Later that night, after dinner, he was lying on his bed as Shaun shuffled about. He watched the man lazily as he walked around. Finally, the historian stopped and stared at Desmond.

"Now, what did you want to show me earlier?"

"Oh!" He rose and walked over to the small closet, pulling out an outfit. "You'll need to change into this."

"Why on earth would I need to do that, Desmond?"

"Because when we…"

Shaun's eyes narrowed as he examined the outfit. "Why?"

"It's not enough to just go. You have to change. I remember that one thing about living on the run. Whenever I moved, I had to buy new clothes and shit. That's why I've never shown my tattoo to anyone here."

"You have—"

"You've seen part of it. The arm."

Shaun quirked an eyebrow as he adjusted his glasses. "You know, Miles, perhaps I underestimated you."

Desmond grinned as he set the outfit down. "I've got a black, collared button-up and khaki shorts, but Rebecca bought this a while ago to give to you for your birthday. She hid it in here, but she forgot."

He let the British man step to look at the clothing before taking off his hoodie and peeling off his shirt.

"These clothes look like my parents' from the punk movement in Britain."

It was the epitome of the British punk rock movement, down to the ripped skinny jeans with the Union Jack patch stitched onto the pocket and the fingerless studded gloves. Desmond laughed.

"Why did you take off your shirt?"

He spun around to show him the tattoo. He looked back over his shoulder to see Shaun's surprised expression.

"It's… an eagle."

"Done in the tribal pattern. I designed it myself before I got it done."

The tribal pattern expanded across his shoulders and down his back. He opened his arms, and the outer half of the eagle's wings stretched out. With his thickly muscled arms, the wings looked good—if could say so himself. The black lines and twirls looked like a striking eagle when he held his arms out, and with his arms closed, an eagle about to step on something.

"No too bad, huh?"

He shivered when he felt Shaun's fingers lightly trace the black lines on his skin. "You designed this?"

Desmond nodded, grinning proudly.

Shaun scoffed. "How much tackier can you get?"

He felt hurt, despite the fact Shaun still hadn't stopped tracing the pattern.

"And you still managed to make it look decent."

He perked slightly. "Really?"

"It looks good, Desmond. I can't believe you actually designed it yourself."

He lowered his arms as Shaun traced the tail feathers lower on his back.

"Too bad a leap of faith requires that you land on your back."

He hummed pleasurably as Shaun's hand ran back up his back. He felt Shaun's hands on his shoulders and give a light squeeze before sliding down his arms and twining their fingers together. Desmond laughed and spun around, twirling Shaun so their positions were reversed.

"Thank you," he murmured into his shoulder.

Shaun scoffed. "I'm not in this for just you."

"I don't care. Thank you."

The historian was silent as they stood there in a hug. After several minutes, Desmond let go and walked over to outfit.

"So, will you wear it?"

He could feel Shaun's eyes tracing over the eagle tattoo again. "I suppose I must, mustn't I? What will we do about our hair?"

Desmond frowned. "I don't think we'll have to go that far. We've got Abstergo to fallback on, remember? But we need a different style of clothes so that way they can't ask around and reference our clothes."

"But our facial features will—"

"Merely narrow us down. I don't look too much different from any other Italian if I cover the scar, and you just look like a red-haired, pasty white boy."

Shaun scowled, and Desmond laughed. "Sorry, but it's the truth. And unless you talk, they'll never know you're British."

Shaun moved over to him and gazed at the clothes. "I suppose we'll have to. Yes, I'll wear it."

Desmond grinned. "Awesome. When will we…"

He glanced as his injured hand.

"In a couple days, yet," Shaun said. "But put these away and let's go to bed."

Desmond smiled warmly at him. "I'm all for that."

They fell asleep shortly after. The next day drug by slowly, and Desmond was energized. He had a feeling it would only get worse the closer they got. Erudito laughed when he came hopping into the room.

"Perhaps we should put you back in, if only to let you spend some of that energy."

Desmond grinned. "I feel great today!"

"Why don't you take him out and run him?" William mentioned to the man.

Erudito groaned and leaned back. "Can't we let Sh—"

"No," William said.

Reluctantly, he took him outside, and Desmond spent the entire morning rolling, sparing, running, and playing in the free air. Once, he smacked his finger, and he cried out loudly and curled in on himself as he waited for the pain to subside. After that, he was back to playing around. He even ended up playing a game with ghosts from the bleeding effect, and he practically had to be drug back in for lunch.

Lucy smiled at him. "Have fun?"

He nodded vigorously and exhaled loudly. "Except when I fell and smashed my finger against the ground."

Lucy looked reassured. "I'm glad to see you're doing so well. As much as I hate to admit it, perhaps it was good that you cut off your finger."

Desmond frowned and looked at the empty space and the bandages. "I'd still rather have my finger."

Lucy looked upset as William came in to stand beside her. "Yes, but that last personality change really had us worried. You did need some time out of the Animus, even if we don't have it."

He wiggled his fingers. "I dunno. I guess I did. I'm glad we went out yesterday, even if it ended disastrously. It was good to see modern life around me."

William nodded. "When do you think you can sync to the Animus again?"

"By Friday."

They turned to see Shaun enter and walk to the cabinets to fish out his tea.

"Are you sure?" Lucy said.

"Abso-blinking-lutely positive. He'll be 'fit as a fiddle' and 'right as rain.'"

The man pulled out a tea box and set about making his tea. As the water boiled, he turned to look at Desmond. "He's a healthy lad, well built. He'll go Friday."

"Cool. How long till Friday?"

"Three days."

He groaned, getting restless. He counted the hours as they passed, getting more and more restless. He fiddled with the hidden blade as he waited, eventually making it look like Altair's, and not Ezio's. He grinned when he popped the blade out and held up his hand, making it look like his finger.

By the end of the night, he was begging to go back in just to kill time. They let him, but when Ezio fell and landed on his hands, Desmond desynced with a yelp of pain as his hand jerked. They decided he should stay out until it was healed.

The next day, when he came out of his bedroom, Lucy was in a tizzy. Rebecca, Sujin, and Erudito were working furiously at computers, and William and Alfred were gone.

"What happened?"

Lucy looked at him. "The main system of the order crashed. There's some sort of virus eating the memory clean, and nobody can reach anyone else. We think Abstergo is behind the attack."

"So what are we supposed to do?"

"Hold tight until we can contact them again."

Shaun came out moments later, yawning. "Morning. What's all the fuss?"

"Someone hacked the assassins' main computer system."

Shaun looked panicked and rushed to his computer, beginning to work. Desmond sighed and pulled a chair over to Shaun's desk, where he sat and watched him. He pulled up the internet after several minutes and opened up Aol. He watched as Shaun typed in "KingHastingsnator" in for his screen name and something long for the password. Desmond watched as he began typing in a blank email.

"Desmond," he typed.

He looked at Shaun briefly.

"The virus is mine. I've got it spread over several emails. The virus will buy us the time we need to get out. Can we leave tonight? I intercepted an email from Lucy using the virus, and she is getting antsy."

Desmond sighed and nodded once as he stood up. "Right. Since I'm useless here, can I be in charge of cooking today?"

They were more than happy to let him cook and do small things for him. At one point, William and Alfred came back.

"We couldn't reach them from the payphones."

"Their lines are down, everything. This attack has them completely shut down."

Desmond could swear he saw the faintest hint of a smirk on Shaun's face as he gave Lucy her cup of apple juice. He brought them lunches and dinners until they finally gave up late that night. They all looked shot from the frantic attempt to weed out the virus from the outside. When they trudged to their rooms, Shaun looked up and smirked.

"Ready?"

Desmond grinned. "Born ready."

They shut down and entered their room, where Shaun fished out a fake ID, a passport, and several other cards. He handed them to Desmond as took the outfit.

As Shaun stripped, he explained them. "The green card is your card at Abstergo if all goes to shit. The white one is something for security at airports and what not."

Desmond nodded and quickly undressed. He tugged on the khaki shorts with the frayed bottoms and tucked the cards into the wallet he had stuffed in one of the pockets. He tugged on the button-up, noticing briefly how different he looked in black. He tugged on some black sneakers and a black hooded jacket. He could hear Shaun moving around as he got dressed.

When he looked over at Shaun, he did a double take. Shaun was standing in a cut Union Jack tee with black netting underneath that led to his elbows, and the studded, fingerless gloves caught the light from the moon. A three-ringed choker and dark pewter military cross necklace rested around his neck, and the bloody-looking Union Jack suspenders that hung on either side of the black roughed up skinny jeans seemed to fit. He was wearing a beaten up pair of Converse.

Shaun pushed past him and went into the bathroom, returned a few minutes later with a piercing in his lip and two in each ear. He was smirking, the arrogant bastard.

"Like what you see, Miles?"

Desmond looked him over again, unable to believe his eyes as Shaun packed the laptop and Apple and then threw him the motorcycle keys.

"I cleaned myself up after becoming an assassin. A much more respectable fellow dressed in collared shirts and nice looking pants, not like the ratty ones you have on. I need to impress them, so after Rebecca saved me, I tidied up. I think Rebecca was upset."

Desmond grinned and came up behind him when he turned around. He slipped his hands around Shaun's waist and murmured, "So you got rid of this Shaun for douche bag Shaun?"

Shaun chuckled and leaned into the embrace. "Just because I'm in these clothes doesn't mean I still won't be a douche, but I had to make a good first impression if I was going to convince the Order to let me live. The jewelry Rebecca convinced me to save, thank God. I think she was hoping I'd eventually turn back into myself. I slept with the earrings in for the longest time. I'm surprised they didn't close over."

"I'd be a grouchy asshole if I had to dress like you did. I think I like this side better."

"If it'll get a looker like you to shag me, I'll even dye my hair purple for you."

Desmond laughed quietly. "I'd 'shag' you any day."

"Then we know what we're doing later on, now, hm?"

He bit Shaun's ear lightly and pulled away, twirling the keys. "Let's ride."

As they walked out of the house and to the storage room, Shaun called Abstergo and checked in. Desmond listened as he discussed the town they would stop in and the method of getting the paycheck. When he was done, Desmond was on the bike holding two helmets, one under his arm and the other out to Shaun.

"Punk or no, I'm not taking any risks of us being seen as we ride."

"We stop at a small town fifty miles north of here. We'll be heading toward London."

Desmond nodded once. Shaun smirked and put the helmet on, crawling on behind him and letting his hands slip around Desmond's waist. Desmond could feel his weight behind him as he started the motorcycle, the familiar vibrations and adrenaline rush completely natural to him. It even felt pleasant as it hummed up through his injured finger. Everything was right.

"Here we go," he murmured as they took out into the night. He could feel Shaun gradually loosen up and enjoy the ride as they sped down the streets and out of the town. The stars above seemed to be cheering them on as he thought about the "punk rock" Shaun behind him and the miles of open road ahead.

He had never felt so free in all his life.