A/N: This is an AU weighing heavily on my mind between writing Binary Duality's chapter 12 and figuring what the hell I was doing in Florentine Overtures. (I don't remember.)

Florentine Overtures might be updating first, though. Probably.

Disclaimer: The author does not own Assassin's Creed.

Criss Cross
Chapter 1

"Jesus, its like everyday the stick up Dad's ass gets bigger and bigger."

"I can always depend on you to be a great subject changer." Shaun groused even as Rebecca choked on a laugh. "But don't be a twat, mate." The Brit leveled their novice with a glare. "If you had 90% of your people eradicated in less than a year, you try to be an optimist."

The other winced. "Yeah, yeah… You're talking about the Great Purge, right?"

The atmosphere around the gathered modern assassins turned noticeably somber.

"Yeah…" Rebecca said quietly, knuckles turning white around her mug. She drank the soothing liquid to wash down the sorrow deep in her throat.

"There was nothing great about it." Shaun huffed crossly.

The Miles progeny shifted uneasily. "…I've been out of the loop for some time. Fill me in…?"

"You actually don't know?" Lucy started, astonished. "The Farm was one the few Assassin compounds that survived the wave, how could you not know?"

"I was like, 12." The novice stated, dryly. "No one told me shit." (At least, not in great detail. It had become taboo to talk about, as if mentioning it was a curse.)

"It was cause by one of our own." Lucy said after a great deal of pending silence and exchanging a couple looks with Shaun and Rebecca.

"Cross." Shaun hissed and spat the name out with no small amount of venom. Beside him, Rebecca's expression darkened.

"He killed the Mentor." The technician murmured simply, "He traveled a lot, visiting nearly every single camp we had and he sold us out to the Templars."

"Wow, what an asshole."

Shaun let out a bark of laughter at the blunt admission. "Essentially."

"Where's he now?"

"Dunno and don't want to care." Rebecca grimaced. "Did you see him anywhere at Abstergo, Luce?"

It was Lucy's turn to frown. "Only once and it was really in passing. He was meeting up with Vidic at the time. However, when I looked at the files on the Animus Project, I saw his name listed on the register."

Now that was surprising. "Really?"

"Subject four." Lucy continued. "But, with an early Animus prototype that was not as stable as the one Abstergo put you in."

"I think he was actually the one to locate you to be part of the Animus Project." Shaun mused out loud. "Kidnapped you and everything."

The other assassin's lip curled. "Oh, well now its personal."

"Hey, I know that look in your eyes. Don't go near him." Shaun warned, snapping the other out of his plotting.

"Shaun's right." Rebecca pressed, shoulders stiffening uneasily. "Cross is dangerous. He's a Master Templar and completely not right in the head."

"Right…"

"We're serious, mate." The Brit snapped before breathing in deeply. "Cross isn't a man to well, cross. (Stop smirking, I'm being serious here!) He's learned skills from his ancestor just like you, except he's actually been in the field and been at it longer."

"Please." Rebecca asked softly, eyes pained. "We're not saying never face him but… just not right now, okay, Daniel?"

Damn it all. How could he say no to that face? "Okay, okay. Fine. I won't go after Desmond Cross." Daniel Miles sighed resignedly before pointing them with an annoyed look. "And it's Dan or Danny. Daniel's way to stuffy for me."

Traitor.

Scum.

Shame has come to our bloodline.

Templar trash.

Die, filth.

He pressed his hands against his ears harder, breathing in and out through his nose harshly. He focused on each breath he took, listening to the haggard sounds—trying to drown out their hate-filled murmurings.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up." He hissed through clenched teeth. The voices did no such thing. They continued with their taunting, cursing his name, and despising his very being for being a traitor, causing death to so many of their kindand—god fucking damn it, they wouldn't shut the fuck up!

He didn't realize he had yelled the last part out loud until the woman that had squirreled inside room yelped, loose leaf papers that had been in her arms flying everywhere.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Cross! I didn't know you were in here! I'll just be on my w-way, sir!" The brunette exclaimed fitfully, bending down to quickly collect the fallen items to toss on the office desk, before sprinting right out the door.

Desmond growled irritably, wincing when the door slammed shut behind her. 'Stupid woman.' He thought in annoyance and a voice in his head quickly reprimanded him, spewing insults in Italian with open disdain.

He felt the familiar pain of a migraine come on and Desmond closed his eyes tightly.

Painkillers. He needed painkillers.

The Templar got up from the corner he had situated himself at; vertigo hitting him despite his slow movement up and he scrabbled for purchase against the wall.

Desmond stumbled to the connecting bathroom and it was only because he had done this so many times before that he didn't need to look where the cabinet was to open it, grab a half empty bottle, and swallow three or four pills down dry. He braced his arms against the sides of the sink, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror.

Damn his ancestors and these stupid hallucinations. Really, he expected better from Abstergo. Their medication for his Bleeding Effect did shit. He had enough issues already. The last thing he needed was for these damned annoying Assassins in his head to hate him when he already had enough self-loathing to deal with.

"Done angst-ing, Desmond?" A voice inquired from the doorway.

Desmond grunted, and tilted his head towards his superior, allowing the fog from the heat of his forehead to be seen on the reflective surface. "No, so please fuck off."

"Manners, Mr. Cross." Warren Vidic tutted in faux disappointment even as Desmond slowly straightened, regarding the other Master Templar with just barely veiled impatience.

"Right. You said you wanted to see me."

"I did." Vidic's wrist snapped up and Desmond caught the small, metallic object out of the air.

"What's this?" Desmond held up, inspecting and rolling the small piece of jewelry between three fingers. It was too small to a man's.

"A ring." At his subordinate's deadpan look, Vidic rolled his eyes. "And your next assignment." He stretched his arm out, a plain manila folder offered in his hand.

There was a photo paper clipped to the file. Desmond recognized the woman.

"Isn't she one of ours?"

"Not anymore." Vidic answered as Desmond took the folder to sift through. "After further research, it seems we don't need Mr. Miles either."

"Oh cool, and after all the trouble I went to get him the first time around. You need a subject 18 then?" Desmond queried, blandly.

"No." A pause. "I need subject four."

Desmond's blood froze and he rounded immediately onto Vidic with an angry snarl. "I've already given you my memories!" The hell he was going to go through that and get fucked up again.

"Not all of them." The older man claimed calmly. "We have the earlier ones from your ancestors, but somehow—and we're having that idiot fired, by the way— it seems we've missed something vital. Your ancestor, Altair—" (Desmond flinched at the name as the ghost of the man himself growled with anger in his head) "—viewed the map after his disgrace and second training."

"So I'm connected to the POEs too, then."

"Yes. While we have obtained information of the Staff from Mr. Miles, we are also fortunate enough to have you provide the map." Vidic revealed with a note of delight. "Thus, after you finish your assignment, you're expected here for Animus sessions—which, I assure you, has been altered for your benefit."

The Templar scoffed even as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other anxiously, willing down the caustic dread and fear from showing on his face. "Uh huh."

"No more than a week for your assignment." Vidic urged, beckoning at the folder. "Then, straight back here. Are we clear, Mr. Cross?"

Desmond fingers convulsed around the ring. He needed a lot more painkillers for this.

"Crystal."

One week, Desmond dismayed, throwing the folder on his bed once he had bid his farewell to his boss. One week to kill Lucy Stillman (and if possible, her crew). One week till they would take their 'gift' again and have his mind picked apart over and over.

'Yeah,' Desmond thought, flicking two more pills down his throat. 'Fuck that shit.'

nikaris