A/N: Oh eff. This is blasphemy. Don't burn me for this- I, I even considered burning myself for this- but, no, just- just enjoy it. Maybe.. .

Disclaimer: I owns nothing of these characters, for serious.

O&O

Pale yellow light filtered in through cream colored curtains and cast shadows onto the bed. Birds twittered outside. The morning was bright and beautiful.

Desmond yawned and turned over onto his back. Stretching languidly, he opened his eyes and stared sleepily at the swirling, floral wallpaper.

"W-wha?..." Desmond sat up immediately. Where was he?

He glanced down and found himself in the apricot colored bed sheets. He was wearing nothing but an-

"Oh sweet Jesus!" oversized nightshirt printed with smiling hamburgers.

He tumbled violently out of bed, getting caught in the sheets.

"Shit, shit. I've been kidnapped!" he glanced around the room franticly.

The room itself did not seem threatening. It appeared comfortable and lived in- and very feminine.

He froze as he heard some noises from below him. So he was not alone in this strange place? Well, no, probably not, if he'd been kidnapped-

"Don't panic, don't panic." He muttered to himself.

There was a door- was it locked? Desmond scrambled silently to it and listened. There was nothing outside it as far as he could tell. He slowly turned the doorknob. The door opened easily.

Why? Why was the door unlocked? Had his captors made a mistake? This meant he could escape!... Didn't it?

"Pants!" he hissed. Those would be a good idea.

He threw off the insulting nightshirt and moved towards the dresser in the corner of the room. None of the drawers were locked. He opened them and pulled out a pair of pants. His pants.

"My pants!" in fact, all of the clothes there seemed to be his clothes.

"Oh God, what kind of fuckery is this!" he cried in dismay.

What was happening? There was no time to think about it though; his captors might comeback at anytime!

He quickly got dressed and turned around to the door- but then pondered something.

Why did he awaken mostly naked in a strange bed? A large bed, for more than one person…

He whimpered incoherently and then slowly felt his behind.

"I'm okay- I think I'm okay." Probably.

Thoroughly disturbed by the sudden turn of events he made his way for the door and exited the room. He found himself in a dimly lit hallway. It was sparsely decorated and led to a descending stair.

Quietly as he could he made his way down the stairs. There was suddenly the smell of freshly made waffles. Desmond turned a corner and found himself at a crossroads.

One hall led to living area where soft, strange music seemed to be playing. The other led to a door inlaid with glass and decorated with a lavender curtain. Sunlight poured through it- the front door!

"Aha!" Desmond breathed and dashed madly for his escape!

Fwunk!

The throwing knife buried itself solidly in the wall in front of Desmond's face. A thin slice appeared across the bridge of his nose. Desmond, still in midstep, focused his eyes on the blade.

"Shit."

"Where do you think you are going," came a sudden voice, darkly timbered and oddly familiar, "without eating breakfast?"

Desmond turned and through a wide archway he somehow had not noticed, he saw-

"A-A-Altair!"

"You looked frightened, my dear," the master assassin said," is there something wrong?"

Altair reclined in a dining chair and wore a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. A frilly pink apron was thrown over the back of the chair. The table was set with two plates of waffles, one in front of Altair and the other in the empty space opposite him. Altair held a newspaper in one hand and was expertly flipping another throwing knife in the other.

"Come, sit." His golden eyes flashed maliciously in the sunlight.

Spurred on by fear, Desmond skittered into the room and sat across from his ancestor.

"You should eat them before they get cold." Altair said easily and seemed to turn his attention to the newspaper.

Suddenly feeling very hungry, Desmond decided to eat them.

"D-delicious!" he exclaimed in surprise. They were probably the best waffles he had ever eaten in his life.

"Of course they are. It is I who made them." Altair smirked seductively. He placed the knife down on the table and lifted a peach slice from a nearby plate.

The assassin placed the peach against his teeth and grinned across the table. It was at this point that Desmond noticed how attractively the light played over his ancestor's naked torso and the predatory gleam that was reflected in those golden eyes opposite him. He decided he was not feeling very comfortable.

"Tell me Desmond, would you care for some peaches?"

It was at this point that something very strange happened.

O&O