(no subject)

 Desmond has never been the guy who wanted attention. Growing up on the Farm, growing up the Mentor's Omega kid... better to hide. Better to blend and fade and run. He mastered hiding in plain sight better than anyone else, just to save himself a few less broken bones. 

Now he has more attention than ever on him, and he just knows it's not going to end well. Beating the shit out of Fredrico had felt *good* at the time, but now there's going to be fall out. He can feel the change in the air, people are *watching* now, they know he's more dangerous than he's shown and he's shown a *lot* more than they were expecting to begin with. 

"You gonna play for us tonight?"

"Depends on the luthier, if the instrument is ready. You really wanna hear some tunes huh?"

"I'm beginning to understand Ezio's loathing of minstrels if all he get's to hear is that... ugh." 

Des smiles because even in a dress and her hair growing out awkwardly, Rebecca is still flawless and unchanged. 




"*Spanish* Miles?" Shaun's tone is epicaly put upon as he catches onto the tune Des is strumming on his new guitar. 

"French is the language of love Master Hastings, but Spanish gets you laid." He grinned, voice purring out low. "Ella tenía los ojos marrones mm, muslos de caramelo, cabello largo, sin anillo de bodas, hey." 

Shaun repressed a shiver and hoped few around were actually fluent enough in Spanish to realize that Desmond's dialect was far from the mother tongue. "Shameless Miles. Utterly shameless." 

He could forgive almost anything though for Rebecca's delighted laughter. He just knew she was going to take up the risque lyrics as soon as the 'woman's' part came around and if she tried to drag him into dancing he'd make an *utter* fool of himself and enjoy every buggered minute. 

"Te vi mirando desde el otro lado del camino y ahora realmente quiero saber tu nombre.."

"Oh I only know the English version! Mile's!!!" 

Thank the powers for tiny mercies. Being seduced by serenade should *not* work on him. No matter who's voice it was. 




Three years. It hits him as he's playing a game of chess with Messer Alberti  in the park that he's been in Renaissance Italy for almost three years. Of that time, Desmond has only been home a fist full of months between raiding trips. They're nearly respectable citizens for all that the various underbelly factions are undecided exactly how or where they fall. 

Desmond returns from his latest (and longest) journey with two novices and a merchant prince, along with the makings of an actual *greenhouse* not that Shaun gives a damned. He only cares that the man is seemingly uninjured, weary, stripped down to the barest physical requirements of an assassin and... hungry. Desmond is touch starved like someone who has spent the greater part of a year and a half abstaining from even the lightest skin on skin contact. He curls into Rebecca and shudders. They caress him and he *sobs*. Shaun isn't sure sex is the answer but at least it lets them drive him deep into sleep so they can simply *cuddle* while he's too weak to escape. 

They've discussed the future countless times, tried to make tentative plans in the mans absence but it's impossible. They need him. The Order arguably needs him. But what Desmond Miles needs... they can only guess at. A home. A nest. A purpose beyond the shedding of blood (especially his own) that includes raising others into the tribe/clan/family/order/society for changing the world and future. While not being the man in charge of it all, or at least not the only one. 

The Order has always wanted a Mentor... but a single soul in charge leads to so many issues. A council? Or at least a council of mentors? Something that lets Desmond fade into the background and take only those responsibilities he's actually good with... it's an idea they'd bandied about in between haphazard talks of children and the changes they've already wrecked on the world. 

He clings in his sleep and his nightmares make him reach for weapons they carefully keep on the other side of the room. 

The novices are more like rescues. Dangerous kittens half feral and fully aware that fire burns and steel cuts but not sure if the food is poisoned or the water drugged. They want to trust. They want to cling as hard to Miles as Desmond clings to Shaun; with white knuckled hands and gasping breathes. They say he murdered their mentor. They claim they don't know how. Shaun knows a thousand ways to kill a man without leaving a mark and doesn't bother wondering which as much as *why*. 

Which of the many crimes was the one that flipped the switch this time? 

Miles has scars that professional torturers couldn't explain. It takes *love* to leave the deepest wounds after all. 



"Rome?"

"It's a possibility. There's a lot going on in Rome, we have an advantage right now, no other real Order presence there." 

Desmond made a face that Shaun interpreted as 'Oh precursors not again', or something equivalent.