations aren’t supposed to doubt his existence. Somehow, this is bothering him more than he’d have expected it to. “Well, yeah, it’s strange. It’s going on in my mind. My mind, which is real.”
Aveline starts to laugh, and somehow Desmond finds himself breaking down into giggles too.
“Sorry,” he says. “I know this is ridiculous.”
“I have nothing but my own mind to blame,” she says, innocently.
“Don’t say that!” He gives her a little shove, and she starts laughing harder. “Look, I can - I can prove it, tell me when it is for you, tell me where you are, I’ll look up something that’s going to happen in your future-”
But Aveline’s gone. And Desmond’s still smiling, which he’s done so rarely recently that it actually feels a little weird.
Just after his disastrous first meeting with Shay, he asked an older Ezio how many visitors there actually were and got the answer ‘eight’. So Aveline should be the last one. Maybe one day the Bleeding Effect will wear off or he’ll find a cure or something, but for now it seems like he’s stuck with these guys.
Altaïr. Ezio. Haytham. Connor. Edward. Shay. Aveline.
In the last few weeks, Desmond’s had a blade to his throat more than once. He’s had to put up with Ezio... Ezioing, and, although he hasn’t known Edward for long, he’s been assured by the others that Edwarding isn’t any better. He’s seen way too much of Haytham and Ziio, although at least that came before Connor completely screwed up his head about those two. (It didn’t come before Haytham screwed up his head about Ziio, but you can’t have everything.)
But it hasn’t all been bad. There’ve been moments when the loneliness of this whole deal, nothing real in his life but sleeping and time in the Animus, has been getting to him, and...
Desmond laughs dryly.
Well. If he didn’t have his hallucinations, he’d probably lose his mind.
-
It doesn’t look like it’ll be an especially interesting visit; Edward and Shay are both here, but they’re both asleep, curled up together in the bed of... the Morrigan, she thinks. She looks around, taking note of the crosses dotted about the cabin. Definitely the Morrigan. Besides, Edward showing up for a visit and throwing himself into bed with Shay seems more likely than the reverse.
Aveline considers leaving, but there’s something to be said for taking a few hours’ sleep without actually losing any time. Not long ago she’d have been wary of sleeping in the presence of a Templar, but by this point she’d consider this particular Templar... a friend, perhaps, of a sort. And there’s space for her. She thinks Shay might have brought in a larger bed since she was last here, in fact, although she can’t be certain; she’s never paid much attention to his sleeping arrangements.
She’s briefly wakened by movement in the night, but it’s Edward, of course, wrapping himself around her like some sort of octopus. An inherent hazard of being anywhere near him when he’s sleeping. She’s learning to live with it.
When she next wakes, there’s light streaming in through the cabin’s windows. At some point Edward has vanished. Shay is lying on his side, watching her.
“You should have woken me,” he murmurs, smiling.
“Ah, but you and Edward looked so sweet asleep,” she says. “Could I truly be so heartless?”
His smile broadens. He shifts into the space Edward’s absence has left between them, and...
He kisses her.
He kisses her.
Aveline goes still, trying to make sense of this - Shay Cormac, a visitor, perhaps a friend, but a Templar - and Shay draws back almost at once, frowning.
“Was that not permitted?” he asks.
Aveline blinks, and darts her tongue over her lips, more to buy herself a moment to think than anything else. “I don’t know,” she says. “It was rather forward.”
Shay throws himself at once out of the bed.
“Oh, God,” he says, looking horror-struck. He grabs his outer coat from its stand, pulls it quickly around himself, leaving the many straps and buckles undone. “Oh, Christ, Aveline, I’m sorry. I thought - I woke up and saw you there and I...” He drags his hands over his face and lets out a low, wordless wail. “God, what have I done?”
“Shay,” Aveline says. She can feel herself beginning to smile, but she tries to look serious; not forbidding, but at least not like she’s struggling not to laugh at his anguish. “If you saw me in your bed and thought it was an invitation, I suppose I can understand.”
Shay shakes his head, fiercely. “I’ve seen you sleeping next to Desmond, I should have known it didn’t mean... we had the codewords, why in God’s name didn’t I use them?”
“Codewords?” Aveline asks.
There’s a sharp rap at the door. Shay throws Aveline a desperately apologetic look, then raises his voice and calls, “Come in.”
The door opens, and Aveline tenses. Haytham.
“I had a visitor who was very insistent on being brought down here,” Haytham remarks. His eyes alight on Aveline, still in Shay’s bed, and he raises his eyebrows; she narrows her eyes in return. “Although I take it you’re already busy.”
“It’s not like that,” Shay says. “She-”
“Shay.” A woman pushes past Haytham and into the cabin. At first Aveline thinks it’s a stranger, and then she realises it’s herself.
The other Aveline approaches Shay with sharp intent, as if she’s planning to hit him. Shay stays her with a hand on her arm and throws a pointed glance over his shoulder.
The other Aveline follows his look and meets Aveline’s eyes. Breaks into a smile.
“Well,” Aveline II says, “this should be interesting.”
“I’ll stay close, I suppose,” Haytham mutters, closing himself out of the cabin.
“Aveline,” Shay says, looking at the new Aveline, “I need your forgiveness. Or her forgiveness. I’ve needed your forgiveness all this time and never known it. How is it that you ever spoke to me again?”
Aveline II bursts out laughing. “Ah, this visit.”
Shay draws breath, then seems to freeze. “Am I permitted to speak frankly?”
“Was your understanding that I pestered Haytham into bringing me here just to play chess?” Aveline II asks. She presses closer to Shay, slipping a hand inside his coat, and...
She’s kissing Shay. Aveline is sitting here, in Shay’s bed, watching herself kiss Shay. It’s impossible to make sense of. Something is tightening in her chest.
“Aveline!” Shay hisses, pulling back. “Not in front of... in front of yourself! She’s not here yet!”
“Trust me,” Aveline II murmurs, “you’ll be grateful for this.”
And Aveline feels her visit drawing to a close. For a moment she considers fighting the end of it, demanding some answers, but right now she’s hopelessly confused. More than anything, she needs some time alone to think.
She’s standing on a rooftop when she returns to her time, unable to remember what she’s doing there.
She touches a hand to her lips. Sits down where she is and watches the horizon, piecing things together in her mind and her heart, until the sun rises.
-
Aveline is always an extremely welcome sight in his cabin. Tempting to draw her straight to the bed, but Shay’s learnt never to skip the codewords.
“Excellent timing,” he says. “We’ve just docked. Should be permitted a good while before anyone looks in on us.”
Aveline nods. “That’s fortunate. I was hoping I could speak to you privately.”
An Aveline from before their relationship, then. Shay tries to hide his disappointment. It’s always a pleasure to see her, in any case. “What did you want to speak of?”
She doesn’t answer at first. She looks troubled, Shay realises. His first instinct is to pull her into his arms, but perhaps that would only make her uncomfortable.
Kills him to stand there and do nothing, though.
“We’re... friends, aren’t we?” Aveline asks. “Despite our different causes. I feel we want the best for each other.”
Shay tries not to smile too knowingly. “I’d say so.”
Aveline hesitates for a moment. “Then can I confide in you? If I expose my soul to you, you will promise to tell no one else?”
“Aveline,” Shay says, “you can tell me anything.”
Aveline shifts on her feet, fidgeting with her cuff. Shay isn’t used to seeing her this uncertain. She’s usually at least better at hiding it.
“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with a fellow visitor?” she asks at last.
Shay’s breath catches. He always thought his first time with her was the first on both sides. Is it possible...?
“Always suspected there was something between Edward and Desmond,” he says. “You’re only just noticing it?”
She gives him a quick, distracted smile.
“Aveline,” Shay says, quietly, “if you’re falling for a visitor, you can tell me. He might be more favourably disposed to the idea than you think.”
“I don’t think there’s any possibility that Ezio won’t be favourably disposed,” Aveline says. “But he lived so long ago, and-”
“Ezio?” Shay asks, very loudly.
Aveline winces. “I know. It’s ridiculous. But he propositioned me, and... I’ve found myself considering it.”
Shay stares at her. “Ezio did what? You’ve found yourself what?”
“I feel he would think of it only as sex,” Aveline says, miserably. “And I don’t know if that would be enough to satisfy my longing. But perhaps a night with him is what I need to put this behind me?”
This can’t possibly be happening. This is a nightmare.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Shay says. “It’s Ezio. He lived centuries before - before us. And... and he’s Ezio. He’s a fine enough friend, but...”
“You don’t think it’s possible to have that sort of relationship with a visitor?” Aveline asks. She sighs. “I suppose you’re right. I should put it out of my mind.”
He and Aveline end up together, Shay tries to assure himself. He knows that. There’s no way he can somehow... make that unhappen. Is there?
“Well, I’m not saying you have to rule it out completely,” Shay says. “Visitors, I mean. But you can do better than Ezio. Or... different from Ezio, at any rate.”
Aveline nods, looking thoughtful. “There is a certain awkward charm to Desmond. Or perhaps I’m limiting myself by thinking solely of Assassins. Your Grand Master is unattached, is he not?”
Shay stares at her for a long, long moment.
“You’re a monster,” he says, quietly.
Aveline bursts out laughing.
“How could you do this to me?” Shay demands. “How can you just stand there and watch me squirm? Ezio?”
“I didn’t think you’d be fooled!” Aveline protests, breathless with laughter. “How could you believe I was pining after Ezio?”
“Jesus.” He wants to be angry, get a show of remorse out of her, but he can’t help laughing himself. “Just about stopped my heart.”
Aveline raises her eyebrows. “Shall we start it beating again, in that case? You’re no Ezio, of course, but I suppose I can make time for you.”
“You don’t deserve forgiveness this quickly,” Shay grumbles, but he lets her drag him over to the bed anyway.
-
Haytham becomes aware that he has a visitor as he’s fastening his boots, and he turns to see Desmond standing in the middle of his inn room. Desmond looks slightly lost, which, in all honesty, is nothing new.
“Desmond,” Haytham says, with a nod. “I’m afraid I don’t have long to chat; there’s Templar business to attend to, and Shay should be he-”
His back hits the wooden floorboards.
Haytham is a cautious man, and with any other visitor, save perhaps Shay, he would have been on his guard. But Desmond? The man’s always seemed so... harmless. Or as harmless as an Assassin can be.
“Make peace with your god, Templar,” Desmond growls, his hidden blade at Haytham’s throat.
“Desmond, this is ridiculous,” Haytham says. “Let me up.”
Desmond narrows his eyes. “Desmond? Remember the name of the one who killed you. I am Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad.”
Ah. He probably should have guessed; Desmond is holding him so close that Haytham can feel his heartbeat. A young Altaïr, then, possessing Desmond’s body.
But is that possible? Desmond is visiting; his body is centuries away.
“Where is Desmond?” Haytham asks.
“A waste of your final words.”
There’s a creak; the door opening, Haytham realises. Has the innkeeper come to watch him murder himself? He’s managing to hold Altaïr off for now, but fighting a person who’s visiting is tricky; he can’t actually do Altaïr any harm. He isn’t altogether sure he’d want to, even if Altaïr weren’t in Desmond’s form.
But Altaïr has tensed at the opening door, distracted for just an instant. Long enough for Haytham to free his wrist, bring his own blade sharply up to Altaïr’s - Desmond’s - neck. Maybe this Altaïr doesn’t yet know enough about visiting to know it’s an empty threat.
Altaïr goes still, and for a moment Haytham knows nothing but the warmth of the body against his, the steel edge against his throat. It... unsettles him, to look into Desmond’s eyes and see such untempered willingness to kill. He’s seen it in many of his acquaintances, of course, but not in Desmond.
And then, through their beating hearts, he hears a voice.
“Desmond?” Shay asks, horrified.
“I’d prefer it if you knocked next time, Shay,” Haytham tells him, mildly. “Assuming there is a next time, of course.”
“Desmond, what in fuck’s name are you doing?”
“It’s Altaïr,” Haytham says.
“In Desmond’s body?” Shay demands. “It can’t be Altaïr. They’d both be visiting. It doesn’t work like that.”
“I thought the same,” Haytham says. He doesn’t take his eyes off Desmond’s. “But he calls himself Altaïr, and he’s attempting to gut me like Altaïr, so he does appear to be Altaïr. Or so I’d prefer to believe, at least. I rather hoped Desmond and I had a cordial enough relationship not to go murdering each other at a moment’s notice.”
Something uncertain flickers across Desmond’s face.
“You care what I think about you?” he asks, after a moment.
Haytham watches him a moment longer, not withdrawing his blade. “I... have an impression of what Desmond might think of me,” he says, carefully. “Are you Desmond?”
Desmond stares at him. “Haytham?”
Haytham raises his eyebrows. “Oh, is my identity in question as well?”
“Oh, God, why am I - what am I doing?” Desmond - it does seem to be Desmond, doesn’t it? - retracts his blade at once. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I... are you okay?”
“I’m unharmed.” Haytham withdraws his own blade from Desmond’s throat, with a relief he’s careful not to display too openly. “Would you mind explaining what just happened? You claimed to be Altaïr, and you certainly seemed to be, but I hadn’t thought it possible for one person visiting to possess another. And where is Altaïr now?”
Desmond hangs his head and groans. “Okay. I can explain this. But I should probably be less, uh.” He hesitates. “Less on top of you.”
“Probably, yes.”
Desmond takes a chair, and so does Haytham, wincing; his back hasn’t forgotten its impact with the floor. Shay drops down to sit on the bed.
“Hi, Shay,” Desmond mumbles.
“Good to see you,” Shay says. “You’re going to explain the scene I just came in on?”
Desmond winces. “Okay. You guys both know about the Animus, right?”
“I have some idea of it,” Haytham says. “It lets you hunt through our memories in search of... something or other.”
“Right,” Desmond says. “Well, I can pick things up from those memories. From you guys. A lot of my time as Ezio was just teaching me how to fight like him. But, uh, I don’t get to choose what I get. So there are all these other people’s memories and feelings in my head, and I have to focus a lot on just... remembering who I am.”
“And this is what you call the Bleeding Effect,” Haytham says.
“That’s right.”
Shay shakes his head. “Didn’t think that was a real thing. I thought the Bleeding Effect was what was making you hallucinate us. Only it’s not, because we’re real.”
“The hallucinations are part of it,” Desmond says.
“And the other parts mean you think you’re Altaïr?” Shay asks.
“Sometimes,” Desmond says. “I’m really sorry. I’m trying to keep it together. It’s just... it’s hard.”
Haytham is silent for a while, absorbing the situation.
“Your allies,” he says at last. “Shaun. Rebecca. Your father.”
“Uh, what about them?” Desmond asks.
“They’re forcing you to use the Animus?” Haytham asks. “Knowing the effect it has on your mind?”
Desmond looks uncomfortable. “Well, the world could be in danger. We’re trying to figure out how to save it. So it’s not like we really have a choice.”
“Couldn’t one of them take over the task?” Shay asks. “You went through Altaïr and Ezio; isn’t that enough?”
Desmond shakes his head. “Connor’s memories are the ones we need, and I can see those because I’m his direct descendant. Shaun or Rebecca would just get their own ancestors.”
“And your father?” Haytham asks. “Or are we your ancestors through the maternal line?”
For a long moment, Desmond just looks at the floor.
“Too late to switch now, anyway,” he mumbles. “He’d have to start syncing from the beginning.”
“He never offered?” Shay asks. He’s sitting forward on the edge of the bed, frowning.
“It’s probably easiest if there’s only one of us losing our mind, anyway,” Desmond says. “Do we have to talk about this?”
It’s difficult for Haytham to judge another man’s parenting; all indications from Connor are that he’s hardly an exemplary father himself. But somehow this is still troubling him. Perhaps the difference is that Desmond seems to need a father, to crave company and concern in a way that Connor doesn’t.
Desmond may have the skills of Ezio and Altaïr - and Haytham himself, a strange thought - but he cannot kill unflinchingly. He needs protection; he needs someone willing to step in when he is overwhelmed. Who in his own time can offer that to him?
“We can speak of other things, if you’d prefer,” Haytham says.
Later, much later, he will find Desmond facing far too many Abstergo guards. Haytham will take over with barely a second thought, despite knowing these are Templars, and will clear the path for Desmond to rescue the father who doesn’t deserve him.
-
“Shay,” Aveline says. “You know Haytham well, don’t you?”
What’s brought this on? Strange to think of Haytham when they’re lying together in Shay’s cabin, Aveline warming her feet on his thighs. “I don’t know that I’d say well. The man likes his secrets.”
“As well as a person can, then,” Aveline says. “You’re his visitor, his ally, his friend. You’ve worked alongside him for years. You’ve seen his past and his future. Who knows him better than you?”
He’s never really thought about it like that. It’s hard to name anyone Haytham seems closer to, certainly, even if he has family in their ranks. And yet there’s still so much Shay doesn’t know about him. Something about it makes him uneasy. Or... maybe ‘sad’ would be a better word.
“Why d’you ask?” he asks.
“Have you ever known him to be with a woman?” Aveline asks. “Or anyone?”
Shay hesitates. “It’s not my story to tell.”
He can see Aveline’s tempted to press him on the matter, but she relents. “Another question, then. Have you ever known him to be happy?”
Shay tries to think. It takes a while.
“They’ve both got the same answer,” he says at last. It’s safe to tell her, isn’t it? Aveline likes to tease and mock, but he knows she has enough kindness not to use this against Haytham. And she’s probably guessed that Connor didn’t leap fully-formed from his father’s loins. “Connor’s mother. Ziio.”
“Have you seen her?” Aveline asks.
Shay shakes his head. “He mentioned her to me once. In his cups. The look on his face...”
“It was fond?” Aveline asks, smiling a little.
Shay is silent for a moment. Looks up at the ceiling. “I’d pay not to see it again.”
Aveline makes no answer to that. When Shay can bring himself to look at her, he sees her frowning, looking thoughtful.
“You remember when you kissed me too early?” Aveline asks. “You’d forgotten to use the codewords. I was very confused.”
Shay groans. “Do you have to remind me?”
Aveline laughs. “Don’t regret it too much. It had me looking at you with new eyes. And then a later me came to see you, one who knew the pleasure of your company, and the younger me left.”
“I remember,” Shay says.
“Well, what if we had persuaded the younger me to stay? To join us in the bed?”
Two Avelines? It’s an alluring thought for an instant, before Shay spots the flaw. He has a hard enough time matching Aveline’s appetite as it is.
“I’d be dead of exhaustion,” he says.
Aveline smirks, drifts her hand over his hip. “Undoubtedly. But the essential premise, three abed, you understand that?”
“I’m following,” Shay says. “But what does this have to do with...”
He tails off.
“What does this have to do with Haytham?” Aveline asks, innocently.
“Aveline,” Shay says.
“A possibility, that’s all,” Aveline says, with a shrug. “If you dislike the idea, we don’t have to speak of it further.”
Has she been lusting after Haytham all this time? She can’t have been, surely. “How has this even come to your mind?”
“He’s done a great deal for us,” Aveline says. “And he’s evidently not averse to the pleasures of the flesh, so it seems a shame he’s apparently experienced them so little. And I know you’ve noticed that look in his eye when he sees us in the act.”
“Mortification?” Shay suggests.
Aveline smiles knowingly at him.
Shay shakes his head. “Any man who saw you would stare. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m uncomfortable with my handsome superior actually touching you.”
“Ah.” Aveline grins. “So you’re tempted.”
“What?” Shay demands. “Why would - where do you get that from?”
“You object to having Haytham in bed with me,” Aveline says. “Your handsome superior, perhaps I should say. But he would also be in bed with you. You have nothing to say to that?”
Shay stares at her.
“It’s strange, that’s what I have to say,” he says, eventually. “It just... wasn’t what came to mind first.”
“If anything, I’d say I’d have the greater cause for jealousy,” Aveline says. “You and Haytham are together, physically together, in a way you and I can’t be. The three of us could spend one night together, and then I’ll return to my own time, and perhaps you’ll decide that you’re content with the company of Haytham alone.” She sighs theatrically. “And I wouldn’t even have the right to complain, after our agreement.”
They discussed this a while ago: whether their relationship should preclude any others. What if one of them wants a marriage, children? The Church frowns on weddings where one party is invisible, and it seems impossible to imagine that Aveline could become pregnant on a visit; she’s certainly had enough opportunities to, and there’s no sign of it. Shay’s only requests were ‘not another visitor, and I don’t want to know about it’.
He hasn’t glanced at another woman since this started. He finds it hard to imagine wanting to.
He’s almost certain he hasn’t been glancing at Haytham, either, whatever Aveline might say.
“I’m not about to abandon you for my Grand Master,” Shay says. “I promise you. Anyway, visitors are off-limits.” A thought comes to him, and he laughs; he thinks it’s in relief. “You’re toying with me, aren’t you? Like when you pretended you were in love with Ezio.”
“Yes, if you like,” Aveline says.
Shay hesitates. “If I like?”
But Aveline only presses up closer to him, sighing contentedly into his ear. Shay lies there with his arms full of Aveline and his mind full of Haytham, telling himself not to pursue the matter any further.
He’s never been the best at listening to instructions.
“Am I not enough for you?” he asks, into the silence. “Is there something you need me to do better?”
Aveline laughs and presses a kiss to his hairline. “You’re all I need. It was only a thought.”
It haunts him for a long time afterwards.
-
Haytham knew he wouldn’t be able to conceal his identity from his father forever, of course, but it was a pleasant dream for a while. Now he’s started visiting with an Edward who knows, and his throat tightens at every first glimpse of him. Will this be a young Edward? Or will that uncomfortable knowledge stand between them: here is your son, grown and fighting for the other side?
“Haytham!”
Haytham has barely registered the call before Edward throws himself upon him, in an embrace so violent he’s almost winded.
It’s possible the knowledge is more uncomfortable for Haytham than it is for his father.
“You just spoke your first word!” Edward says, beaming, as Haytham gently extricates himself. “How many are fortunate enough to hear their son’s first word, and then have an adult conversation with that son the same afternoon?”
Haytham has to wonder whether Edward has truly had an adult conversation in his life. “What was the word?”
“Well, it was more of a noise. But you were definitely trying to say something.” He looks around. “And we’re on a ship! The Aquila?”
“The Aquila,” Haytham confirms.
“Where’s my grandson?”
“At the helm, I hope,” Haytham says. “Not all of us will drop the wheel in the middle of the ocean to go running all over the deck.”
“There was always Adé or Anne to take over,” Edward says, with a shrug.
Haytham says nothing in return. He’s absorbed in his own concerns, and his plan for this visit is to remain quiet and let Edward carry out a lively conversation with himself.
It’s usually a reliable strategy, but somehow this time it fails. Edward, in the middle of reminiscing loudly about life on the seas, cuts himself off and looks into Haytham’s face, frowning. “Something’s troubling you.”
“Templar business,” Haytham lies. “Nothing very interesting. Certainly nothing I can discuss with an Assassin.”
“I’m not so devoted to the Creed that I’ll take its side against my son,” Edward says. He doesn’t seem to notice Haytham’s wince, fortunately. “You can talk to me about whatever’s wrong. I’m your father. It’s my job to listen to your whining, however old you get.”
Haytham hesitates.
“I concealed my identity from you for so long,” he says. “It’s too late now for us to act as father and son.”
Edward looks stricken. “Don’t say that.”
“I don’t say this to wound,” Haytham says. “It was my mistake. I could have had a father for so much more of my life.”
“You’ve had me the entire time,” Edward says. “Whether I’m calling you Hat Man or by your name, you’re still my son. Even if I don’t know it yet.” He grins suddenly. “And, anyway, just last week I visited you when you were younger. I called you Hat Man to keep up the pretence.”
Haytham stares at him.
Edward laughs. “You’re not the only one who can keep secrets. I kept Mary’s, didn’t I?”
“Extremely poorly, the way she told it,” Haytham says.
“Only with visitors,” Edward says, dismissively. “You could have dropped in on her in her skirts any time; it doesn’t count. So there you were with your father, knowing he was your father, and there was me, knowing you were my son. I’d say that counts as having your father.”
Haytham is still reeling from the revelation that Edward is actually capable of keeping his mouth shut about something. “When was this?”
Edward waves a hand vaguely. “You didn’t notice times when I was unusually affectionate?”
“What level of affection would you consider ‘unusual’?” Haytham asks, and then, “Times? So this happened more than once?”
“Might happen more in the future, too,” Edward says. “Well. My future.”
Strange. It shouldn’t make a difference; those times are behind him. But somehow, knowing his father has been there throughout his life, looking at him as a son...
Perhaps it would be good to unburden himself. But this is still Edward, father or not, so there must be caveats.
“You can repeat this to no one,” Haytham says. “Particularly Connor.”
“When have I repeated something told to me in confidence?” Edward asks, spreading his hands. “Intentionally, I mean. When I didn’t think everyone knew already. And I was sober.”
Haytham turns away.
“No, look, I’ll stay quiet,” Edward says. “I promise. I promise.”
Haytham looks out over the ocean for a moment. Listens to the calls of the birds overhead. Takes a breath.
“I’ve been visiting with an older Connor,” he says. “It’s been... surprisingly pleasant, occasionally. Companionable. I didn’t think it was possible for us to move beyond hostility. Although I’ll admit the fault for the hostility didn’t lie solely with Connor.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Edward asks. “What’s got you looking so miserable?”
Haytham sighs.
“That’s all in Connor’s future,” he says, “so I hope our acquaintance can end on a warm note, from his perspective. I hope he can end his life thinking better of me than I deserve. But I know what lies in my own future, and...” He hesitates. “Well, I can be fairly certain that we’ll end on poor terms. So it’s difficult to feel I’m building a relationship with my son, knowing...”
What is he doing? He can’t talk about this with his father.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what you’re speaking of,” Edward says, frowning slightly, “but I don’t think you can judge a lifetime’s acquaintance by the way it ends. Altaïr tried to kill me the first time we met, you know that?”
“I think Altaïr tried to kill more or less everyone,” Haytham says.
“Right. Well, what if he shows up young tomorrow and succeeds? It’ll be a sour note to end our friendship on, but that doesn’t mean the friendship didn’t exist.” Edward shrugs. “Although I’ll still die cursing his name.”
He’s come a little too close to the truth of Haytham’s future. Haytham shifts, uncomfortable.
“Anyway,” Edward says, “here you are worrying about your relationship with your son, and your son’s down the other end of the ship. Let’s go and talk to him.”
“About this?” Haytham asks, slightly alarmed.
“About anything,” Edward says. “Don’t worry about how it ends. Endings are never going to be cheerful; they’re endings. Worry about now, when you could be having a pleasant conversation with your family.”
“Or a disastrous conversation with my family,” Haytham points out. “My conversations with Connor in my own time have not historically been successful.”
And then he finds himself standing outside his own body.
“Really?” he asks, exasperated.
Edward winks at him, sets off towards the helm in Haytham’s body, and Haytham has no choice but to follow.
Title: Visitors (Gratuitous Wish-Fulfilment Edition), Part Six
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Shay Cormac/Aveline de Grandpré (occasionally), various others
Wordcount: 8,800 (this part; 52,000 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
Part Five
Altaïr is atop a tower, looking out over Jerusalem, when he feels the tingling in his head that means he has unwelcome company. He turns around, angry words on his tongue, and...
It’s a child. A small girl, gazing out through the arrow slits in the tower’s battlements.
For a moment, Altaïr can only look at her in bewildered silence. At last she turns around and sees him there.
“Where did the chicken go?” she asks.
“The chicken?” Altaïr asks, blankly.
“I was chasing a chicken,” she informs him. “It’s gone. Where are we?”
“You are in Jerusalem,” Altaïr says. He thought at first that this was a new visitor, but... he has met the other visitors at various ages. Never this young, but is it impossible that he might see them as children? “Is your name Aveline?”
She brightens. “Are you one of Papa’s friends?”
How can he possibly explain how he knows her? Easiest to ignore the question, perhaps.
“I have work to do, Aveline,” he says. “Stay quiet and wait, and you will soon return to your home.”
Aveline, looking a little crestfallen, sits down against the battlements. Altaïr prepares to dive off the tower... and then he pauses.
If he jumps, Aveline will be dragged after him. She shouldn’t come to any physical harm, but she will still have that experience of plummeting towards the ground, and...
He glances back at Aveline. She’s wrapped her arms around her knees.
It’s the most convenient option, certainly, but can he really justify causing that sort of terror to a child?
Altaïr sighs. Crouches in front of Aveline.
“I need you to get on my back,” he tells her. “And hold on tightly. I am going to climb down this tower.”
Aveline laughs. “You can’t climb down. See how high up we are?”
“I have told you the truth,” Altaïr says. “But you must stay as still as you can.”
Aveline seems sceptical, but she clambers onto his back anyway, locking her arms and legs tightly around him. Altaïr stands and closes his eyes for a moment. This is idiotic. Aveline will suffer no physical injury if he leaps. If he tries to climb down with this extra weight unbalancing him, he could very well fall and die.
He eases himself over the battlements. Aveline gasps quietly.
It’s a very slow, very cautious climb, but eventually he reaches ground level and lets Aveline off his back. His legs are shaking.
“How can you do that?” Aveline exclaims. She’s staring up the tower they just came down, awed. “Could you climb up it again? Can you show me?”
“I need to return to the bureau,” Altaïr says. There was a man at the foot of the tower he had been hoping to ask some questions, but he’s gone by now, and in any case it would feel strange to conduct his usual method of interrogation in front of a child so young, even if she’ll grow up to be an Assassin herself. He has enough information to... well, not enough to satisfy Malik, perhaps, but enough to satisfy himself.
He travels through the streets to reach the bureau; travel over the rooftops seems ill-advised. For once, he’s glad of the ladder up to the roof that houses the bureau’s entrance. He’s not sure he’s ever bothered to use it before.
Of course, there’s no ladder down into the bureau itself. Suddenly this seems an oversight. Malik must keep a ladder somewhere, surely, after the loss of his arm? He imagines the scorn Malik will heap on him if he asks for it to be set up.
Aveline is clearly delighted to climb onto his shoulders again.
Inside the bureau, Altaïr kneels briefly so she can slip to the floor. “I am going to have a private discussion with my friend,” he says to her, quietly. Friend is perhaps not the right word, but brother makes him think of Kadar. “It is not for your ears. But I will return to you soon.”
“Who are you speaking to, Altaïr?” Malik calls from the next room. “If you’ve brought an outsider into our bureau, if you have the arrogance to disregard...”
Malik comes through the doorway, and the words die on his lips.
“No,” he says, after a moment. “You are merely talking to yourself. How did I fail to guess?”
“I have your information,” Altaïr says. “I will speak to you in a moment.”
“Ah, of course. I foolishly thought your duty to our cause might take precedence over conversations with phantoms of the mind. Please, come through whenever you deem it convenient.” He turns sharply and returns to his post.
Altaïr looks a moment at the doorway, then down at Aveline, who has tucked herself behind his leg.
“You’re hiding,” he says, puzzled.
“Maman told me not to draw attention to myself,” she mumbles. “When there are men who seem cruel.”
“Malik?” Altaïr asks. “Malik will not harm you.”
It bothers him, somehow, seeing her afraid. Or... perhaps it is not the fear, but that she believes herself helpless. She is an Assassin.
And then he realises what this moment could be for her, and he kneels to look into her eyes.
“Aveline,” he says. He gestures to the bureau wall. “Do you see that symbol?”
Aveline nods wordlessly.
“If you ever feel lost, seek that symbol,” Altaïr says. “And you will gain the power to strip those men of their cruelty.”
“I will,” Aveline says, quietly, and then she throws her arms around him. “Thank you, monsieur.”
It is perhaps fortunate that they are in one of the few places where Altaïr feels safe; he tends not to respond well when someone suddenly lunges at him. After a moment he touches his hand to her back, uncertainly, and she tightens her hold.
And then she vanishes, and Altaïr is left holding only air.
It takes him some time to remember his task.
“Returning at last to the world where the rest of us live?” Malik asks, when Altaïr enters his room.
“It seems so,” Altaïr says.
“You’re smiling,” Malik informs him. “I don’t like it.”
Is he smiling? It seems strange. This visit has been as inconvenient as any of the others; more inconvenient than most, in fact, given his precarious descent from the tower.
“Reflecting fondly on the last few minutes without you,” Altaïr says. “It will be gone soon enough.”
For a moment he almost thinks he sees a smile cross Malik’s face as well, but it’s for too brief an instant to be sure. “Tell me what you have learnt of your target.”
-
“Sorry,” Desmond says. “I just didn’t think I’d be meeting you so... young.”
It’s so strange to have this quiet, serious thirteen-year-old looking at him. How can he talk to a thirteen-year-old? He hasn’t done it since he was once himself.
“Anyway, sorry, I guess you’re pretty confused,” Desmond says. “I’m... okay, this whole thing gets kind of complicated.”
“I know who you are.”
Desmond blinks. “Huh?”
“You are Desmond Miles,” Connor says. “You are a visitor. You came to me often when I was younger, like the others, but then the visits stopped. And now they are starting again.”
This is weird. He knows visits can happen out of order, but the first time he met Altaïr, Ezio, Haytham... they were the first meetings on both sides.
Well, he thinks they were, at least. Ezio wasn’t very talkative on his first visit, so it’s hard to be sure. But Altaïr, Haytham, they acted like they’d never had visits at all before Desmond first met them.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Desmond says. “This is our first visit for me, though, so, uh... nice to meet you?”
Connor inclines his head, very slightly. “My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton.”
Oh, okay, this is before he gets his new name. Desmond can’t ever remember Connor’s original name himself, but the part of him that’s Connor knows it. He tries not to call on the Bleeding Effect too often, but... well, his mind’s a wreck already. Why not let himself think of Connor as Ratonhnhaké:ton for this meeting?
“You are the one who can see our lives in the Animus,” Ratonhnhaké:ton says. “Can you tell me whether the man who lives here will agree to train me?”
It’s only when he says it that Desmond really registers where they are: on Achilles’ homestead, standing outside his mansion.
“Yeah, he’ll train you,” Desmond says.
“How will I convince him? How long will it take?”
Desmond hesitates. “Uh...”
“Boy!”
Both Desmond and Ratonhnhaké:ton turn to look at the house. Achilles is standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on his stick.
“Come here,” Achilles says.
Ratonhnhaké:ton hesitates for only a moment before approaching.
Desmond follows, curious. He was still new to Ratonhnhaké:ton by this point in the Animus - he still is, really; it’s been barely any time since then - and he wasn’t able to sync up enough to see the moment Achilles actually agreed to train him, whatever it was Ratonhnhaké:ton did to convince him he had potential. Maybe this is that moment?
“I was watching you from the window,” Achilles says. “Who were you speaking to?”
Ratonhnhaké:ton tenses. “No one.”
“Oh? You don’t see a person there? Someone invisible to others, perhaps?”
For a moment, they stand looking at each other in silence.
“It’s not spoken of much,” Achilles says. “Some consider it a blemish on our history, or simply don’t believe in it. But both Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad and Ezio Auditore, two of the most significant figures in our order, were rumoured to have periods of madness, moments when they appeared to be speaking to people no one else could see.” He considers Ratonhnhaké:ton. “This may not be what you want to hear, boy, but you may be afflicted with the madness of the great Assassins.”
“The madness,” Ratonhnhaké:ton repeats. He looks distinctly unhappy.
“I have seen it once before,” Achilles says, “and I made a very grave mistake. I will not waste this potential again.”
Well, it looks like Achilles’ real reasons for taking on a pupil are going to remain a mystery. Whatever his reason, Desmond can be pretty sure it’s not that he saw Ratonhnhaké:ton talking to Desmond.
“So you will teach me?” Ratonhnhaké:ton asks.
“I will attempt to impart what knowledge I have,” Achilles says. “Whether you will actually learn it depends on you.”
“Well done, kid,” Desmond says. Feels a little weird to congratulate someone on being welcomed into a professional murder club, but at least it was Ratonhnhaké:ton’s choice.
Ratonhnhaké:ton shows no sign of hearing him. Ignoring him, maybe, selfconscious about his ‘madness’.
It’s not like Desmond loves being treated as if he doesn’t exist. It actually makes him really uncomfortable. His sense of self is so confused and fragmented these days, sometimes the fact that other people seem to see something when they look at him is the only thing that makes him feel real. But... well, if Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t want people to think he’s losing his mind, Desmond can relate.
“It’s okay,” Desmond says, quietly. “You don’t have to talk to me when other people are around.”
Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t turn to look at him. But he nods just slightly, as if in thanks, and Desmond finds himself back in the temple.
-
Connor has barely lain down to sleep when the temperature changes, and he knows without opening his eyes that he is on a visit.
He has an unpleasant feeling that he knows exactly where he has found himself. It seems that every visit he’s been on recently has been to Ezio at the Rosa in Fiore. This temperature, this scent in the air, it’s far too familiar. He would happily spend the rest of his life without ever seeing the place again.
“Ah, Connor!”
It’s Ezio’s voice, of course. Connor reluctantly opens his eyes.
Ezio has his clothes on, for now, which is at least an improvement on most of Connor’s recent visits. Connor gets to his feet, looks around. They are at the top of the main staircase, looking down into the lobby. Perhaps Ezio has finished his business here; perhaps they are about to leave.
“I was just trying to decide on a companion for the evening,” Ezio says, shattering Connor’s hopes. “If you’re to be watching, I suppose I should choose someone who appeals to you. Do you have a preference?”
No. Connor is tired and irritated, and he is not at all in the mood to watch Ezio pleasuring anyone. He has never been in the mood, he will never be in the mood, and he has had enough of this.
Ezio looks only briefly bewildered at being forced out of his body, and then his expression, strangely enough, changes to delight.
“You have decided at last to sample the beauties of the Rosa?” he asks.
What? “No.”
But Ezio is talking over him. “You are still untouched, are you not? I am privileged to be present for such a significant moment in a young man’s life.”
Connor can feel himself flushing. It will be more noticeable on Ezio’s face than it would be on his own, he realises, and he turns away to hide it. “I have no intention of...”
“Let us see,” Ezio says, considering him. “Alessandra is kind to the inexperienced.” He laughs a little. “Although she knows, of course, that I am hardly inexperienced. Tell her you wish to play at a first night with a woman, and she will serve you well.”
“That is not why I am here!” Connor snaps. “I am here because you are here, and you have been here on every visit I have made for weeks. Enough.”
“Enough?” Ezio echoes, raising his eyebrows.
“I am putting an end to it,” Connor says. “I will have you barred from this place.”
Infuriatingly, Ezio’s only response is laughter. “I would like to see that. Let me remind you that the Rosa in Fiore is run by my family. How do you expect to succeed?”
“Your family?” Connor asks, taken aback. He knew there would probably be obstacles, but...
“My mother and sister,” Ezio says. “I know you are not cruel enough to cut my ties with what little family remains to me. Claudia will sometimes deny me access when I have annoyed her, but it will take something more than that to have me barred permanently.”
Connor hesitates.
The smile falls from Ezio’s face. “Do you plan to harm the girls?”
“No,” Connor says at once, horrified. “Of course not.”
“Then do what you will,” Ezio says. “Destroy the furnishings. Burn this place to the ground, if you can bring the inhabitants to safety first. But know that I will fund a new location the moment you are gone. We cannot leave these ladies out of work, can we?”
Connor’s aim is beginning to seem less and less achievable. Can he close this business by... recruiting the ladies of the Fiore into the Brotherhood, perhaps?
Well, it might prevent Ezio from visiting brothels, but only because his time will be taken up by sleeping with his recruits.
“I will remind you,” Ezio adds, “that, even if you succeed, you may visit me at an earlier point, when the brothel was still at my disposal. So how will this benefit you?”
Connor draws in a breath, deep and slow, and casts aside the dream of a life uninterrupted by the sudden appearance of Ezio’s buttocks.
“I am sorry,” he says, stiffly. “I did not think this through. I will do nothing to the business or the women here.”
Ezio grins. “I am glad you have had a change of heart. But you should certainly consider doing something to the women.”
“Ezio-”
“Alessandra is over there,” Ezio says, gesturing. He has dropped his voice, although no one but Connor can hear him. “See her fine legs, see her magnificent hair? Imagine burying your hands in that hair; imagine burying your being between those legs. She makes the most extraordinary sounds. You must hear them.”
“Ezio,” Connor hisses, his face burning.
“There is no need to fear. I will be with you the entire time, talking you through. Many men would appreciate the opportunity to learn, and so pleasurably.”
“I am not one of them,” Connor says through gritted teeth, trying extremely hard not to think too long on the matter.
Ezio sighs. “A shame. Shall we go, then?”
Connor pauses.
“Go where?” he asks, warily.
“If you do not enjoy the Rosa, I can wait until you depart,” Ezio says. “A stroll through the streets of Roma, perhaps?”
Connor stares at him.
Ezio laughs. “You see, you had only to ask. Come; the light is beautiful at this hour.”
-
There’s a woman in the temple, looking around curiously. Not one of Juno’s apparitions; she’s solid, she’s real (real-looking, he reminds himself).
Desmond’s never seen her before, but he knows who she is. Ezio’s talked at such length about the one female visitor that it’d be pretty much impossible for him not to. Maybe the weirdest thing about his hallucinations is how consistent they are; visits always have the same rules, and if someone alludes offhand to a visit with a pirate, a Templar, whatever, it seems like Desmond can be sure he’ll be meeting them himself sooner or later.
“You’re Aveline,” he says.
A smile catches at the corner of her mouth. “I know, as it happens. And you are?”
“Desmond,” he says. “Hi.”
“Ah, yes, the one from the future.” She gestures to the dark, blue-tinted space around them. “And this is what that future looks like?”
“Not exactly,” Desmond says. “Most of it’s less sci-fi. Although I guess it’s probably still pretty sci-fi for you.” Not that that means much to her, going by her expression. “Uh, never mind.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says. “I should be practising my deportment; I’m not unhappy to be interrupted. You won’t disapprove if my posture’s a little unladylike, will you?”
Desmond laughs a little in surprise. That’s not what he was expecting. He knew she was supposed to be an Assassin; somehow that and training for ladylike posture have never really gone together in his head.
Maybe it explains the dress, though. It’s hard to imagine how anyone could move in that thing, let alone kill.
He’s been vaguely wondering about this since he first heard about Aveline, but actually meeting her has thrown the question into sharp relief. Is he going to be a woman in the Animus one day? There’s no way his hallucinations could predict the future, he knows that, but... he could swear Ezio was talking about visits with a Templar long before he went through Haytham’s memories.
Well, it’s not like things can get much weirder for him. Why not be a woman in the Animus? Why not wear some inconvenient-looking dresses and go through someone else’s posture training? Why not... possibly fall in love with a dude or two, if that’s her thing? They’ll be long-dead anyway, so it’s not like it’ll really affect his life; he’s never going to have to worry about confessing to them. He isn’t exactly going to run off with Sofia Sartor any time soon.
God, when did ‘at least the people you’re in love with died centuries ago’ become a bright point in his life? He needs to stop thinking about this.
“Does it get in the way of... work?” he asks, tapping his hidden blade. “Etiquette training or whatever?”
“Occasionally,” Aveline says, with a sigh. “But you would be surprised by how thoroughly one can take a man’s guard down with the correct approach.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Desmond says. His attempt to edge away from her evidently isn’t subtle enough, because she starts to laugh.
“You don’t need to worry.” She smiles at him. “You are an Assassin as well, are you not?”
“Kind of,” he mutters.
“Then I have no cause to kill you. Ezio can be inappropriate, and yet I let him live. Why would I harm someone who offers me no offence?”
Desmond winces. “Sorry about that.” He isn’t sure why he’s apologising, but... if one of his hallucinations causes trouble for another, he guesses it’s kind of his responsibility? Maybe?
“About Ezio?” Aveline asks. “It’s nothing unendurable. We will be friends, I imagine, once my novelty wears off.”
“He’s a good friend to have,” Desmond says. “Sometimes.”
“I hope we can be friends as well,” Aveline says. “But I hear you don’t believe I exist.”
Damn it. He was hoping maybe no one had mentioned it to her, maybe they’d be able to build a relationship without the awkwardness of her knowing he doesn’t believe she’s real. Which is, yeah, kind of ridiculous. He’s worried that things will be awkward with his hallucination if she knows he knows she’s a hallucination? But it seems like the visits are going to keep happening, and he can’t just cover his ears and close his eyes until they’re over. He might as well be friendly, and ‘by the way, I know you’re not real’ doesn’t really seem to help get things off on the right foot.
“Yeah, I know you don’t exist,” he says. “But... maybe we can be friends anyway?”
Aveline smiles. “I see no reason why not. In fairness, I’m not entirely certain you exist either.”
What?
“Okay, I definitely exist,” Desmond says. He isn’t always sure who he is, especially after a long day in the Animus, but he’s sure he’s someone real.
Aveline shrugs. “People miraculously appearing out of nowhere? It just seems a little strange.”
His hallucinations aren’t supposed to doubt his existence. Somehow, this is bothering him more than he’d have expected it to. “Well, yeah, it’s strange. It’s going on in my mind. My mind, which is real.”
Aveline starts to laugh, and somehow Desmond finds himself breaking down into giggles too.
“Sorry,” he says. “I know this is ridiculous.”
“I have nothing but my own mind to blame,” she says, innocently.
“Don’t say that!” He gives her a little shove, and she starts laughing harder. “Look, I can - I can prove it, tell me when it is for you, tell me where you are, I’ll look up something that’s going to happen in your future-”
But Aveline’s gone. And Desmond’s still smiling, which he’s done so rarely recently that it actually feels a little weird.
Just after his disastrous first meeting with Shay, he asked an older Ezio how many visitors there actually were and got the answer ‘eight’. So Aveline should be the last one. Maybe one day the Bleeding Effect will wear off or he’ll find a cure or something, but for now it seems like he’s stuck with these guys.
Altaïr. Ezio. Haytham. Connor. Edward. Shay. Aveline.
In the last few weeks, Desmond’s had a blade to his throat more than once. He’s had to put up with Ezio... Ezioing, and, although he hasn’t known Edward for long, he’s been assured by the others that Edwarding isn’t any better. He’s seen way too much of Haytham and Ziio, although at least that came before Connor completely screwed up his head about those two. (It didn’t come before Haytham screwed up his head about Ziio, but you can’t have everything.)
But it hasn’t all been bad. There’ve been moments when the loneliness of this whole deal, nothing real in his life but sleeping and time in the Animus, has been getting to him, and...
Desmond laughs dryly.
Well. If he didn’t have his hallucinations, he’d probably lose his mind.
-
It doesn’t look like it’ll be an especially interesting visit; Edward and Shay are both here, but they’re both asleep, curled up together in the bed of... the Morrigan, she thinks. She looks around, taking note of the crosses dotted about the cabin. Definitely the Morrigan. Besides, Edward showing up for a visit and throwing himself into bed with Shay seems more likely than the reverse.
Aveline considers leaving, but there’s something to be said for taking a few hours’ sleep without actually losing any time. Not long ago she’d have been wary of sleeping in the presence of a Templar, but by this point she’d consider this particular Templar... a friend, perhaps, of a sort. And there’s space for her. She thinks Shay might have brought in a larger bed since she was last here, in fact, although she can’t be certain; she’s never paid much attention to his sleeping arrangements.
She’s briefly wakened by movement in the night, but it’s Edward, of course, wrapping himself around her like some sort of octopus. An inherent hazard of being anywhere near him when he’s sleeping. She’s learning to live with it.
When she next wakes, there’s light streaming in through the cabin’s windows. At some point Edward has vanished. Shay is lying on his side, watching her.
“You should have woken me,” he murmurs, smiling.
“Ah, but you and Edward looked so sweet asleep,” she says. “Could I truly be so heartless?”
His smile broadens. He shifts into the space Edward’s absence has left between them, and...
He kisses her.
He kisses her.
Aveline goes still, trying to make sense of this - Shay Cormac, a visitor, perhaps a friend, but a Templar - and Shay draws back almost at once, frowning.
“Was that not permitted?” he asks.
Aveline blinks, and darts her tongue over her lips, more to buy herself a moment to think than anything else. “I don’t know,” she says. “It was rather forward.”
Shay throws himself at once out of the bed.
“Oh, God,” he says, looking horror-struck. He grabs his outer coat from its stand, pulls it quickly around himself, leaving the many straps and buckles undone. “Oh, Christ, Aveline, I’m sorry. I thought - I woke up and saw you there and I...” He drags his hands over his face and lets out a low, wordless wail. “God, what have I done?”
“Shay,” Aveline says. She can feel herself beginning to smile, but she tries to look serious; not forbidding, but at least not like she’s struggling not to laugh at his anguish. “If you saw me in your bed and thought it was an invitation, I suppose I can understand.”
Shay shakes his head, fiercely. “I’ve seen you sleeping next to Desmond, I should have known it didn’t mean... we had the codewords, why in God’s name didn’t I use them?”
“Codewords?” Aveline asks.
There’s a sharp rap at the door. Shay throws Aveline a desperately apologetic look, then raises his voice and calls, “Come in.”
The door opens, and Aveline tenses. Haytham.
“I had a visitor who was very insistent on being brought down here,” Haytham remarks. His eyes alight on Aveline, still in Shay’s bed, and he raises his eyebrows; she narrows her eyes in return. “Although I take it you’re already busy.”
“It’s not like that,” Shay says. “She-”
“Shay.” A woman pushes past Haytham and into the cabin. At first Aveline thinks it’s a stranger, and then she realises it’s herself.
The other Aveline approaches Shay with sharp intent, as if she’s planning to hit him. Shay stays her with a hand on her arm and throws a pointed glance over his shoulder.
The other Aveline follows his look and meets Aveline’s eyes. Breaks into a smile.
“Well,” Aveline II says, “this should be interesting.”
“I’ll stay close, I suppose,” Haytham mutters, closing himself out of the cabin.
“Aveline,” Shay says, looking at the new Aveline, “I need your forgiveness. Or her forgiveness. I’ve needed your forgiveness all this time and never known it. How is it that you ever spoke to me again?”
Aveline II bursts out laughing. “Ah, this visit.”
Shay draws breath, then seems to freeze. “Am I permitted to speak frankly?”
“Was your understanding that I pestered Haytham into bringing me here just to play chess?” Aveline II asks. She presses closer to Shay, slipping a hand inside his coat, and...
She’s kissing Shay. Aveline is sitting here, in Shay’s bed, watching herself kiss Shay. It’s impossible to make sense of. Something is tightening in her chest.
“Aveline!” Shay hisses, pulling back. “Not in front of... in front of yourself! She’s not here yet!”
“Trust me,” Aveline II murmurs, “you’ll be grateful for this.”
And Aveline feels her visit drawing to a close. For a moment she considers fighting the end of it, demanding some answers, but right now she’s hopelessly confused. More than anything, she needs some time alone to think.
She’s standing on a rooftop when she returns to her time, unable to remember what she’s doing there.
She touches a hand to her lips. Sits down where she is and watches the horizon, piecing things together in her mind and her heart, until the sun rises.
-
Aveline is always an extremely welcome sight in his cabin. Tempting to draw her straight to the bed, but Shay’s learnt never to skip the codewords.
“Excellent timing,” he says. “We’ve just docked. Should be permitted a good while before anyone looks in on us.”
Aveline nods. “That’s fortunate. I was hoping I could speak to you privately.”
An Aveline from before their relationship, then. Shay tries to hide his disappointment. It’s always a pleasure to see her, in any case. “What did you want to speak of?”
She doesn’t answer at first. She looks troubled, Shay realises. His first instinct is to pull her into his arms, but perhaps that would only make her uncomfortable.
Kills him to stand there and do nothing, though.
“We’re... friends, aren’t we?” Aveline asks. “Despite our different causes. I feel we want the best for each other.”
Shay tries not to smile too knowingly. “I’d say so.”
Aveline hesitates for a moment. “Then can I confide in you? If I expose my soul to you, you will promise to tell no one else?”
“Aveline,” Shay says, “you can tell me anything.”
Aveline shifts on her feet, fidgeting with her cuff. Shay isn’t used to seeing her this uncertain. She’s usually at least better at hiding it.
“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with a fellow visitor?” she asks at last.
Shay’s breath catches. He always thought his first time with her was the first on both sides. Is it possible...?
“Always suspected there was something between Edward and Desmond,” he says. “You’re only just noticing it?”
She gives him a quick, distracted smile.
“Aveline,” Shay says, quietly, “if you’re falling for a visitor, you can tell me. He might be more favourably disposed to the idea than you think.”
“I don’t think there’s any possibility that Ezio won’t be favourably disposed,” Aveline says. “But he lived so long ago, and-”
“Ezio?” Shay asks, very loudly.
Aveline winces. “I know. It’s ridiculous. But he propositioned me, and... I’ve found myself considering it.”
Shay stares at her. “Ezio did what? You’ve found yourself what?”
“I feel he would think of it only as sex,” Aveline says, miserably. “And I don’t know if that would be enough to satisfy my longing. But perhaps a night with him is what I need to put this behind me?”
This can’t possibly be happening. This is a nightmare.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Shay says. “It’s Ezio. He lived centuries before - before us. And... and he’s Ezio. He’s a fine enough friend, but...”
“You don’t think it’s possible to have that sort of relationship with a visitor?” Aveline asks. She sighs. “I suppose you’re right. I should put it out of my mind.”
He and Aveline end up together, Shay tries to assure himself. He knows that. There’s no way he can somehow... make that unhappen. Is there?
“Well, I’m not saying you have to rule it out completely,” Shay says. “Visitors, I mean. But you can do better than Ezio. Or... different from Ezio, at any rate.”
Aveline nods, looking thoughtful. “There is a certain awkward charm to Desmond. Or perhaps I’m limiting myself by thinking solely of Assassins. Your Grand Master is unattached, is he not?”
Shay stares at her for a long, long moment.
“You’re a monster,” he says, quietly.
Aveline bursts out laughing.
“How could you do this to me?” Shay demands. “How can you just stand there and watch me squirm? Ezio?”
“I didn’t think you’d be fooled!” Aveline protests, breathless with laughter. “How could you believe I was pining after Ezio?”
“Jesus.” He wants to be angry, get a show of remorse out of her, but he can’t help laughing himself. “Just about stopped my heart.”
Aveline raises her eyebrows. “Shall we start it beating again, in that case? You’re no Ezio, of course, but I suppose I can make time for you.”
“You don’t deserve forgiveness this quickly,” Shay grumbles, but he lets her drag him over to the bed anyway.
-
Haytham becomes aware that he has a visitor as he’s fastening his boots, and he turns to see Desmond standing in the middle of his inn room. Desmond looks slightly lost, which, in all honesty, is nothing new.
“Desmond,” Haytham says, with a nod. “I’m afraid I don’t have long to chat; there’s Templar business to attend to, and Shay should be he-”
His back hits the wooden floorboards.
Haytham is a cautious man, and with any other visitor, save perhaps Shay, he would have been on his guard. But Desmond? The man’s always seemed so... harmless. Or as harmless as an Assassin can be.
“Make peace with your god, Templar,” Desmond growls, his hidden blade at Haytham’s throat.
“Desmond, this is ridiculous,” Haytham says. “Let me up.”
Desmond narrows his eyes. “Desmond? Remember the name of the one who killed you. I am Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad.”
Ah. He probably should have guessed; Desmond is holding him so close that Haytham can feel his heartbeat. A young Altaïr, then, possessing Desmond’s body.
But is that possible? Desmond is visiting; his body is centuries away.
“Where is Desmond?” Haytham asks.
“A waste of your final words.”
There’s a creak; the door opening, Haytham realises. Has the innkeeper come to watch him murder himself? He’s managing to hold Altaïr off for now, but fighting a person who’s visiting is tricky; he can’t actually do Altaïr any harm. He isn’t altogether sure he’d want to, even if Altaïr weren’t in Desmond’s form.
But Altaïr has tensed at the opening door, distracted for just an instant. Long enough for Haytham to free his wrist, bring his own blade sharply up to Altaïr’s - Desmond’s - neck. Maybe this Altaïr doesn’t yet know enough about visiting to know it’s an empty threat.
Altaïr goes still, and for a moment Haytham knows nothing but the warmth of the body against his, the steel edge against his throat. It... unsettles him, to look into Desmond’s eyes and see such untempered willingness to kill. He’s seen it in many of his acquaintances, of course, but not in Desmond.
And then, through their beating hearts, he hears a voice.
“Desmond?” Shay asks, horrified.
“I’d prefer it if you knocked next time, Shay,” Haytham tells him, mildly. “Assuming there is a next time, of course.”
“Desmond, what in fuck’s name are you doing?”
“It’s Altaïr,” Haytham says.
“In Desmond’s body?” Shay demands. “It can’t be Altaïr. They’d both be visiting. It doesn’t work like that.”
“I thought the same,” Haytham says. He doesn’t take his eyes off Desmond’s. “But he calls himself Altaïr, and he’s attempting to gut me like Altaïr, so he does appear to be Altaïr. Or so I’d prefer to believe, at least. I rather hoped Desmond and I had a cordial enough relationship not to go murdering each other at a moment’s notice.”
Something uncertain flickers across Desmond’s face.
“You care what I think about you?” he asks, after a moment.
Haytham watches him a moment longer, not withdrawing his blade. “I... have an impression of what Desmond might think of me,” he says, carefully. “Are you Desmond?”
Desmond stares at him. “Haytham?”
Haytham raises his eyebrows. “Oh, is my identity in question as well?”
“Oh, God, why am I - what am I doing?” Desmond - it does seem to be Desmond, doesn’t it? - retracts his blade at once. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I... are you okay?”
“I’m unharmed.” Haytham withdraws his own blade from Desmond’s throat, with a relief he’s careful not to display too openly. “Would you mind explaining what just happened? You claimed to be Altaïr, and you certainly seemed to be, but I hadn’t thought it possible for one person visiting to possess another. And where is Altaïr now?”
Desmond hangs his head and groans. “Okay. I can explain this. But I should probably be less, uh.” He hesitates. “Less on top of you.”
“Probably, yes.”
Desmond takes a chair, and so does Haytham, wincing; his back hasn’t forgotten its impact with the floor. Shay drops down to sit on the bed.
“Hi, Shay,” Desmond mumbles.
“Good to see you,” Shay says. “You’re going to explain the scene I just came in on?”
Desmond winces. “Okay. You guys both know about the Animus, right?”
“I have some idea of it,” Haytham says. “It lets you hunt through our memories in search of... something or other.”
“Right,” Desmond says. “Well, I can pick things up from those memories. From you guys. A lot of my time as Ezio was just teaching me how to fight like him. But, uh, I don’t get to choose what I get. So there are all these other people’s memories and feelings in my head, and I have to focus a lot on just... remembering who I am.”
“And this is what you call the Bleeding Effect,” Haytham says.
“That’s right.”
Shay shakes his head. “Didn’t think that was a real thing. I thought the Bleeding Effect was what was making you hallucinate us. Only it’s not, because we’re real.”
“The hallucinations are part of it,” Desmond says.
“And the other parts mean you think you’re Altaïr?” Shay asks.
“Sometimes,” Desmond says. “I’m really sorry. I’m trying to keep it together. It’s just... it’s hard.”
Haytham is silent for a while, absorbing the situation.
“Your allies,” he says at last. “Shaun. Rebecca. Your father.”
“Uh, what about them?” Desmond asks.
“They’re forcing you to use the Animus?” Haytham asks. “Knowing the effect it has on your mind?”
Desmond looks uncomfortable. “Well, the world could be in danger. We’re trying to figure out how to save it. So it’s not like we really have a choice.”
“Couldn’t one of them take over the task?” Shay asks. “You went through Altaïr and Ezio; isn’t that enough?”
Desmond shakes his head. “Connor’s memories are the ones we need, and I can see those because I’m his direct descendant. Shaun or Rebecca would just get their own ancestors.”
“And your father?” Haytham asks. “Or are we your ancestors through the maternal line?”
For a long moment, Desmond just looks at the floor.
“Too late to switch now, anyway,” he mumbles. “He’d have to start syncing from the beginning.”
“He never offered?” Shay asks. He’s sitting forward on the edge of the bed, frowning.
“It’s probably easiest if there’s only one of us losing our mind, anyway,” Desmond says. “Do we have to talk about this?”
It’s difficult for Haytham to judge another man’s parenting; all indications from Connor are that he’s hardly an exemplary father himself. But somehow this is still troubling him. Perhaps the difference is that Desmond seems to need a father, to crave company and concern in a way that Connor doesn’t.
Desmond may have the skills of Ezio and Altaïr - and Haytham himself, a strange thought - but he cannot kill unflinchingly. He needs protection; he needs someone willing to step in when he is overwhelmed. Who in his own time can offer that to him?
“We can speak of other things, if you’d prefer,” Haytham says.
Later, much later, he will find Desmond facing far too many Abstergo guards. Haytham will take over with barely a second thought, despite knowing these are Templars, and will clear the path for Desmond to rescue the father who doesn’t deserve him.
-
“Shay,” Aveline says. “You know Haytham well, don’t you?”
What’s brought this on? Strange to think of Haytham when they’re lying together in Shay’s cabin, Aveline warming her feet on his thighs. “I don’t know that I’d say well. The man likes his secrets.”
“As well as a person can, then,” Aveline says. “You’re his visitor, his ally, his friend. You’ve worked alongside him for years. You’ve seen his past and his future. Who knows him better than you?”
He’s never really thought about it like that. It’s hard to name anyone Haytham seems closer to, certainly, even if he has family in their ranks. And yet there’s still so much Shay doesn’t know about him. Something about it makes him uneasy. Or... maybe ‘sad’ would be a better word.
“Why d’you ask?” he asks.
“Have you ever known him to be with a woman?” Aveline asks. “Or anyone?”
Shay hesitates. “It’s not my story to tell.”
He can see Aveline’s tempted to press him on the matter, but she relents. “Another question, then. Have you ever known him to be happy?”
Shay tries to think. It takes a while.
“They’ve both got the same answer,” he says at last. It’s safe to tell her, isn’t it? Aveline likes to tease and mock, but he knows she has enough kindness not to use this against Haytham. And she’s probably guessed that Connor didn’t leap fully-formed from his father’s loins. “Connor’s mother. Ziio.”
“Have you seen her?” Aveline asks.
Shay shakes his head. “He mentioned her to me once. In his cups. The look on his face...”
“It was fond?” Aveline asks, smiling a little.
Shay is silent for a moment. Looks up at the ceiling. “I’d pay not to see it again.”
Aveline makes no answer to that. When Shay can bring himself to look at her, he sees her frowning, looking thoughtful.
“You remember when you kissed me too early?” Aveline asks. “You’d forgotten to use the codewords. I was very confused.”
Shay groans. “Do you have to remind me?”
Aveline laughs. “Don’t regret it too much. It had me looking at you with new eyes. And then a later me came to see you, one who knew the pleasure of your company, and the younger me left.”
“I remember,” Shay says.
“Well, what if we had persuaded the younger me to stay? To join us in the bed?”
Two Avelines? It’s an alluring thought for an instant, before Shay spots the flaw. He has a hard enough time matching Aveline’s appetite as it is.
“I’d be dead of exhaustion,” he says.
Aveline smirks, drifts her hand over his hip. “Undoubtedly. But the essential premise, three abed, you understand that?”
“I’m following,” Shay says. “But what does this have to do with...”
He tails off.
“What does this have to do with Haytham?” Aveline asks, innocently.
“Aveline,” Shay says.
“A possibility, that’s all,” Aveline says, with a shrug. “If you dislike the idea, we don’t have to speak of it further.”
Has she been lusting after Haytham all this time? She can’t have been, surely. “How has this even come to your mind?”
“He’s done a great deal for us,” Aveline says. “And he’s evidently not averse to the pleasures of the flesh, so it seems a shame he’s apparently experienced them so little. And I know you’ve noticed that look in his eye when he sees us in the act.”
“Mortification?” Shay suggests.
Aveline smiles knowingly at him.
Shay shakes his head. “Any man who saw you would stare. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m uncomfortable with my handsome superior actually touching you.”
“Ah.” Aveline grins. “So you’re tempted.”
“What?” Shay demands. “Why would - where do you get that from?”
“You object to having Haytham in bed with me,” Aveline says. “Your handsome superior, perhaps I should say. But he would also be in bed with you. You have nothing to say to that?”
Shay stares at her.
“It’s strange, that’s what I have to say,” he says, eventually. “It just... wasn’t what came to mind first.”
“If anything, I’d say I’d have the greater cause for jealousy,” Aveline says. “You and Haytham are together, physically together, in a way you and I can’t be. The three of us could spend one night together, and then I’ll return to my own time, and perhaps you’ll decide that you’re content with the company of Haytham alone.” She sighs theatrically. “And I wouldn’t even have the right to complain, after our agreement.”
They discussed this a while ago: whether their relationship should preclude any others. What if one of them wants a marriage, children? The Church frowns on weddings where one party is invisible, and it seems impossible to imagine that Aveline could become pregnant on a visit; she’s certainly had enough opportunities to, and there’s no sign of it. Shay’s only requests were ‘not another visitor, and I don’t want to know about it’.
He hasn’t glanced at another woman since this started. He finds it hard to imagine wanting to.
He’s almost certain he hasn’t been glancing at Haytham, either, whatever Aveline might say.
“I’m not about to abandon you for my Grand Master,” Shay says. “I promise you. Anyway, visitors are off-limits.” A thought comes to him, and he laughs; he thinks it’s in relief. “You’re toying with me, aren’t you? Like when you pretended you were in love with Ezio.”
“Yes, if you like,” Aveline says.
Shay hesitates. “If I like?”
But Aveline only presses up closer to him, sighing contentedly into his ear. Shay lies there with his arms full of Aveline and his mind full of Haytham, telling himself not to pursue the matter any further.
He’s never been the best at listening to instructions.
“Am I not enough for you?” he asks, into the silence. “Is there something you need me to do better?”
Aveline laughs and presses a kiss to his hairline. “You’re all I need. It was only a thought.”
It haunts him for a long time afterwards.
-
Haytham knew he wouldn’t be able to conceal his identity from his father forever, of course, but it was a pleasant dream for a while. Now he’s started visiting with an Edward who knows, and his throat tightens at every first glimpse of him. Will this be a young Edward? Or will that uncomfortable knowledge stand between them: here is your son, grown and fighting for the other side?
“Haytham!”
Haytham has barely registered the call before Edward throws himself upon him, in an embrace so violent he’s almost winded.
It’s possible the knowledge is more uncomfortable for Haytham than it is for his father.
“You just spoke your first word!” Edward says, beaming, as Haytham gently extricates himself. “How many are fortunate enough to hear their son’s first word, and then have an adult conversation with that son the same afternoon?”
Haytham has to wonder whether Edward has truly had an adult conversation in his life. “What was the word?”
“Well, it was more of a noise. But you were definitely trying to say something.” He looks around. “And we’re on a ship! The Aquila?”
“The Aquila,” Haytham confirms.
“Where’s my grandson?”
“At the helm, I hope,” Haytham says. “Not all of us will drop the wheel in the middle of the ocean to go running all over the deck.”
“There was always Adé or Anne to take over,” Edward says, with a shrug.
Haytham says nothing in return. He’s absorbed in his own concerns, and his plan for this visit is to remain quiet and let Edward carry out a lively conversation with himself.
It’s usually a reliable strategy, but somehow this time it fails. Edward, in the middle of reminiscing loudly about life on the seas, cuts himself off and looks into Haytham’s face, frowning. “Something’s troubling you.”
“Templar business,” Haytham lies. “Nothing very interesting. Certainly nothing I can discuss with an Assassin.”
“I’m not so devoted to the Creed that I’ll take its side against my son,” Edward says. He doesn’t seem to notice Haytham’s wince, fortunately. “You can talk to me about whatever’s wrong. I’m your father. It’s my job to listen to your whining, however old you get.”
Haytham hesitates.
“I concealed my identity from you for so long,” he says. “It’s too late now for us to act as father and son.”
Edward looks stricken. “Don’t say that.”
“I don’t say this to wound,” Haytham says. “It was my mistake. I could have had a father for so much more of my life.”
“You’ve had me the entire time,” Edward says. “Whether I’m calling you Hat Man or by your name, you’re still my son. Even if I don’t know it yet.” He grins suddenly. “And, anyway, just last week I visited you when you were younger. I called you Hat Man to keep up the pretence.”
Haytham stares at him.
Edward laughs. “You’re not the only one who can keep secrets. I kept Mary’s, didn’t I?”
“Extremely poorly, the way she told it,” Haytham says.
“Only with visitors,” Edward says, dismissively. “You could have dropped in on her in her skirts any time; it doesn’t count. So there you were with your father, knowing he was your father, and there was me, knowing you were my son. I’d say that counts as having your father.”
Haytham is still reeling from the revelation that Edward is actually capable of keeping his mouth shut about something. “When was this?”
Edward waves a hand vaguely. “You didn’t notice times when I was unusually affectionate?”
“What level of affection would you consider ‘unusual’?” Haytham asks, and then, “Times? So this happened more than once?”
“Might happen more in the future, too,” Edward says. “Well. My future.”
Strange. It shouldn’t make a difference; those times are behind him. But somehow, knowing his father has been there throughout his life, looking at him as a son...
Perhaps it would be good to unburden himself. But this is still Edward, father or not, so there must be caveats.
“You can repeat this to no one,” Haytham says. “Particularly Connor.”
“When have I repeated something told to me in confidence?” Edward asks, spreading his hands. “Intentionally, I mean. When I didn’t think everyone knew already. And I was sober.”
Haytham turns away.
“No, look, I’ll stay quiet,” Edward says. “I promise. I promise.”
Haytham looks out over the ocean for a moment. Listens to the calls of the birds overhead. Takes a breath.
“I’ve been visiting with an older Connor,” he says. “It’s been... surprisingly pleasant, occasionally. Companionable. I didn’t think it was possible for us to move beyond hostility. Although I’ll admit the fault for the hostility didn’t lie solely with Connor.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Edward asks. “What’s got you looking so miserable?”
Haytham sighs.
“That’s all in Connor’s future,” he says, “so I hope our acquaintance can end on a warm note, from his perspective. I hope he can end his life thinking better of me than I deserve. But I know what lies in my own future, and...” He hesitates. “Well, I can be fairly certain that we’ll end on poor terms. So it’s difficult to feel I’m building a relationship with my son, knowing...”
What is he doing? He can’t talk about this with his father.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what you’re speaking of,” Edward says, frowning slightly, “but I don’t think you can judge a lifetime’s acquaintance by the way it ends. Altaïr tried to kill me the first time we met, you know that?”
“I think Altaïr tried to kill more or less everyone,” Haytham says.
“Right. Well, what if he shows up young tomorrow and succeeds? It’ll be a sour note to end our friendship on, but that doesn’t mean the friendship didn’t exist.” Edward shrugs. “Although I’ll still die cursing his name.”
He’s come a little too close to the truth of Haytham’s future. Haytham shifts, uncomfortable.
“Anyway,” Edward says, “here you are worrying about your relationship with your son, and your son’s down the other end of the ship. Let’s go and talk to him.”
“About this?” Haytham asks, slightly alarmed.
“About anything,” Edward says. “Don’t worry about how it ends. Endings are never going to be cheerful; they’re endings. Worry about now, when you could be having a pleasant conversation with your family.”
“Or a disastrous conversation with my family,” Haytham points out. “My conversations with Connor in my own time have not historically been successful.”
And then he finds himself standing outside his own body.
“Really?” he asks, exasperated.
Edward winks at him, sets off towards the helm in Haytham’s body, and Haytham has no choice but to follow.