A/N: I started replaying Watch_Dogs again. I used to really hate the driving missions, but now, I enjoy them. (Maybe it's because I'm forcing Aiden to drive a garbage truck.) This is unbeta-ed.

Summary: As much as Nicky had been looking forward to it, it didn't seem like she'd get the answers she wanted anytime soon.

Desmond could relate.

A bird in the hand
Chapter 2

Nicky had always looked up to Aiden. He was her big brother, after all. Sure, he'd pick on and tease her every chance he got, infuriating her to absolutely no end (as big brothers often did) but there was never any doubt that he had her back. Through their rocky childhoods and The Accident, he had proven time and time again his devotion to her. He was the best brother anyone could ask for. He'd always been there for her, ever the doting and protective big brother.

That wasn't to say that Aiden was perfect. He had a habit of making less than desirable acquaintances, and while Nicky was one to respect boundaries, that didn't stop her from subtly showing her disapproval, to which Aiden would stubbornly ignore. For all the good that Aiden tried to do for her, he was very resistant to any offered back.

It was a source of annoyance for Nicky because no matter how much Aiden reached out to her and Jackson on their problems, he always kept them at arm's reach on the matter of his own affairs. A symptom of pride—maybe, but Nicky was well aware of Aiden's reluctance to divulge anything as casual as what his day job really was because, 'data analyst, my ass.'

But despite his deceptions, Nicky trusted Aiden. He always had her best interests at heart and after Jacks' father had left, Aiden had been there for her when she thought it was all going to go to hell. So, when Aiden moved her and Jacks to a temporary apartment for safety, she went with no complaint. They had been attacked in their own home. Nicky just didn't feel as safe as she did before that fateful day and she was sure that Aiden wanted some sort of precaution to in case whoever had ordered the deed wanted to finish the job.

She was, however… a little surprised at the location. The apartment building was on one of the pricier sides of housing and last, she'd heard, hadn't this building been fully rented out?

In fact, Aiden seemed to go a little overboard—somehow alerting the police department to have additional security outside their apartment complex. It was kind of weird how they didn't wear any formal sort of uniforms, but she guessed that Aiden did have a point when he told her that it was a good way for them to 'blend in.'

("I know the company. They take…contracts…with Chicago's best. Trust me, Nicky. They're good at what they do." Aiden assured her.)

How Aiden had been able to secure the place was still a nagging concern to her, but Nicky pushed that to the back of her mind where all the other hair-pulling questions about her brother resided.

What Aiden did was Aiden's business after all and for the sake of her sanity, she didn't meddle. She had resigned herself to let him do his own thing.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. XXX-XXX-XXXX is not available. At the tone, please press—"

Even if it did hurt.

Nicky threw her phone onto the couch, sighing half in exasperation and half in another emotion of a metaphorical can of worms that she didn't dare to acknowledge. Maybe she should consider therapy. The past months had been…rough…on everyone and perhaps it was finally getting to her. It was all so much. Jackson's father, The Accident, the overbearing silence.

And now this? Being attacked in their own home?

Nicky paused in her unpacking, fingers resting on a photo frame inside. It had been fortunate—so very fortunate that Desmond had been there. How and even why he'd come to their aid like that was beyond her, but that had only amplified the sheer depth of gratitude she felt for him. Things would have turned out differently if he hadn't intervened. After the Accident, just the thought of losing anyone—potentially losing Jackson—

The blonde shuddered, releasing a controlled, slow breath before continuing to unpack.

It was good that Desmond had been there. Nicky sighed again, trying her best not to dwell in worry.

Now, if only he'd wake up.

Through the crack in the doorway, Jackson let out a put-out sigh when it seemed like for the second day in a row, his and his mom's savior state remained unchanged.

According to the doctor, Desmond should have woken up a couple days ago, but strangely, hadn't. It was a source of concern to both his mom and the doctor after the first day with nary an improvement, but without information of any sort of preexisting condition, it just seemed like the man was in some self-induced coma.

'Just like in Episode 3 of the living story of Glitch Wars,' Jackson thought absently. Berserker had fallen into a coma after an epic online battle in the finale before being revived by Healer in the next episode. Healer was, in Jackson's opinion, the best character in the entire game. Healer was hardly a main character, opting to stay on the sidelines while the others dished out damage, but Jackson thought him invaluable to the entire cast. To be able to heal, protect…

Mood dampening, Jackson tentatively nudged the door open with his foot, careful of the basin of warm water balanced in his arms.

Well, at least he looked like he was sleeping easier, Jackson noted, placing the basin on the bedside table. His mother tended to be a heavy sleeper, so she hadn't heard or been witness to their savior in the throes of a nightmare.

Jackson frowned at the memory, feeling a stab of sympathy when he remembered how the man—"Hey kiddo. My name is Desmond. I need you and your ma to stay put so I can get rid of these jerks, okay?"—had cried out last night. He rubbed at a spot on his chest absentmindedly. It reminded him of how Uncle Aiden had been after his sister had died.

He wondered who Desmond had lost.

Dutifully, Jackson began tending to their savior, using the washcloth to wipe away the sweat collecting across Desmond's furrowed brows. He made to re-soak the washcloth into the water basin when his attention caught on something peeking out from behind the bowl.

Curious, Jackson moved the basin to the side, unsure of what the item really was. He hadn't seen this before. Perhaps his mother had brought it out? It was made primarily of strips of leather—straps, he guessed. They wrapped around a long, inch wide plate and in what little light the room provided, Jackson could make out the faintest of a symbol emblazoned at its hilt. It felt old and worn in his hand, but well-kept. He turned it over and felt along the indentation. His fingers caught against a looped, pulley-like cord at the top and just as Jackson was about to tug it—

He gasped as a firm hand grasped his wrist.

Startled, Jackson turned towards its owner and met piercing brown eyes.

Their savior—Desmond, the man had introduced himself as—was awake.

Which…maybe wasn't a good thing. The doctor had warned of the potential lack of lucidity after being under for so long, especially after physical trauma and after having seen Desmond fight that day, knew that he didn't want to be on the receiving end of any of it.

But as the seconds ticked by, Jackson got the feeling that maybe his fears were unfounded because Desmond didn't seemas bad as the doctor had warned. He kind of looked like how his mom did without her morning caffeine: bedraggled and sluggish—but the only difference was that he didn't look as out-of-it as his mom usually did when he woke her up.

Instead, Desmond's eyes were alert but not entirely unfriendly. The hand around his wrist loosened and accompanied by the small frown and pointed look on Desmond's face, Jackson got the distinct feeling of being scolded. He ducked his head, face reddening, but at the feeling of a hand clumsily ruffling his hair, peeked up.

The scar on Desmond's lips stretched as he grinned gently, expression a cross between relieved and exasperated. He still looked tired—how, Jackson couldn't understand because the man had practically been hibernating—but Jackson was glad to see some color in his cheeks.

Desmond shifted a little and when his arm snaked out of the duvet, Jackson obediently let the item drop into the man's waiting hand. The man made a 'watch this' motion with his hand and Jackson looked on with some amount of confusion as Desmond balanced the length of the object along the flat of his arm. He carefully secured the leather straps around his arm, before he pointed with his free hand at the weird cord that Jackson had found. He saw Desmond pull it over his thumb and when the digit jerked, the muscles of his hand pulled at the cord and—

Jackson jumped as a blade slid out of the narrow plate—a sheath, like Thief's in Glitch Wars— with a near silent hiss into the lamp's light. The blade was flaked with a reddish stain— 'Rust?' Jackson wondered, — extending a good three or four inches out of its plating. The looped cord must have been a releasing mechanism then and it was with that realization that Jackson knew that if he had pulled that cord with his face that close to the item like it had been before…

Jackson winced.

With another jerk of his thumb, the blade slid back into the sheath. Desmond moved to place it back on the bedside table but hissed before he even got close, one hand going to press against his injured ribs and the other to plant into the mattress to keep him from keeling over.

Jackson caught the blade before it landed in the bowl of lukewarm water and watched nervously as Desmond fought for breath. It took a moment before Desmond recovered and he eased himself back against the headboard, chest rising and falling fitfully.

The episode seemed to take a lot out of him, stealing whatever healthy color he had out of him. Desmond seemed to notice his discomfort and opened his mouth but something like a cross between a wheeze and cough escaped him. He reached out blindly.

Jackson, understanding the silent request, reached out to the nearby pitcher and poured Desmond a glass of water. He handed it carefully to the other man and ducked his head again when the man's eyes softened in thanks. He accepted the cup back when proffered and nearly started when Desmond let out a rasp of pain in his attempts to get into a more upright position against the headboard. When he succeeded, he sagged into himself, letting out a faint sigh.

"'kay?" Jackson prodded.

"Yeah. Thanks, kiddo." Desmond croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. Bleary eyes darted left and right and his brows furrowed as he took in his surroundings. "Where…where am I?"

Home, Jackson wanted to say but thought better of it because it wasn't really. Uncle Aiden had said it was only a temporary relocation until 'he handled the situation' but Jackson got the feeling that it was going to be a lot more than just temporary. The situation was a little confusing and Jackson didn't have the words in him to explain it…

"Jacks? Jacks! Jackson, where are you, honey?" Jackson perked up at his mother's voice. That was good because she could explain this whole situation much better than he could.

He shot Desmond a pointed, 'stay-here-don't-move' look and when Jackson judged that the man got the message (assuming the surprised blink he got in response was an acquiesce,) ran out of the room towards his mother's voice.

He wasn't gone for long, back only a moment later with his mother yelping in front of him with his hands planted against her back as he steered her from the living room to the guest room.

"Jackson! What's all this about? What's gotten you in such a hurry for—oh." Nicky caught herself against the guest room door frame, gaping at their finally-awake guest. "You're awake!"

Their guest, for his credit, didn't seem to know how to react either. He slowly raised a hand, giving a hesitant little wave that Nicky couldn't help but smile at for its sheer awkwardness. "You had us worried for the past few days. How do you feel?"

"Well," Desmond started tentatively, grinning nervously. "Like I got run over by a bus, frankly."

Automatically, Nicky groaned. "Oh, this will follow me forever." She meant it as a joke to lighten the mood but instead, Desmond's grin faltered, demeanor suddenly uncertain.

"I…sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"Oh, no, no!" Nicky quickly assured. "What do you have to be sorry about? It was my fault! I nearly had a heart attack over it because it was more than a tap but less than bump but—ah, I'm not making this any better, am I?"

The corner of Desmond's mouth twitched upwards, "It's okay."

"I'm rambling at this point. Sorry, we've had a really hectic couple of days." Nicky laughed, albeit with forced cheer. "Are you uncomfortable? Do you need anything? 'Cause you really had us worried there. One more day and we would have had to start you on a drip!"

"I'm fine." Desmond answered, but he still looked worryingly unsure. His hands clenched and unclenched on the fabric of the duvet. "I… do have some questions though."

"Oh! Of course." Nicky smiled. "We get it. It must be weird to wake up in an unfamiliar place."

"It's a shock, yeah." Desmond laughs, weakly. "Thanks for, uh, taking care of me? I appreciate it, just—" Here, their savior paused, and when he seemed to collect himself, his expression became very, very lost, "…who are you, exactly?"

"Curious." The pocket light moved from the left eye to the right. The pupil dilated in response and followed a finger when it swung by the medic's ear. "Pupils are equal… nothing from the optic disk…"

"Is that bad?"

The medic straightened, clicking the small flashlight off as his patient blinked rapidly to adapt from the abrupt disappearance of light.

"Oh, no. It just means his brain isn't bleeding." The medic said cheerfully and didn't seem to notice how much Nicky blanched. "I don't know why I didn't see it before!" The medic continued, chastising himself before scrutinizing his patient. "Limbic, perhaps? You did hit the back of your head pretty hard." He hummed. "You say you don't remember anything from the last couple days? How you got in this state at all?"

"Uh, not really." Desmond said and that was the truth. He couldn't recall being hit by a car or any of the things that Nicky claimed transpired. Hell, he hadn't even known his name until Nicky had called him by it and it had just sort of clicked.

"Curious." The doctor said again and Desmond released a breath when the doctor leaned out of his personal bubble. There was no reason for him to be wary of the medical professional—he clearly meant no harm, despite his eccentricities—but for some reason, Desmond's skin prickled whenever he saw his white lab coat at the edge of his vision.

"So, the last thing you remember is waking up?" Nicky asked.

Desmond nodded miserably. That, and of the lingering pain. It had stretched from a heavy ache at the back of his head to an unexpected twinge around his chest. He had next slowly comprehended being in a darkened room only illuminated by dim lamp light and only when he had seen the teenager at his bedside—Jackson, he recalled—investigating that thing did adrenaline chase the sluggishness out of body.

Now that he thought about it… Desmond wasn't sure why it had made him freak out so much. Something had just itched at the back of his mind, telling him that the object was not to be played with. The next thing he knew, his body had just acted automatically before Jackson could hurt himself because—

our trade, your birthright, dangerous, should not be in the hands of a NOVICE—

Desmond jerked, his hand automatically going to press against his temple with a hiss. He vaguely heard Nicky's gasp of worry and the doctor startle, too focused on the rush of—thought? Memory?—that had come and gone before he could fully register it.

What was that?

"Desmond?!"

"Sorry, just—headache." The brunet murmured, waving away Nicky's worry. He glanced to the doctor, cracking a shaky grin. "This, uh, doesn't mean my brain's bleeding, right?"

"Oh, no." The doctor tittered before he paused, considering, "but if you do start having seizures or weakness in your arms or legs within the next 48 hours, do call."

"Comforting." Desmond sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Nicky said quickly. "In any case, you should rest, Desmond. I know you've been hibernating for the last couple days but, well—" She considered him, noting how his arms trembled and how his head seemed to want to bow into his chest. "It looks like you need it."

"You're sure he'll be fine?" Nicky asked again once the guest room door was closed firmly behind her. She led him down the hall to the living room. From his spot on the couch nearby, Jackson briefly looked up from his tablet at their entrance but quickly returned to his game once deeming them uninteresting.

"From what I observed." The doctor huffed. "Of course, I'd need to bring him in to check for sure, but it doesn't seem like anything serious to worry about."

"He has amnesia! I think that's pretty serious, doctor!" Nicky countered hotly.

"Retrograde amnesia, Ms. Pearce." The doctor returned matter-of-factly, pulling on his coat. "It usually resolves itself without treatment. From what your son noted, it's already started. He did recognize his own personal belonging."

Nicky could recall the strange object that Desmond kept close. Despite that, she still looked dubious. "You're positive?"

"It's very likely not to be permanent." The doctor assured. "Exposure tends to help with recovery. I would suggest getting him out of the apartment." He gave her a thoughtful look, taking in her near-frazzled appearance. "Would certainly do some good for you too."

'Easier said than done.' Nicky thought and long after the doctor took his leave, was still mulling over what to do. She had hoped to have been able to glean information out of Desmond over the attack, but this new development certainly threw a wrench into that. Either way, even if Desmond didn't remember saving them, that didn't change the fact that she owed him. She was willing to keep him under her wing until he recovered.

Nicky glanced out of the window, grimacing when she caught her reflection in the glass. The doctor was right. Perhaps some time outside would do her some good.

She hummed, "Any ideas, Jacks?"

Jackson blinked at his mother before handing her his tablet. There was a drawing of a brown bag overflowing with fruits and junk foods with the latter drawn very disproportionately larger (and more colorfully) than the former.

Nicky smothered a laugh.

"…Grocery shopping, it is."

It was cold.

"…were here. Not long, from the looks of it."

It was the only thing he could feel. Why was it so cold?

"—to bring in the rest. Scrub the place clean for anything we can use."

He could hear them sifting through the rubble, boots pounding on the ancient stone floor. He could sense them moved close and even though instinct told him to flee, his body refused to move.

He felt himself being turned over and saw bright light from beneath his closed eyelids. Hands pulled at him, stripping him.

"—and subject's arm is useless. A pity, but we can still use what's left."

Useless? What?

Something cold smoothed over his upper arm and then with slow, meticulous accuracy, he felt it: the feeling of burning, slicing—

He heard something catch and something crunch in the background of clinical murmurings. He screamed, but nothing came out.

"We can use this."

—and then it was over. A dull ache ebbed where the burning sensation took place. He felt lighter and high on the shock, his senses slowly started to fade away.

"This will be the first sample—"

Something closed over his head. The light faded away.

"Sample 17."

Desmond woke up in cold sweat, limbs shaking, and panic trapped inside his bones.

For a moment, he was frozen there, staring utterly confused and terrified at the ceiling of simple bedroom. His heart beat frantically in his chest and panicked, Desmond looked around anxiously, trying to identify where the hell he was before his memory stirred, the pieces from earlier coming together and stealing his terror away. Waking up, a doctor, a mother, her son.

But more importantly, safe. Something inside him relaxed slightly, the panic becoming not as paralyzing. He vaguely realized that he had been clutching his upper arm and when he let go, let out a shuddering sigh of relief when he saw everything accounted for. 'Just a dream,' he told himself and even though he felt silly for getting so riled up over it, he couldn't help but be troubled over how real it had felt.

Grimacing, Desmond shook that thought away and slowly pulled himself up, mindful of the lingering twinge of his ribs.

He sat back against the headboard, letting his breathing settle before he paused, realizing all the sudden how utterly quiet the apartment was. He could nary hear a sound from outside his room. Surely it wasn't night yet. From his internal clock, it didn't seem like he had slept all that long. He tested his feet against the wooden floor and rose up on unsteady legs, only catching himself once on a nearby chair as he made his way to the door.

"Hello?"

Warm light greeted him from the open window when he entered the hall. The clock hanging on the living room wall read midafternoon when Desmond hobbled his way to the empty living room. Where in the world were…?

And then his eyes caught a pink sticky note attached to the kitchen counter.

Hey Desmond!

Jacks and I are headed to Vessal's to grab groceries! Feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge. Call if you need anything. We'll be back soon assuming traffic isn't bad!

-Nicky

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

Well, that explained that. Desmond hummed, reading over the note again. Nicky was… surprisingly accommodating to someone like him, a stranger. Even though he knew that he had 'saved' her and Jackson and that she was likely under some obligation to pay him back, Desmond was still uncomfortable over how she was essentially doting on him.

'Wow, I must not have had a good childhood.' Desmond realized with a snort and on a whim, felt the back of his head. He winced when he brushed a particularly sensitive bruise and sighed, inwardly damning the amnesia. It was horribly cliché.

Even if he didn't remember saving her and Jackson, Desmond was glad that he did it. Nicky seemed like a sweet woman and even though Jackson had a habit of touching things that didn't belong to him (which was strangely not a bad thing according to the strange swell of pride in his chest at the thought,) the two didn't deserve anything bad to happen to them.

But clearly something had.

Because Desmond wasn't blind. Jackson was worryingly quiet and despite the strong front Nicky put up, there was a veil of loss around her.

They were coping.

'Guess I'm not the only one here who's lost something.' Desmond thought and just as he was about to take Nicky's offer on raiding the fridge, he froze—gaze caught on the photo taped to the wall.

It was a simple polaroid picture, taken possibly some years ago considering the wear and tear around the edges. There were two people in the photo, a blonde woman and taller, brunet man. The woman was smiling wryly and even though the man beside her looked annoyed, his eyes were twinkling. They were siblings, likely, based on their shared facial similarities but that wasn't what stole his attention.

It was the fact that they were both familiar to him.

He knew the man, somehow. In the threadbare scraps of memory that remained, something called for attention. (Headlights somewhere dark and narrow.) He didn't know who, or where, or why, but… Desmond was sure he had seen him from somewhere…

But it was the woman who made Desmond's stomach do a weird flop.

The odd thing was, Desmond knew in the back of his mind that it was Nicky. It was obviously Nicky but that didn't explain the dizzyingly wave of sheer familiarity that her image created. She looked slightly different, sure, but that shouldn't matter. It was only her hairstyle that had changed in the photo! Her hair was up in the photo—not in the pony tail like he'd seen before, but in a high bun with the loose strands swept to the side…

(A steel door slid open. He felt someone pull him out of his cage into a white room, saying, "Come on Desmond, we have to get you out of here before they find out what I've done.")

Desmond lurched backwards. 'What was that!?'

His throat felt full and hands clammy, like he was supposed to do something but didn't know what. He looked to the photo again and made a startled sound when he saw the woman's face was blurred in his vision. 'What?'

The back of his head ached.

(A shy laugh. "Sorry, I'm just a little surprised. I spent the whole ride over here figuring out how I was going to convince you to do this…")

'Do what?' Desmond thought frantically. She was—had been speaking to him, right? That meant he knew her and she, him. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with some hint of her identity but came up short. There was something about this woman. This person he was seeing in Nicky's place—whoever she was—had been…important. What did she do?

He tried to recall her voice again, and despite the ebbing ache that started to grow in his head, gritted his teeth, unwilling to let it deter him from pursuing this odd strand of memory.

(Her voice lowered, but still, he heard the warm fondness coloring her words and god, it hurt.)

Tears collected on the edge of his vision and Desmond hissed, startled by the sudden burning feeling at the back of his eyes.

He rubbed at his closed eyelids and just as he did, his elbow knocked against several somethings that clattered to the ground.

The TV abruptly turned on.

"…expect clear skies over Chicago's Pawnee district and Parker Square…"

Desmond ignored it. He just needed a face. He could hear her voice so very clearly but conjuring her face eluded him. Why would he forget her? To make him feel like this, how could he have forgotten her?

"…the Mag Mile area is seeing some high winds, but that should slow as we head on to…"

Desmond knew she was significant. Her name felt like it was on the tip of his tongue but to Desmond's frustration, nothing would come to mind. He knew that she had started something that had changed everything he had believed in. Something that he had once thought impossi—

("In the beginning, we set out truths to parchment. To Stone. To the memory of men. These proved impermanent things. Cleansed by fire. Cleansed by famine. Cleansed by flood. All the world is innocent once more. Innocent and ignorant."

Desmond stilled, eyes wide as the words reverberated in his head. Her voice was soft—soothing, even—but the intent in her tone…

His nose began to bleed.

"We're sorry, but we are interrupting today's scheduled programming to bring you breaking news of a riot currently in progress at the Palin Correctional Center..."

(Her gown swept the floor over a background of ethereal silver and white. She looked warm in the glowing light but when he saw her face, she was anything but.)

"—with surrounding businesses placed on lockdown…"

(She looked down unto him, mouth curled into a mockery of a smile.

"But then, you.")

"Eyewitness reports from the scene have confirmed that even shoppers are not safe. Multiple people by the nearby Vessal Mart of Dearborn and—"

Desmond jolted violently, broken out of the spell by his instincts going haywire. All thoughts of the women teasing his memories were chased away as he became acutely aware of the news broadcast.

Had he heard right? Desmond clumsily got to his feet (when had he even fallen?) and staggered into the living room to get a better view of the TV.

"Vessal?" He mumbled it to himself, the word sticking out from the news report. Where had he—

Desmond's breathing stopped. Nicky's note.

Hey Desmond! Jacks and I are headed to Vessal's to grab groceries!

Vessal's.

Vessal Mart.

"—shoppers have reportedly been assaulted already and their vehicles stolen. One person was reportedly run over and is being rushed to the hospital in critical condition—"

("I want to know, if you regret anything." The blonde man asked. His hands were tucked casually in his pockets, but his eyes were bright and attentive.

Desmond heard his own voice answer the man, the words wry and weary. "Sure. I wish I'd been more patient with my parents. I wish I'd listened. And with her…"

Desmond felt the world shift.

His vision shuttered. It distorted itself into fields of howling grays and as a trail of gold began its unhurried stretch along the floor…

(She would betray them. He knew she would but as her eyes went glassy—her body still warm in his arms—all he felt was regret, Regret, REGRET—

"Maybe things could have been different.")

"Nicky." Lucy.

Desmond followed.

A/N: Between classes and work, I've been trying to get back on track with finishing the chapters for all my stories that have been left 75% completed. Very sorry for the long hiatus. 2017 was unbelievably hectic (I'm trying to build a career) and sacrifices had to be made. Thank you for staying with me.

Next chapter, we see what Aiden has been up to.

Comments/reviews are always appreciated~

nikaris