Shaun knew he had said something wrong when Desmond managed a spit-take, eyes bugging from his head, and a quick review of the Arabic he had muttered made him want to slap his forehead, cursing himself as a bloody idiot. It had been safe, he thought; he did his best to ignore Desmond, lately, and he had hoped Desmond was kind enough to maybe even occasionally return the favor. Plainly, he had been mistaken, and now Desmond was looking at him like he'd grown two additional heads and oh god, now what?

"Holy shit. Holy shit. Hold on. What did you say?" Desmond wiped his mouth with his sleeve, mopping up the soda he had sprayed so attractively everywhere in his shock.

"Nothing, Desmond. Go away." If Shaun had wanted to be left alone to eat in peace before, without those obnoxious and irritating feelings bubbling up whenever Desmond came into play, then he certainly wanted solitude now, so he could berate himself thoroughly for his carelessness, and nurse that bitterness he'd been carrying within him. To hell with Lucy's one-week ultimatum.

"No, no, no. You can't know about that. How could you know about that?" Clearly, Desmond was unconvinced by Shaun's eloquent denial, and went straight for the throat, though Shaun hardly noticed through the delight that sparked as he finally had confirmation that Desmond knew, he knew about Malik and Altaїr, and that was comforting. Even if he didn't want to deal with this mess, it was still . . . nice.

Thinking quickly, Shaun replied, "I looked over the memories recorded from Abstergo, obviously." Shit. Now he'd admitted to what he'd said. I cannot imagine why Malik would think you would be a good lay. It'd been stupid to even voice that thought, and now look where it got him. Not to mention it was a complete lie. One glance at Desmond had Shaun thinking, separate from Malik, of just how good he thought that experience would be.

"Uhhuhh, no, I don't think so. The Animus skipped over those. What the hell, Shaun?" Desmond blocked the doorway when Shaun tried to take his dinner of noodles and parmesan cheese elsewhere, somewhere far, far away from this whole damn situation.

"Let me go, Desmond."

"No way. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on."

If Shaun's hands hadn't been full, he would have pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation; as it was, he shut his eyes and strove for patience and peace of mind. Then again, if his hands hadn't been full he might just have messed up that pretty face with his fists and solved that problem right there. That, or do other, less appropriate things that would land him in a great deal more trouble than was worthwhile.

"Desmond, get out of my way." Shaun was dangerously close to losing his temper.

"Tell me how you know."

"Because I bloody well saw it, all right? Blimey, Desmond, use your fucking head."

"What—how—You?" Desmond's mouth opened and shut a few times, and with a sinking heart Shaun knew he would have to divulge, confess, pour his fucking heart out but strangely it wasn't the terrifying thought he'd imagined it to be.

With a sigh, Shaun placed his plate and glass of water back on the table, pulling out two chairs for them to sit in. He took his place and gestured for Desmond to do the same, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face with his other hand. When Desmond was seated, Shaun took a deep breath, replaced his glasses, and fixed Desmond with a look bordering on a glare.

"I saw the memories because Malik is my ancestor, all right? We had some free time and I wanted to see what it was like in there. Came as a bit of a shock, let me tell you." He winced and touched his left arm. "Turns out you're not the only special one here."

Desmond swallowed hard at the gesture, then, eyes wide, looked Shaun up and down as though re-evaluating the man entirely, and Shaun wondered if Altaїr was now hassling him the way Malik always did when Desmond was around. "But, you said you weren't raised an assassin?"

"I wasn't. Like I said, it came as a shock."

"A-and the arm?"

"That was actually the first memory I experienced. Must have been pretty important to Malik, I imagine."

Desmond grimaced, a flash of guilt sweeping across his face, and Shaun regretted his words; for an instant he wanted to pin that regret on Malik, but he knew, suddenly, that would have been a lie, just like almost everything else he had been pinning on Malik had been a lie. Shaun wanted Desmond, had craved the closeness and affection he'd experienced in another life, and while Malik may have influenced his inclination, Shaun had to take responsibility for his emotions.

But not yet. He was only a day into his week; he could afford a little procrastination.

"Now that we have cleared that up, would you mind leaving me to my dinner? Actually working gives me a bit of an appetite." The words were familiar, but the tone lacked its usual bite, for they both knew how stressful the Animus could be; Desmond let out a single, breathless laugh, apparently still caught up on the part where Malik was Shaun's ancestor. Shaun merely smiled a little and returned to his dinner; he'd had enough of self-honesty for the day.

Desmond was avoiding Shaun. At first, Shaun thought perhaps it was just coincidental that immediately after learning Shaun's little secret Desmond made himself as scarce as possible, but then it became perfectly clear what was happening. He wasn't even bothering being discreet about it; if possible, he left the room when Shaun entered, and turned around and walked away if encountered in the hall, a strange, panicked expression on his face. This would have been a catastrophe if Lucy weren't suffering the same treatment, though it wasn't by any means comforting. Though, it did bode well for his one-week deadline (that he did not care about and was not constantly brooding over as it rapidly came to a close).

Considering how Malik continually tried to give him advice and instruct him on how to woo Desmond, Shaun could understand the avoidance if Altaїr was giving him the same treatment. It was hard enough, sorting out romantic feelings, without having to also consider whose feelings were whose and struggling to maintain a sense of self. Though, he was fairly certain Malik nevertheless retained a certain hold over him, urging him to chase Desmond down and force some sense into him in whatever way necessary, reminding him of his own methods.

In the end, Malik had taken his wife's advice, as bizarre as it seemed coming from her, forcibly dragging Altair from the Apple with his one hand, taking advantage of the disorientation Altaїr experienced in the sudden disconnect in order to shove him against the wall, pressing his thigh between his legs to hold him in place as best he could, then releasing his robes to slap him forcefully in the face, hoping to ignite some sort of outrage in the eyes that had turned blank and glassy and only partially succeeding; but he could not let that deter him, because they had grown too far apart since Altaїr's infatuation and Malik missed him, missed him terribly, so instead of further physical violence, he hooked his hand behind Altaїr's neck and pressed their lips together once, gently, then again, their bodies flush together, until he felt Altaїr respond, his body stirring, hands coming up to Malik's waist, snaking inside his outermost robe to the small of his back and holding him tight, smirking a little against Malik's mouth when he let out a small, relieved moan, taking advantage of the way his mouth opened when that sound escaped him by slipping his tongue in to caress Malik's, and then they were much less gentle with one another as raw need gripped them

And while that sounded incredibly appealing to Shaun for a number of reasons, he had a strong feeling that such an approach would only further complicate matters. He sighed, closing the book he had decided to try to read to distract him from all of this ridiculous and irritating emotional drama he was putting himself through. Glancing at the clock, he decided it was still early enough to bother Rebecca, who routinely stayed up all night doing god knows what, and so he swung his legs free from the confines of his blankets and pushed himself out of bed, slipping his feet into slippers so he could make the short trip from his room to hers.

From beyond her door came muffled noises that could have been music, and he scowled, then raised his fist to knock on her door, pounding harder when it seemed she couldn't hear over the racket of her "music."

Abruptly the noises quieted, and the door jerked open, revealing a sweaty and flushed Rebecca, who took one look at him and said, "Nice jammies."

He looked down, and couldn't see anything particularly special or humorous about them, just drawstring cloth pants and a light button-up pajama shirt, so he gave her a strange look. "What are you talking about? They're just pajamas."

"Right, they look comfy. What's up?"

He shook his head, already exasperated and regretting this decision. "May I come in? I'd like to talk." She chewed her lip a moment then nodded, stepping aside and pulling the door open to reveal an unholy mess of clothing and dishes that had Shaun wondering just how old Rebecca was again, wondering how she even had enough space for dancing, which she undoubtedly had been doing.

She left the door open and moved around him to sit at her desk, scooting her chair back to prop her feet up, and folded her arms across her chest, then asked again, "What's up?"

He didn't bother beating about the bush. "What do I do about Desmond?"

"What do you mean?"

He forced himself to not shout at her, What the hell do you mean, 'what do you mean?' Haven't you been paying attention?because he figured she might actually not have been paying attention, because their little world did not, in fact, revolve around his pathetic excuse for a love life and she had quite a bit of work to keep her occupied, so he just sighed, running a hand tiredly through his hair, and said, "He's been avoiding me, ever since he found out about Malik being my ancestor, and because of this whole thing with Lucy, if I don't do something soon, I might never have another chance."

"Do you love him?" Apparently, Rebecca saw the virtues of speaking to-the-point as well, in a way that made him quite uncomfortable at present.

"Um."

Her eyes flickered to something over his shoulder, but before he could follow her gaze, she stood up abruptly and stepped toward him, grabbing the front of his shirt and forcing their lips together in a gesture that had both him and Malik shocked into frozen silence, only spurred into action, shoving her away, when he heard a strangled sound from the doorway and then the sound of hurried, retreating footsteps.

"What—What the bloody hell, Rebecca?" His hand wiped at his lips, feeling a bit ill as he considered who had just been in the doorway.

A smug expression settled onto her face as she waved a hand at him. "Go get him, Shaun."

"What?"

She sighed. "Look, he's probably been freaking out because of this whole ancestor thing, but the guy clearly likes you, at the very least. I just made him realize it." A finger jabbed at the open door behind him, and she was grinning. "Now go and knock some sense into him, before it's too late."

Shaun's feet moved of their own volition, stumbling back as he followed her advice, cursing and twisting his body to face forward, muttering, "You had better be right, you tit."

All Shaun had to do was follow the sound of muttering in Arabic, a trail that led Shaun into the warehouse and down the ramp, where it was a bit more difficult to determine direction with Desmond's voice echoing off the walls, bouncing off the crates, while Malik upbraided him for carelessness and letting his lover get hurt; never mind the rather crucial fact that they were not lovers, and that was actually what this whole bloody mess was about in the first place, no, never mind that. At the back of Shaun's mind he swore he would kill Rebecca if she was wrong, if he was wasting his time, and damn the consequences; he was pretty sure Lucy could figure out how to run the Animus without her, and she had no business kissing him like that, especially with Desmond watching, and that sick dread churned in his stomach again as he worried that maybe she had just ruined everything, and maybe she had been on Lucy's side the whole time, and suddenly he didn't feel like playing any more games so he stopped dead in the middle of the warehouse floor and sighed theatrically.

"Desmond, I am in absolutely no mood to go chasing you around the building, so if you would kindly stop acting like achild and come out, that would be fantastic, thanks." He spoke to the air, the crates, figuring Desmond was around somewhere even though the cursing seemed to have stopped, and he no doubt heard him, so he just folded his arms across his chest and reflected that it was a bit cooler in the warehouse than his bedroom, and long sleeves or no, his pajama shirt was not meant to withstand chilly climes. If Desmond didn't hurry up, impending love confession aside, Shaun would have to take this up another time because he was not prepared to suffer quite so much discomfort. Malik snorted and called him a liar, and an asshole because calling his love interest a child was surely a brilliant way to win his affections, which Shaun ignored because he was tired of feeling schizophrenic when Desmond was involved, and just for once wanted to experience something without his ancestor breathing down his neck, shoving him in the back, whispering in his ear and just getting in the way.

Silence met Shaun's demands, so after a few minutes of just standing, waiting, staring at the ceiling, the crates, the floor, his slippers, he sighed again, quieter, sadder, disappointed, then slowly turned and walked back to the ramp that would take him from the chill of the warehouse and away from his chance at something he suspected would have been brilliant, lips thinning with a mix of emotions, none of them pleasant, because he had almost believed Rebecca, and after he had chiseled away the stone that seemed to have settled in his chest, his stomach, his whole being he'd maybe consider strangling her in her sleep.

He'd imagined, while chasing Desmond down, that this moment would be a bit like Malik and Altair's, that they'd exchange a few words, and obliquely come to a mutual understanding, culminating in a bit of physical exploration; but of course he was not Malik, and Desmond was not Altair, and they hadn't known each other all their lives, and they hadn't shared any bond from experience, any great tragedy and subsequent reconciliation, only a strange coincidence that was hardly enough to be any kind of suitable foundation for the kind of feelings Shaun had for Desmond now.

"Shaun, wait."

Shaun's heart stopped.

When his heart remembered how to beat again, it made up for the stall by pounding, racing double-time, and Shaun closed his eyes, willing himself to not get his bloody hopes up again, because setting himself up for disappointment was becoming a disgusting trend that he'd rather not continue. Turning and opening his eyes, he drank in the sight of Desmond in a thin undershirt that seemed to cling to his muscles in all the right ways and black pajama slacks that hung loosely around his hips, and Shaun was inclined to agree with Malik, who was murmuring to Shaun all the things he should do to Desmond, but then had to remind himself that he couldn't do anything like that, that Desmond probably didn't want it and could they just try to focus on something else, please? For example, the way Desmond was appraising him in a similar manner, only instead of looking like he wanted to tear off all of Shaun's clothes, he looked faintly amused despite himself.

Annoyed, because Desmond had no reason to be amused, Shaun snapped, "What?"

"Nice jammies."

Shaun thought he just might kill Rebecca regardless of the outcome of this nightmare of a situation. "What exactly is wrong with my pajamas? Are they stained, or something? Because as far as I knew, they were just regular pajamas!"

Desmond shrugged. "They look comfy."

It felt as though someone was strangling Shaun, or perhaps that was just his incandescent rage. "Rebecca should have kissed you. You two are just perfect for each other," he snarled, not thinking.

He had the sense to regret it when that tiny, amused smile vanished instantly from Desmond's face, that scar tugging downward into an equally tiny frown, but enough that Shaun knew he'd just said something incredibly stupid.

"Right. Sorry I interrupted you guys." Desmond's voice conveyed something entirely unapologetic, bordering on animosity and sarcasm, of all things, which Shaun vaguely thought was a bit unfair, having officially cornered the market on such attributes.

Shaun pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "Really, don't be. She would have kissed you, were our roles reversed." And I would have killed her for that, as well, he thought.

Shaun was perversely pleased with the faint look of distaste that swept across Desmond's face, gone as quickly as it came, to be replaced by that same tiny frown. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Shaun hadn't planned any grand speech, hadn't spent hours thinking of exactly how to word whatever he had to say to Desmond, so for a few moments he just stared at the man, with Malik shrugging in the recesses of his brain, telling him it was all on his shoulders now, so it was no surprise that Desmond shifted, plainly irritated and opened his mouth to say something probably along the lines of what is your fucking problem or maybe not quite so harsh but right when those lips parted Shaun knew he had to say anything to keep this from turning into one of their admittedly one-sided arguments, with Shaun reminding Desmond of his complete inadequacy, when that was exactly the opposite of what Shaun felt, because Desmond was actually more than adequate, and maybe precisely everything Shaun needed.

"Desmond. Listen, I—" He brought his left hand to his forehead, trying to formulate some sort of articulate and meaningful declaration of his feelings, and Desmond made a small, surprised sound that had Shaun raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"You favor your right hand when you know I'm around. Usually, I mean."

Shaun lowered his hand from his face, staring at it, a little confused. "Well, I am right handed, Desmond. . ."

Desmond shook his head. "No, I mean, it's exclusive. It's like you forget your left arm is there." He didn't say like Malik, but he may as well have.

"I- I didn't even notice," Shaun said, because he hadn't, which was odd because that was the sort of thing he normallywould have been aware of, and then he had to marvel that Desmond had noticed, and that hope was back, the faintest fragment and it was enough. "Only when I know you're around, then? I suppose you spend a lot of time spying on me from afar?" He let a smile take one side of his mouth, not willing just yet to commit to a proper grin, because it was just afragment of hope, after all.

The smile did not go unnoticed. Shaun saw Desmond's eyes shift to his mouth then back to a place just to Shaun's left, to avoid looking him in the eyes, Shaun supposed. He had a slightly conflicted look about him, as though uncertain of quite where he stood at this point, then said, "Maybe?"

Shaun snorted. "That is, of course, not at all creepy. I feel very secure, knowing you're stalking me."

"Well what else could I do? Any time I try to talk to you, you act like you're gonna rip my throat out." Desmond was almost smiling now, and Shaun took that to be a very good sign.

"And that is because every time you talk to me, Malik tries to get me to bend you over my desk and—" And Shaun had not actually meant to say that, and he thought wildly, Oh, Christ, this cannot end well, it just cannot but then Desmond was laughing, a loud, joyous sound that made Shaun feel just a little bit weak with relief.

"Oh, god, you have no idea how often Altair said the same thing," Desmond said, wiping his eyes, and now Shaun was grinning madly. But then Desmond's smile faltered a little, and his brow furrowed. "So, are you just being—" and he waved a hand to encompass everything Shaun was at that moment, "because of Malik?"

"No. No. Desmond, no. Malik has been surprisingly taciturn, actually. This," Shaun said, "is me. Just me." He extended his right hand. "Shaun Hastings, at your service."

Desmond took his hand, a bit hesitantly. "Desmond Miles."

"A pleasure to meet you, Desmond."

Shaun decided he really enjoyed the way Desmond's hand felt in his own, a bit rough with newly-formed calluses, and while he didn't keep the same grip from the handshake, he didn't let go, and looked Desmond square in the eye.

"Desmond—" He hesitated again.

"Shaun." Desmond took advantage of his pause to mimic him, and from that little interruption Shaun decided to say fuck it all.

"Oh, to hell with this. Desmond, I love you."

For all that he'd fretted and fussed about that moment, it was wonderfully painless, especially with the way Desmond met his gaze and tightened his grip on Shaun's hand and did not run away, and suddenly Shaun knew he didn't have to hope anymore.

"Yeah." Desmond coughed a little. "I love you, too."

And then Shaun wasn't quite sure how it happened, but Desmond's mouth was on his own, just the way he'd wanted from the instant he'd set eyes on him, and it was exactly, perfectly, everything he wanted out of life right then, and hang the Templars and this whole fucking war and the Animus, all of that could just piss off. And maybe Malik hummed approvingly, somewhere, faintly in the background but Shaun was so far beyond caring, with Desmond's hands pulling him close, and his mouth tasting different than the way Malik remembered Altair's, which was great because Shaun didn'twant this to be like them, not now, not when it was so deliciously him and Desmond, and they were here and now, not countless miles and years and lifetimes away.

Desmond rested his forehead against Shaun's, both a little breathless, and he asked, "Really?"

Rather than answer immediately, Shaun kissed him again, slow, careful, and deliberate. "Obviously." On a whim, he flicked his tongue out to trace that scar, and immediately, the mood took a decidedly different turn, and the warehouse suddenly didn't seem quite so chilly anymore.

Shaun was grateful that Malik had decided to shut up for fucking once, maintaining this rare reticence he'd adopted. Shaun looked forward to creating his own narration of events, he thought, with Desmond grasping at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, and muttering in his ear that he'd rather find a bed than do this on the crates, words that sent a rush of heat flooding south and had Shaun grabbing Desmond by the hand again and leading him out of the warehouse toward his bedroom, the pair of them making stops along the way to press against the railing, the wall, Shaun's door, desperate for the pressure, the comfort, the all-encompassing need and want that surged and sparked between them.

Shaun had to extract his hand from their clumsy tangle of limbs to open his door, and they staggered in when it swung open, Desmond barely managing to push it shut again before Shaun had him up against it once more, sliding his hand slowly down his chest, captivated by the hard planes of muscle he could feel through the thin fabric of Desmond's undershirt, then let his hand travel further down to rest there and Desmond moaned, pressing into Shaun's palm, the sound cut off by Shaun's mouth, hungrily capturing Desmond's voice, his lips, his tongue, and hands were tearing at clothes, and then Desmond's hand brushed against him purposefully, and Shaun lost all ability for coherent thought—

When Shaun's brain regained the ability to string more than the barest handful of words together, remembered how to say more than oh, god and yes and Desmond, Christ, Desmond, they were stretched on their backs across his bed, Desmond running his fingers softly over a little patch of bruised flesh on Shaun's neck.

"Sorry about this," he murmured.

Shaun tried to scowl, but could only manage a halfhearted frown and the barest shrug of his shoulders. "Rebecca will have a field day. Week. Oh, blimey, she is going to be insufferable."

Soft laughter shook Desmond's body, and he pressed a kiss to Shaun's shoulder. "Let her."

"Fine, but if she says 'I told you so,' I will strangle her." That was probably a lie, seeing as he did owe her, and really, if she wanted to gloat a little bit that was fine, because if he could keep coming back to this, it would be entirely worth it.