Every Thursday, after lessons and training were over, the children of Training Group 3-9 would get together before dinner and play. Sometimes they'd climb trees, sometimes they'd play games, and sometimes they didn't do any of those things, and they'd just sit together under a tree and talk. It was then that the kids of Training Group 3-9 weren't future Assassins, training to fight in a millennia long war. They were just kids, having fun after school.

Well, almost all the kids would go play, anyway.

Duncan Miles hung back, watching the other kids from his training group run off to go play. Every week they did this, and every week he just hung back, watching them go before he went home to do his homework. They never asked him to come with them, never insisted he join them…and for the longest time, he'd been fine with that.

He knew the kids in his class didn't like him. They thought he got everything handed to him because he was the Mentor's son, and that he had it easy compared to him. He knew they talked about him behind his back, and he knew that it was because of his father that they ignored him. And he hadn't cared. Duncan was going to spend most of his life working with adults, so why did he need friends his own age, especially ones who probably would've still resented him even if they did invite him to play? He didn't need them. They didn't like him, and he had no reason to like them. He was going to be the best Assassin ever, he didn't need friends his own age.

And then Desmond had come along, and things had changed.

He'd been thinking about what his brother had said, about other kids, and how he should try to talk to them before writing them all off. Duncan had tried not to care about the other kids in his class, and what they did after class, or that he never came along…but he did.

He was tired of wondering what it was like, hanging out with people his own age. He wanted to hang out with them, to try and make friends his own age. There was just one problem, though: He had no idea what to say to them.

All his life, he'd spent most of his time talking to adults. He knew what to say and what not to say to them, but with kids, the rules were all different…

So Duncan just hung back, watching as the kids ran off, wondering what he could say to them that wouldn't make them hate him, before shaking his head. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't ready for this.

He sighed, taking one last look before he decided to just go home, shaking his head, defeated. "Maybe it's better this way…I don't even know what to say to them…"

"You could try hi, for starters."

Duncan blinked, surprised at the sound of Desmond's voice. When had his brother arrived at the training complex? He turned around, and Desmond grinned at him, Beth in his arm.

"Hey there, little D. I thought you might need some help…so I brought your favorite conversation topic. Maybe it'll make things easier?"

Duncan just stared, before taking Beth from his brother. He'd seen that the other kids sometimes brought toys into class, hidden in their lunchboxes. Maybe having one of his own would make things easier…if nothing else, it would at least give him something to talk about. Still, he wasn't sure. "Big D, you think this is a good idea? I mean, I haven't seen any other kids with a toy like Beth…"

Desmond snorted, shaking his head, still smiling. "Of course you haven't. None of the other kids have a toy as cool as Beth."

Duncan blinked, looking down at the stuffed bunny in his arms. It was true, Beth was basically the coolest toy ever, and maybe with Beth's support (and Desmond's, too), it wouldn't be so bad, talking to the other kids. "You really think I'll be okay?"

"Of course you'll be okay, my young padawan learner."

Duncan rolled his eyes, smiling at Desmond. "You're such a dork, big D."

"That I am, little D, that I am. Now go out there and make some friends. I'll keep an eye on you, in case you need backup."

Desmond was right. He could do this. He had his brother, and he had Beth. And even if the other kids didn't like him, he'd still have them. So with one last nod to his brother, Duncan headed off to the back of the training center, to begin his very important mission.

Today, the kids in Training Group 3-9 were hanging out under a tree in the back of the training center, sitting in a circle, just talking. As Duncan got closer, he noticed that they weren't just talking; they had their toys with them. A few of the boys had actions figures, some had small stuffed animals, one of the girls had a doll…none of them were as big as Beth, but they all had something like him with them. Okay. So he could talk about Beth without it being too weird.

For a minute, Duncan just watched the kids talk, still unsure of exactly what he should say. But he wasn't going to make any friends his own age if he just stood there, and he knew that. So, with a deep breath and a quick hug from Beth, he headed towards the group of kids, who quieted down the minute that they saw him approaching.

Duncan gave what he hoped was his best smile, waving a little bit. "Uh…hi, guys…"

The kids from his training group just stared at him in silence, a few of them looking irritated. One of the boys (Alistair, Duncan thought his name was), stood up, stepping to stand in front of Duncan. "Miles. What are you doing here?"

"Uh, well…I kind of wanted to see what you guys were doing…"

Alistair snorted, rolling his eyes. "Why would you want to know what we're doing? It's not important Assassin stuff, you wouldn't be interested. Go back home to your dad and do some homework or something."

Duncan blinked rapidly, unsure of why his eyes were suddenly so watery. He knew that this would be the most likely response from his classmates, and he'd mentally prepared himself for the worst.

So why did it hurt so much?

Alistair just shook his head, before sitting down with the other kids, leaving Duncan no room to argue, or say anything at all. He didn't even know what to say…he just stood there, watching as the kids tried to pick up their discussion, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. What did he say now? He could just leave…but Duncan knew that if he left now, he'd probably never try again, and he couldn't just quit.

One of the other kids frowned, looking up at Duncan. "Miles, you're not going to learn anything important here…go be special somewhere else, you're ruining our fun."

He took a deep breath, blinking again, before shaking his head. "I was wondering if I could hang out with you guys…?"

Alistair and a few of the other boys just stared at him for a minute, before laughing. "Are you serious? You want to hang out with us? Why? Your dad want you to start making connections or something?"

"No…I just thought—"

Alistair and a few of the other boys stood up, and Duncan took a step backwards, feeling nervous as he hugged Beth tight. Alistair stepped forward, staring down at Duncan. "Look, Miles. You're a smart kid, so you should understand this: we don't want you here. Everybody thinks you're so great just because you're the Mentor's kid. You brown nose all the teachers and the trainers and get everything done for you because of your dad. Now you wanna come here and kiss up to us, for some reason? We're not as stupid as you think we are. So just get out of here."

Silence fell over the group of kids as Duncan tried desperately not to cry, hugging Beth tight to his chest as he turned to leave. He knew this was a bad idea…he'd tried, and it hadn't worked. He just wanted to go home now, do his homework, and forget this day ever happened.

"Hey…I like your bunny."

Duncan froze in his tracks, turning around back to the group of his classmates. One of the other boys, one of the ones who hadn't stood up with Alistair, was looking at him, a small smile on his face. "It's really cool," he continued, before holding up a smaller plush bunny that flopped in his hand. "I've got this beanie baby, but yours is cooler 'cuz it's bigger."

He didn't know what to say to that for a second. After all that Alistair had said, somebody still wanted to talk to him…and they thought Beth was cool.

Slowly, Duncan smiled, pushing past Alistair and the other boys, who were staring at their classmate in disbelief, going to sit down next to the beanie baby boy. "Thanks…his name's Beth."

Beanie baby boy smiled and held up his bunny again. "Mine's named Leslie…oh, and my name's Kyle."

"Duncan, it's nice to meet you…er, properly, I mean, I know we're in the same class and everything…"

"Beth? Seriously?"

Duncan and Kyle looked up at Alistair, who was shooting Duncan a dirty look, shaking his head in disbelief. "I thought you were smart, Miles…Beth's a girl's name, and it's a dumb one at that!"

Duncan stared at Alistair for a second, before turning to Kyle, handing him Beth. "Can you hold him for a second?"

"Uh…sure…"

Duncan nodded, before standing up and moving to face Alistair, the hurt he'd felt at the other boy's insults turning into anger. "Okay, Alistair, listen up. You can say what you want to me, but Beth? Beth is named after my mom. So if I ever hear you say something like that again," he paused, fists clenched, as he raised himself up to his full height, looking Alistair in the eye as he continued, "I will show you exactly why I'm the best in the class. And I'll tell you- it's got nothing to do with who my dad is."

Alistair and Duncan glared at each other for a minute, before Alistair broke his gaze, shaking his head. "Fine. Whatever. See you later, Miles." And with that, Alistair left, a few of the other boys following him.

Duncan just stared at Alistair and his gang (or posy. Or whatever those other boys were to him) walked away, pride swelling up in his chest. He'd stood up for himself. He hadn't let Alistair get to him, and maybe, just maybe, he'd made a friend in the process. Duncan turned to the other kids, a few of whom were smiling at him. Kyle handed him back Beth, motioning for him to sit next to him. "Duncan, that was cool! Sorry about Alistair, he's always sort of a jerk…"

"You guys aren't mad at me for that?"

One of the girls laughed, shaking her head. "No, that was neat! Alistair always gets like that, and then he gets all huffy when somebody tells him he's being a jerk. Don't worry about him."

Kyle nodded. "So, anyway, you wanna hang out with us? We were trying to come up with a story for the toys to do, but nobody can think of anything good."

Duncan grinned, nodding eagerly and hugging Beth tight to his chest. Desmond had been right, he would be okay…the other kids weren't so bad after all (except for Alistair, but he was gone, so he didn't count), and maybe by the end of the day, he'd have some friends his own age to play with.

"Yeah! We could maybe do a superhero story, like from a comic book…"

Desmond watched his brother settle in with the other kids from his training group, a small smile on his face. He knew his young padawan could do it…he hadn't expected the complication of jerky little kids (though in retrospect, he shouldn't have been surprised), but Duncan had dealt with the bullies like a boss.

There was a part of Desmond, the overprotective big brother part, that wanted to stay a little longer, just to make sure everything was okay, and that Duncan didn't need him to step in or anything like that. But the logical part of him knew Duncan would be fine. He'd almost gone over there and smacked that little shit that was being mean to Duncan, but his brother had handled himself. He didn't need Desmond hovering from a distance…

And besides, he was running late for his own training, and he wasn't in the mood to get yelled at by trainers he could easily outperform in the field. Truth be told, Desmond was tired of training, period. He'd been home for almost two months now, and if he'd been any other Assassin, he'd have been back out on the field weeks ago. But he wasn't. He was still stuck in training.

Desmond had casually mentioned getting back into the field a few times to his father, hoping that he'd get the hint and actually give Desmond a proper mission. But William dodged Desmond's questions easily, promising to 'talk about it later' or that he'd give Desmond something to do 'soon'. Quite frankly, Desmond was getting sick of his dad's evasiveness…but Bill had always been good at lying and its many variations, including not telling the whole truth.

Desmond sighed to himself, shaking his head as he headed back towards the training compound. He'd try, once again, to talk to his dad about going back into the field tonight. Maybe he'd have more luck this time…at least, he hoped he would. A restless Desmond is an unhappy Desmond, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd need to run off if he wanted to get anything done (the thought was fleeting, though, he knew he couldn't leave Duncan like that.).

So, for now, he was stuck in training. Everybody not involved in their own training in the large obstacle course at the back of the training compound noticed Desmond, a few of them stopping their conversations to just stare at him as he walked by. He wasn't sure if it was because of his arm (or lack thereof, rather), or because he was the Mentor's son, but Desmond seemed to be a favorite source of gossip for several of the younger Assassins.

He wondered for a brief second if all Assassins were as fond of gossip as the ones at the Farm were…but then he remembered his ancestors and the novices and recruits they'd had to deal with. Well, at least that sort of thing never changed.

Regardless, he wasn't here to worry about what other people thought about him. He was here to train, and that was exactly what he was going to do. With a nod at the course instructor, Desmond pulled his hoodie off, tossing it to the ground as he headed for the start of the obstacle course.

The obstacle course was fairly standard, set up similar to those used in military training. The end goal was to get through it in as little time as possible, preferably with as few injuries as possible. Doing the course was supposed to prepare an Assassin for combat scenarios, throwing unexpected obstacles at them, seeing how well they could handle and if they'd be able to get out alive.

Desmond had done the course so many times, he was beginning to memorize the 'surprises' the course liked to throw out at random intervals. Though, he mused to himself as he exited his run of the course, most people going through the course usually didn't go more than once or twice a week, let alone every day.

The course instructor nodded over to him as he went to go grab his hoodie. "Good work, Miles, you shaved another second off your time today. You keep this up, you're going to take the course record."

"You mean I don't have it already?" Desmond laughed, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure nobody's run this thing as often as I have, man. If I don't have the record by now, something is seriously wrong with me."

The instructor just shrugged. "Well, I think your mother still holds the record, but you're getting closer. Go on, they're waiting for you in the sparring ring."

Desmond just nodded, smiling slightly at the instructor as he made his way past the obstacle course, lost in his thoughts. Of course his mom still held the record after all these years. When he'd been a kid, she'd told him the story of how she'd taken the course record out from under his dad's nose, and how she'd held it ever since. She'd told him that to give him a goal to beat, something to strive for during training…of course, he'd always interpreted it as 'I was better than your dad at something, and you can be too.'

He wondered if she'd ever told Duncan that story.

He'd been home for almost two months, and in all that time, there had been no contact from Beth Miles. His father had told him when he came home that his mother didn't want to be found, that she was angry and grieving in her own way, and when she wanted to make contact she would. Still, Desmond had to wonder if Bill was even trying to get a hold of his wife (at least she hadn't made their split official yet), if not for his sake then for that of his sons. His mother deserved to know that he was alive…and Duncan missed her more than he would admit. So did Desmond, for that matter, but as much as he loved his mother and wanted to see her again, it wasn't quite the same as Duncan missing her.

Lost in his thoughts, Desmond had long stopped paying attention to where he was walking. He knew the route to the sparring rings well enough to be able to walk there while spacing out.

Of course, he hadn't thought about other people walking to the obstacle course, and Desmond was jolted back to reality when he collided with somebody, knocking the other person backwards. Desmond mentally swore to himself as he also stumbled back, quickly brushing himself off as he steadied himself. Dammit, he shouldn't have gotten so distracted…

"Christ, I'm sorry, I wasn't pay attention, are you o—oh. Johnson."

The man on the ground glared at Desmond as he lifted himself up. "Miles."

Desmond didn't like Johnson. He really didn't like him. He didn't realize it was possible to dislike somebody whose first name you didn't even know as much as he disliked Johnson. Ever since he'd come back to the Farm, all he'd done to Desmond was tease him and try to pick fights with him, and while Desmond tried to pretend he was above all that juvenile bullshit...well. He knew he really wasn't, and he had a hard time keeping his temper in check whenever Johnson was around.

The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Desmond broke Johnson's gaze. "Well, this has been an enlightening chat, but I've got to go. Have fun in the course, Johnson."

With that, Desmond pushed passed Johnson, grateful they were going in opposite directions. He was in no mood to deal with that jackass right now…granted, he was never really in the mood to deal with Johnson and his bad attitude. Johnson just scoffed, making sure to shove Desmond on his bad side as he walked past. Desmond ignored the sudden sharp pain on his right side, shooting a look over his shoulder at Johnson's back as the other man leaned over to say something to his friend. Desmond wasn't close enough to hear everything that Johnson was saying, but he distinctly heard the phrase 'fucking cripple'.

Desmond was used to getting shit, for many different things, and he could take a lot of the crap that was said about him. But that? Oh, no. That shit did not fly with him, and the fact that Johnson didn't even have the balls to insult him to his face…

He stopped in his tracks, turning around. "Hey, asshole!" Desmond called, watching as Johnson and his friend stopped in their tracks (clearly, they hadn't thought Desmond would hear them). "You want to talk shit about me? You better do it to my face."

Johnson turned around, sneering at Desmond. "Fine, then. You think you're so tough, you fucking cripple? Did you beat the course record today, or are you too afraid of stealing it from your mommy?"

Desmond froze, and for a brief moment, he saw red as he was overwhelmed by the desire to break Johnson's nose, feed him his teeth, and run his tongue over with a car (Not all necessarily in that order). He closed his eyes, forcing himself to be calm before turning around and walking over to Johnson, a venomous look in his eyes. "Okay, Johnson, listen up. I hear you say shit like that again, I will kick your ass so hard your kids'll be feeling it every time they try to sit."

Johnson just sneered, glaring at Desmond. "Oh, you want to try it, cripple boy? Why don't you go be special somewhere else, Miles."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize that this was a special free zone! Though given that you're here, I'm surprised I missed that."

"You little shit, you say one more word-"

"Oh, I'm so scared, Johnson. Go on, just give me an excuse to wipe the floor with you."

Johnson's glare narrowed, but before he could say anything, his friend stepped between him and Desmond, pushing the two apart. "Okay, you two, that's enough," he said before giving Desmond an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Miles, Jackson just needs to let off some steam on the course, that's all. We'll be leaving now, won't we, Jack?"

Johnson just grumbled, glaring at Desmond for a moment longer before shrugging and moving to walk away. "Yeah, sure, whatever. C'mon, let's get out of here." And with that, Johnson walked away without another word. Desmond just stared at him for a moment, watching in disbelief as Johnson (Jackson? Jackson Johnson. No wonder the guy was a douche) walked off as if nothing had happened. Desmond gave Johnson's friend a look. "Is he always like this, or does he just hate me?"

The other man shrugged. "I think it's a little of both, honestly. Jack's always had a bit of a temper, but you really seem to set him off for some reason. Don't let him get to you, though." And with that, the other man was off, following after Johnson to the obstacle course.

Desmond just stood there for a moment, before taking a deep breath, suddenly very glad he had sparring practice next. He really needed to kick the shit out of something, and he just felt sorry for whoever got stuck as his sparring partner.

Before he'd run into Johnson, Desmond had only been mildly interested in going to the sparring rings for practice matches. But afterwards…well, it had been exactly what he'd needed. A few rounds of capoeira had really helped calm him down and take the edge off his temper, without causing irreparable damage to his sparring partner.

It wasn't like Desmond hadn't heard comments about his arm before. He knew people talked, he'd heard some of the things they said when they thought he couldn't hear. 'How did he lose his arm? Can he really be a good Assassin like that?' He'd heard the comments, and yeah, they'd stung a bit at first, but he'd gotten used to them. They never really made him angry, at least not anymore. Hell, Shaun called him 'stumpy' all the time, and it never set him off.

But when Johnson said it…it really pushed him over the edge. Maybe it was because when other people talked about his arm, it came from a place of curiosity or sympathy…which he didn't like, but he could at least understand. And Shaun, well, that was just Shaun. Shaun's insults came from a good place (usually. It wasn't always easy to tell with Shaun). But Johnson…his insults came from a place of real hate.

Desmond didn't know why Johnson disliked him so much, or what he'd ever done to the other man, but he'd really pissed the other man off somehow. Regardless, he just wasn't going to let the guy get away with insulting him just because Johnson had a stick up his ass and wanted to play it on him.

And he wasn't going to let one 'cripple' comment get to him anymore than it already had. He was going to go work out in the gym, take a shower, and move on. Johnson was a dick, his opinion didn't matter.

The gym was relatively quiet, with only a few people working on the equipment. Nobody gave Desmond a second glance as he walked in, and he grinned to himself as he headed over to his favorite piece of equipment. At least he could work on the curl bench in peace without having to worry about Johnson or anybody else.

Desmond got at least twenty good minutes on the bench in before his peace was loudly interrupted.

"Hey, Miles!"

Desmond groaned. Seriously, what the hell was Johnson's problem? Couldn't the jackass find somebody else to bother? Maybe if he just ignored him, he'd go away.

"Miles, I'm talking to you! Or is your hearing just as crippled as the rest of you?"

Desmond closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he mentally counted to ten, before getting up. Clearly, Johnson wasn't just going to let this go, so Desmond was just going to have to deal with this and hope Johnson would leave. All he wanted to do was work out in peace, was that too much to ask for?

"What do you want now, Johnson?"

Johnson smirked. "Wanted to see if the cripple boy had the balls to finish what he started earlier. Go on. I wanna see you try to kick my ass."

Desmond just stared at the other man in disbelief. Seriously, he was still on about that? What the fuck was this guy's problem? Desmond pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath. Johnson wasn't worth the energy it would take to kick his ass. "Okay, look. First off, you started it when you called me a 'fucking cripple'. Second, I could kick your ass without breaking a sweat. But I'm not going to, you and you know why? You're not worth the effort it would take, and I really don't want to deal with you right now. So, I'm going to go back to the bench, and you can do whatever the hell it is you do, but we're done here."

Johnson just glared venomously as Desmond turned to walk away. "Oh, what, you a coward, cripple boy? Can't fight without somebody backing you up?"

Desmond just ignored the other man as he headed back to the bench.

"Christ, you're just as useless as your brother. He's a real chip off the old block, waste of talent just like you."

Desmond froze in his tracks, before very slowly turning around to face Johnson, face unnaturally calm. "…what did you just say?"

Johnson just smirked triumphantly. "Oh, what, that your brother is turning out to be a useless waste of space just like you? What are you going to do, tell your traitor girlfriend on me? Oh wait, you can't, because you killed her. Good work on that, by the way, saved us real Assassins the trouble."

Johnson barely had time to blink before Desmond moved, rushing over at an unnatural speed to punch the other man in the face, something crunching under the force of Desmond's fist (and oh, did he relish the sound of the other man's nose breaking). Just as quickly as he'd moved to punch Johnson, Desmond grabbed Johnson by the throat and shoved him against a nearby wall, pinning him there.

"Listen here, you useless waste of space," Desmond said, eyes murderous. "I'm willing to let you make as many cracks at me as you like. I can take it. But if I EVER hear you say anything about Lucy or Duncan again—", he paused, tightening his grip on Johnson's neck, "I will face fuck you with my fucking knife. Do we have an understanding?"

Johnson didn't respond immediately, eyes wide with fear. Desmond's glare just narrowed as he shoved the other man against the wall once more. "I SAID do we have an understanding?" Johnson nodded quickly, face pale, eyes still wide. Desmond nodded curly before releasing Johnson, watching for a moment as the other man gasped for air on the ground before shaking his head and turning to leave. Any desire he'd had to continue working out left the minute Johnson started insulting Duncan. All Desmond wanted to do now was take a quick shower and get out of the training center, before Johnson (because Johnson, no matter how scared he was now, would just resume his usual insults tomorrow) or somebody just as stupid as him decided to start giving Desmond crap once more.

Heading for the showers, Desmond debated whether to go for a run or not after leaving the training center. After all, whenever he got pissed off or generally felt low, running did help to even him out…but he didn't exactly have a lot of time left in the day. Duncan was going to need help with his homework, he promised Becca and Shaun that he'd stop by, and he still had to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable argument with his dad that would come when he asked about going back into the field. If he went for a run, he'd lose track of time and let his brother and friends down…and he wasn't in the mood to give Johnson more fodder against him.

With one last look back, to make sure that Johnson or his friends had finally decided to leave him alone for now, Desmond went to the showers, drained and ready for this part of the day to finally be over.

"I'm telling you, Shaun, it makes more sense for the blade to be on the side of the shoe! You may be Mr. History, but you only know about marital arts from books. Kicking with your toe is just a bad idea."

"And I'm telling you, Rebecca, that this type of blade hasn't been made before, we need to start small. From a technical point of view, it's going to be easier to implement a blade in the toe than on the side! You're Miss Technical, you should know that!"

Rebecca sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration before responding to Shaun. "Shaun, if we can't get this right, we might not get a next time to make improvements or implement better blades. Desmond needs to—"

"Desmond needs to what?"

Rebecca and Shaun both stopped their arguing (or 'foreplay', as Desmond mentally referred to it) as Desmond walked into the room, lopsidedly grinning at his friends. "Hope you two aren't arguing about me."

Rebecca smiled and looked like she was about to say something, before Shaun stood up and cut her off before she had a chance to speak. "Ah, Desmond, perfect timing. Perhaps you can help Rebecca and I settle a little debate we've been having."

Desmond just blinked for a second before nodding. It hadn't exactly sounded like a 'debate' to him, but if he could help them, then he would. "Uh…sure, no problem. What's up?"

"Well, we've been working on something, and…well, it might just be better to show you. Rebecca?"

Rebecca nodded, leaving the room and coming back with…

"Becca, is that a shoebox?"

Rebecca nodded, grinning before handing the shoebox to Desmond. "We've been working on a little present for you. Here, open it!"

Desmond raised an eyebrow, not quite sure why Rebecca and Shaun had decided to get him shoes (or why they'd been arguing about them, for that matter), but he nodded, moving to sit down in a nearby chair, opening the box. The shoes insides weren't anything special. They were regular black sneakers, much like the ones he usually wore, and while it was nice that Becca and Shaun had gotten him a present, he still didn't understand why they'd been fighting about shoes.

"Er…they're nice, Becca. I could use new shoes, thanks. But I don't get it, they're just shoes. Why were you two fli—fighting about them?"

Rebecca just grinned, looking very much like she did anytime she talked about working on Baby. "Well, we weren't fighting about the shoes, per say…more about what's in the shoe." Desmond just stared, still not sure what Shaun and Becca were getting at.

Shaun sighed (rather overdramatically, Desmond noted), rolling his eyes. "Well, Desmond, ever since you decided to take a page out of Malik's book, Becca and I have been thinking that you might be in need of a different kind of hidden blade. You know, so you don't accidentally stab, dismember, or in any way injure your one remaining hand."

Rebecca nodded excitedly, still grinning as she continued. "So, we designed a whole new type of hidden blade! The blades are in the shoes!"

Desmond just stared at Shaun and Rebecca for a minute before looking down at the shoes once more. They still looked like ordinary shoes…but being hidden in plain sight was one of an Assassin's primary skills, and in this day and age, applying that principle to one's weapons as well made sense.

Not to mention, Shaun was right…he had been having trouble getting used to using one hand for two, sometimes three weapons. If he screwed up and hurt himself somehow, his father would never let him hear the end of it, and he'd be stuck in training even longer. These shoe blades could be the key to convincing Bill that he was ready to go back in the field, that he'd adjusted enough and was ready to get out of training and actually do something again.

Desmond looked at the shoes a moment longer before looking up at Shaun and Becca, grinning. "You guys are the best. Really, thank you so much, I wouldn't have even thought of shoe blades! That's genius!"

Rebecca beamed. "Careful tossing the g word around, Des, Shaun's gonna get a big head that way!"

"I resent that, Rebecca. Now, it's all well and good that you like them, Desmond, but you haven't helped Rebecca and I settle our debate."

"Shaun, he already likes them, that should settle it!"

"He hasn't seen how they work yet, he doesn't know what he likes!"

Desmond fought the urge to roll his eyes at Rebecca and Shaun started 'arguing' again, wondering if he should leave the two of them alone to argue in peace. He sighed, shaking his head. They could flirt later, he was sort of curious as to what they were fighting about. "Okay, so what exactly is it that you need me to help you two with?"

Shaun responded first, moving to take one of the shoes, pushing on the back of the heel. Desmond watched as a curved blade sprung out of the outer side of the shoe, impressed. "So, what's the problem, it looks great!"

Shaun just gave Desmond a look, putting the shoe down. "The problem is that Rebecca and I can't agree on blade location or material. She wants to go with steel blades on the side, I want to go with carbon fiber blades on the front."

Rebecca snorted. "Shaun, I told you, it makes more sense to be on the side, no decent fighter kicks with their toe! And going with the steel blade is more efficient. It's going to be less likely to break and more likely to do the most damage!"

"And I told you, Rebecca, you're forgetting about metal detectors! A blade that doesn't break isn't going to do much good if Desmond gets detained before he even has a chance to get close to a target."

Rebecca groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, before turning to Desmond. "As you can see, we've been going in circles about this for a little while. You're holding the latest of our prototypes, but we don't know how well they work because they've never actually been tested. It's why we keep coming back to these little things…"

Desmond just nodded, moving to pick up the shoes again, retracting the blade as he did so. "Right, so what can I do?"

Rebeccca smiled, nodding to the shoes in his hand. "Test them. Take them to training, rip apart a few dummies…see if you can get your dad to give you a mission, anything! Once we know how they work in a practical sense, we can work out the kinks and adjust accordingly."

Test them out…

Desmond looked down at the shoes once more, thinking. He'd been planning to talk to his dad about getting off the Farm and actually being useful, and with the shoe blades backing him up as proof that he could actually fight…he might actually have a chance.

"Yeah, I can test them out for you guys. I'll talk to Dad tonight, see if he'll actually give me something to do before I die of boredom."

"Yes, well, try not to do that, I doubt that you'll be lucky enough to resurrect yourself again, and then who would help us settle our argument?"

Desmond just rolled his eyes, laughing. "Ha ha, very funny Shaun. If I die again, you're the first person I'm haunting."

"Yes, yes. Now, I believe you have business elsewhere, Desmond?"

Desmond was about to argue that no, he didn't, and that he rather enjoyed watching Rebecca and Shaun flirt, but from the look that Shaun was giving him, he had the feeling they wouldn't just be flirting soon. "Aaah, I gotcha. I'll see you two later…use protection, Shaun!"

Shaun sputtered, going bright red, and Desmond just laughed as he headed out the door, new shoes in hand.

Bill wasn't back yet when Desmond got home, but from the school books on the coffee table, it looked like Duncan had beaten both his father and his brother back home.

"Hey, little D! I'm back!"

There was a noise from upstairs, and Desmond grinned slightly as his brother headed downstairs, quite a bit dirtier than he'd been when Desmond had last seen him.

"I take it you had a good time with your friends?"

Duncan nodded, smiling at Desmond. "Yeah! You were right, Desmond, the other kids really aren't so bad…well, most of them were okay, a few of them were sort of jerks."

"There's always gonna be jerks out there, little D. You just need to learn how to deal with them, that's all. Managing to have a good time despite their bad attitudes? That's a good way of dealing with them."

Duncan nodded, frowning slightly as he looked up at Desmond. "Are you speaking from experience, Desmond?"

Desmond hesitated, tempted to tell Duncan that yes, he dealt with all the jerks and assholes in his life through nonviolence and fun. But Duncan was smart, he'd see through that lie in an instant. "Well, partially. Sometimes having a good time and being nice isn't always enough. But I don't think you need to worry about that just yet, kiddo. Just keep doing what you're doing, and you'll be fine."

Duncan grinned before moving to sit on the couch, grabbing one of his books as he did so. He'd been smiling a lot more lately, Desmond noted to himself as he sat down next to his brother. Duncan still took some things too seriously, yeah, but Desmond wasn't expecting his brother's personality to change overnight (or at all, honestly). He was just happy the kid was lightening up a bit and acting more like…well, like a kid.

"Oh, Desmond! Dad called, he's gonna be back late tonight. You're apparently supposed to make sure I do my homework."

Desmond snorted, shaking his head. "I don't think I need to worry about you slacking off, little D. Did he say anything else?"

"Nothing really important…you're supposed to make dinner, though, and make sure I get to bed at a reasonable hour—"

"So, what I do every night, then."

"—and he wants to talk to you about something when he gets home. He didn't say what, though."

Desmond blinked. What could his dad want to talk to him about…and more importantly, what was so important that he couldn't pass it to him via Duncan?

"Desmond? Hey, Earth to Desmond!"

"Huh? Oh, sorry, little D. Must've spaced."

Duncan just rolled his eyes, smirking at his brother. "You're really weird sometimes, Desmond."

"You know you love it, bro," Desmond responded, a smirk identical to his brother's on his face as he moved to playfully shove Duncan. "C'mon, let's go get dinner started. You're good on the homework front, yeah?"

Duncan nodded. "Yeah, I got most of it done with some of the other kids. I still have a little bit of reading left to do, though."

"Cool, cool…so, you think you'll be up for some Avatar after dinner, then?"

Duncan lit up, nodding eagerly as he practically jumped off the couch, darting towards the kitchen. "Would I! You left off at a terrible cliffhanger, I wanna see if they fend off the siege!"

Desmond laughed, following after Duncan . "You help me make dinner, and I promise I won't spoil the ending."

By the time William got home, Duncan had been in bed for at least an hour and Desmond was on the couch, flipping through one of his brother's textbooks, bored. Duncan had made him promise not to watch any more of Avatar without him, and after the internet had gotten dull, he'd decided to see exactly why his brother enjoyed reading his schoolbooks for fun.

Clearly, there was something Duncan knew that he didn't, because all Desmond had learned was that textbooks are not fun reading material.

William stood by the door, watching Desmond, eyebrow raised. "Is there a reason you're reading one of Duncan's schoolbooks?"

Desmond shrugged, shaking his head and setting the book down as he sat up. "Not really. I was bored and wanted to see why Duncan likes reading these things."

"Duncan did his homework?"

"Yep, and he went to bed a while ago. Sorry, Dad, you don't have anything to yell at me about," he responded with a slight smirk. William just sighed, shaking his head.

"Very mature, Desmond."

Desmond grinned. "Yeah, I know. So, Duncan mentioned you wanted to talk to me about something?"

William nodded, moving to sit next to Desmond. "That's right. Son, I know that you've been antsy lately-"

"Well, I've only been cooped up here for two months with nothing to do."

Willam shot Desmond a look before continuing. "And I know that you've been itching to go on a mission. So, I've got something for you to do."

Desmond instantly perked up upon hearing that, grinning slightly as he sat up. "Well it's about time! So, what've you got me doing?"

"You're going to be providing intel for an upcoming infiltration and rescue mission."

The excitement that Desmond had felt at finally being given something to do died away immediately, replaced with a mixture of confusion, disappointment, and irritation.

"Are…are you serious? You've got me on intel? Dad, that's not giving me a mission. That's giving me a fucking desk job!"

"Well, this is what I'm giving you. You can either take it, or I'll find somebody else who will," his father responded, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument.

But when had that ever stopped Desmond before?

"C'mon, Dad, you're being ridiculous. Why can't you put me on a proper mission? I've been stuck doing training for two months, I'm getting bored! I know you don't have a lot of people to put on the field, and I'm one of the best you've got!"

William sighed, shaking his head. "It's precisely because you've only been training for two months that I'm not putting you on the field. Three months ago, you were dead. Two months ago, you come back from the dead missing an arm. You're not ready to go back into the field yet."

Desmond stared at his father in disbelief. "Are you serious? I lost an arm, yeah, but I'm not fucking broken! What does it matter that I was dead three months ago? I'm here now, and I'm tired of being locked up here."

"I'm well aware of the fact you're not broken, Desmond. But whether you like it or not, it's something I need to consider when deciding whether or not to put you in the field. You lost your blade arm, how do you plan to compensate for that? How well can you climb with one arm? You've got one hand to wield all your weapons on, how do you plan to do that without hurting yourself? You need to think about these things! Two months isn't enough time to fully adjust to your new circumstances, and I am not going to put your life at risk because you're bored."

"What do you think I've been doing for the past two months? I haven't been just sitting on my ass doing nothing, I've been training, adjusting, just like you wanted me to! I'm ambidextrous, and I've lived through three...no, FOUR guys who were right hand dominant. I know how to use a hidden blade on my left hand."

William took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, clearly annoyed. "You're not listening to me. It doesn't matter if you know how to use a hidden blade on your left hand, the fact is, you've only got your left hand. You need to be able to use a hidden blade, a gun, and a knife, all on the same hand. If you've got your hidden blade drawn but suddenly need to go for a knife, you need to be able to do that quickly and without injuring yourself. You've only got one hand to cock and reload a gun with, what if you suddenly have somebody attacking you from close range while you're doing that? These are all factors you need to take into consideration."

For a moment, Desmond wasn't sure exactly what to say to his father. He knew his father wasn't right, he knew he could handle the complications...but Bill wouldn't just accept it without some sort of proof.

And then he remembered. The shoe blades. He didn't have to tell his father how he could work with these complications, he could show him.

Without saying a word, Desmond ran past his father to grab his bag, taking the shoes out and slipping them on before turning back to face Bill. "What if I used these?" he said, pressing down hard on the heel of one of the shoes, the blade springing out from the side as he did so. "These could help take some of the responsibility off my hand so that if I'm in one of those situation, I've got something to go to!"

William stared at the shoes for a moment before pinching the bridge of his nose, frowning. "I told Rebecca not to tell you about those until we'd had a chance to test them...those are still just prototypes, Desmond, we haven't had a chance to test them in the field yet, we have no idea how well they actually work."

"Wait, you knew about these? And you weren't going to let me be the one to field test them? Becca and Shaun said these were designed for me, I should be the one to test them out!"

"Desmond, for once in your life, will you please just listen to me and do what I tell you? I am not going to risk losing you again!"

Desmond and his father glared at each other, fuming in silence for a moment.

"...Dad...? Maybe you should let Desmond go on a real mission...isn't he gonna have to go on one eventually anyway?"

Both Desmond and Bill turned around, surprised at the unexpected third voice that had decided to chime in on their argument. Somehow, while Desmond and William were arguing, Duncan had crept out of bed and slipped downstairs, somehow managing to avoid being noticed by either his brother or his father.

William stared at his younger son for a second in disbelief. "Wh...Duncan! What are you doing up?" he said before turning to Desmond, shooting him a look. "I thought you said he was in bed!"

Desmond shrugged, fighting the urge to smirk (damn, it was sort of impressive how sneaky that kid could be). "I said he was in bed, Dad. I didn't say he was asleep. You never said I had to make sure he was asleep."

"You know what I meant, don't get smart with me. Duncan, go back to bed, this doesn't involve you."

Duncan just stared at his father, not budging from where he sat on the staircase. Desmond sighed, feeling very exhausted from all the arguing he and his father had been doing. "Dad, there's no point in little D going to bed, us arguing is just going to keep him awake anyway..."

Desmond moved to sit down on the stairs next to Duncan, running his fingers through his hair. "Okay, look. I know you're worried for me, Dad, and I get that. I really do. But you can't keep me cooped up here forever! You tried that once, remember how well that worked out? I know you don't want me to die again, but you just need to trust me when I say I'm ready. I'm not going to die, Dad."

"You're not going to just listen to me on this one, are you?"

"Nope. But when have I ever listened to you?" Desmond responded, smiling slightly at his dad.

William looked at his son before sighing and shaking his head, defeated. "Fine. But I'm not letting you take on a solo mission just yet. You'll be going in with a team."

Desmond grinned and nodded, trying not to sound too excited as got up off the stairs. "That works fine for me. What're the details, who's on point, who's the target?"

William moved to hand him a manilla folder. "All the details about the targets are in there. You'll be on a team of three, Johnson's going to be on point, Carver's on support."

Desmond's grin didn't even falter at the mention of having to work with Johnson as he took the folder from his dad. "Cool, cool. When do you need me to leave?"

"You've got about a day to read up and prepare before you'll be leaving. Go over the file, get your gear ready...and both of you, go to bed. It's late," Bill said, giving both of his sons a stern look, "and one of you has school tomorrow."

Duncan grinned sheepishly at his father, mumbling out a quick apology before darting back up the stairs, waving at Desmond as he did so.

Desmond and William were left alone downstairs once more, Desmond holding the folder with his mission details (his mission, it was so good to say that again).

"Don't worry, Dad. You won't regret this."

William nodded curtly at Desmond before moving to head upstairs. "If things go wrong, I won't be the one regretting it...read the file and get some sleep, Desmond. You've got a big day tomorrow."