Kukuku... Do the AUs ever end? I happened to like this one a lot. Enjoy.

The Apple hadn't liked that. Desmond had been sent on a mission, had a bit of spare time to play with the Apple, and now, here he was, trapped in his own mind—in King Solomon's Temple. He regretted stabbing Lucy, but sending him on a mission seemed a little harsh. As he blinked and looked around, he felt his skin crawling. Looking down, he saw goosebumps forming at the chilly air, and he gazed around a second time. There were several bodies strewn over the ground, and he frowned when he thought he recognized one. There shouldn't be bodies in King Solomon's Temple if he was reliving the memory. Pacing over—and trying to ignore the crawling sensation—Desmond knelt by one of them, then leaped back in surprised.

"K-Kadar?"

The body lay there, beaten and mutilated, and Desmond realized his eyes weren't even closed. The skin was shriveled and stretched around the bones since the bodily fluids had evaporated, but the cool air in the temple had prevented decay. With a frown, he closed the eyelids.

"I'm so sorry Altair did that," he murmured and startled when he heard his own voice.

He looked at his hands—they were his hands, his clothes, his hidden blade and tattoo. His gun was still strapped to his side with his two extra clips, and his Iphone was still in his pocket. His sneakers were still his. His skin was still his. He was still him, staring at the aftermath of the temple several years after it had happened.

He looked back at the body of the young man. The clothes were bloodied and ruined. He winced. Perhaps he should give the poor man a decent burial. It wasn't like he was going anywhere any time fast. Looking around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark with the help of his Eagle Vision, he found a shovel lying next to one of the dead Templars. He padded over and picked it up.

He started digging. And he kept digging until there was a large hole in the ground and the top of his head was level with the rest of the ground—which then he knew was six feet deep. He popped out and stripped off the ruined tunic and underclothing, leaving him in his pants. He took off his hoodie and stripped from his undershirt, freezing, to put the undershirt on the man, He hurried back into his hoodie and licked a clean spot on the old tunic to gently clean the body. It was disgusting to the touch, but he felt as if he had to give the poor boy a "funeral."

"I'm really sorry, Kadar. I still have nightmares about leaving you to die, and I wasn't even there."

He took his time, shivering in the cold air. It was cold now that he wasn't doing physical labor. Eventually, he had the bloodied body cleaned and "presentable," and he picked it up, almost dropping it at how disgusting it felt. He started pouring the dirt back over it, and then realized the others needed a grave, too. He went to each of the three other bodies and shut their eyes before dragging them to the makeshift grave.

One of them still had clothes in good condition, and he stripped the body and changed, feeling warmer in the layered clothing. He put his pants on the man, feeling sorry for poor Templar. At least their clothes were comfortable. He strapped on the weapons and dressed him in Kadar's soiled shirt before dumping the body into the grave. Desmond stuffed his hoodie into his backpack with the Iphone and reequipped his gun, clips, and backpack. He started filling the hole again. When he was done, he was panting and sweating, and he realized he still had to label the grave. He found a chisel, or something close, and scrawled in the stone walls: "Kadar Al-Sayf and three unknown Templar knights. Rest in peace."

Satisfied with his work, Desmond stepped back and pulled out his phone, turning it on and taking a snap shot of the grave. He looked at the picture and frowned when a misty blob had appeared on the grave. It seemed to be human, sitting and staring at him.

"Kadar?" he whispered before taking one more shot and turning off his phone.

"Damnit!" he yelled, realizing he had forgotten to give Kadar back his weapons after changing his shirt.

He picked up the shovel again, fully ready to redig the grave when the misty figure appeared. He yelped and scrambled back, shielding himself as it walked forward.

"L-leave me alone! Pl-please! I've buried you, Kadar! Don't harm me!"

The image of Kadar paused by his unburied weapons, looking down at them.

"I-I know! I was just about to give them back to you!"

It gestured to something in the pile. When Desmond failed to respond, it gestured again. He lowered his arms and walked over, trembling. He hated ghosts. No more horror films, no matter what Rebecca tried to talk him into. He stopped next to the ghost and watched it bend over, gesturing to something in the pile. Hesitantly, trying to ignore the crawling feeling, he reached to where pointing, and found a small ragdoll. It wasn't anything of value, but it was a cute little thing. He met Kadar's gaze, and the ghost gestured to it.

"You-you want me to take this?"

The ghost nodded once.

"And give it to your brother?"

It seemed logical, but Kadar shook his head, smiling and gesturing to Desmond.

"Keep it?"

Kadar nodded, still smiling, and ran a hand over his eyes.

"For closing your… Putting you to rest."

The ghost nodded again, gesturing to the sword at his side.

"I'm not giving up the sword: I have to have something to defend myself with, and–"

He paused when Kadar gestured to the novice's long sword. It was beautiful, and it wasn't something a novice would've had.

"That was your brother's, wasn't it?" he asked as he tucked the small ragdoll into his Templar uniform.

"Do you want me to give it to him?"

Kadar shook his head.

"You want me to use it?"

The ghost nodded. Hesitantly, he strapped the better sword on in place of the Templar sword.

"Thank you."

Kadar shook his head and reached out, and he trembled when the misty finger touched him. Nevertheless, he found himself smiling as Kadar vanished slowly. He was glad, too, that through the training of the Animus he had gained both Altair's and Ezio's abilities, and that with Lucy, he had developed them. He felt confident he could take on anything.

"Hello?" came an old man's voice.

He jumped and looked to the entrance of the room, watching a light shine through.

"In here!" he yelled, scrambling over to the ladders and hopping up.

"Who's there?"

"My name is Desmond Miles: I come in peace!"

"You certainly don't look like it."

He paused at the top of the ladders to find an old man standing there with a torch. He smiled. "Sorry, I got lost in here, and I couldn't find my way out. If you help me out, I'll work for you."

There was silence as he watched the old man. Finally, the old man laughed. "I thought you were a Templar. Those men have no work ethic. Who are you, Desmond?"

Desmond was surprised. "I'm, uh, did you know of the treasure in these mines?"

The old man wrinkled his brow. "Yes, my brother and I paced these shafts many times until he was murdered."

He winced. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He hadn't even realized he was speaking Arabic. Perhaps the Bleeding Effect had a few good aspects.

"But the treasure in these mines transported me here."

The little old man laughed. "You are a strange man, Mister Desmond. You'd best not let anyone else hear that story."

He bowed his head shamefully. "Sorry, I know it doesn't make any sense."

He raised his head when the old man put a hand on his arm. "I can tell you are a good boy. You have no place to go, do you?"

Desmond shook his head. "How do you know I'm not lying?"

The old man chuckled and turned around. "With old age comes many benefits. Follow me. I will give you a place to stay in return for your blade. The guards have been heckling me as of late—"

"I can take care of them!" Desmond scoffed and jogged up to the old man's side. "And that's all you want?"

"I am moving to Jerusalem to be with my daughter."

"Oh… You want an escort?"

"Exactly, and in return, I will give you room and board."

Desmond pursed his lips. "So you have no idea if I'm really a good man, but you know I can wield a blade."

The old man chuckled and looked at him as they walked along. "Son, I have no idea about your back story. I do not know if you speak the truth, or what it could mean. But, I can tell you are a strong young man with a good heart. You would not have buried those bodies which have been dead for several years now if you were not a good man. I saw the grave. I also know that you would not pick up a blade unless you could fight, and your build speaks of much training."

Desmond found himself smiling warmly as he walked with the man. They climbed down the ladder and over a small bridge. "Well, thank you. I'm really lost. I don't know how I got here."

"It will be a pleasure it have you: I am sure. As for your first task, you can help me finish packing. I do not own much, but I own entirely too much for an old man like myself."

"I never caught your name, forgive me for being so blunt."

"My name is Basil Allaw, but you may call me 'granddad,' if you wish."

Desmond smiled at the old man, who smiled back. He was amazed at how fluent his Arabic was still. "Are you sure? I never had a grandfather."

"Then by all means, call me 'granddad.'"

"Okay, granddad."

He grinned at the word. He liked it, and he liked the man. He was lucky. As they walked out of the mines, he pulled out the small ragdoll, rubbing a finger against its face. It looked slightly like Malik, except this one had two arms and was dressed in assassin's robes.

"That is an adorable doll," the old man said as he hobbled over to his horse. "Can you help me up?"

Desmond nodded and gave him a lift onto the horse.

"My! Strong indeed!"

Desmond laughed and mounted a spare horse off to the side. "The doll was a gift from a friend."

The old man nodded sagely. "Hold onto it tightly, then, child."

The young man agreed, taking one last look at it and tucking it away. He smiled. After half an hour of riding, they approached a small house on the outskirts of the town. A group of guards was standing outside. They must be looking for trouble. As they approached, the guards turned and smirked at the old man, freezing when they noticed Desmond. The horses stopped in front of the guards, and the group knelt. They were the Sunni Muslim guards.

"S-sir."

Desmond realized they were addressing him. He glanced at his uniform: the Knights were higher rank. He smirked. When the guards looked at him hesitantly, he wiped the smirk from his face and growled, "Who gave you permission to leave your post?"

"N-no one, sir."

"Then why are you here? I'm feeling generous, and if you can get back to your posts in twenty seconds, I won't report you. One…"

The guards split, and Desmond laughed once they were out of earshot.

"Thank God! These guys are as dumb as me!"

He hopped off the horse and helped the old man down. "You should pray to Allah for forgiveness for lying."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry, Granddad, but I don't believe in Allah."

The old man looked scandalized. "You believe in the Christian god?"

"I don't believe in any god. If there was a god, he'd make this world a better place with his 'magical powers.' Anyway, I'm a good liar. That's the only way I'm still alive today."

The old man scrutinized him, then pursed his lips. "Come, we will put the horses up, then pack. Tomorrow we leave."

He nodded and followed the old man's lead. When he walked inside, most of the furniture was all ready packed, save the largest of it. He felt right at home—a place where the people were not smarter than him, and he could lie his way confidently, so long as he watched his "modernized" habits. As he helped the old man finish getting ready to move, he pondered it.

"It's funny, you know."

The old man looked at him. "What is?"

"I feel more like I belong here than I did back home."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah…"

He was so used to this life all ready that he forgot his other life if he didn't force himself to think of it, and it had only been a matter of hours. He figured if it continued like this, it was only a matter of time before he completely forgot the future. With a shrug, he smiled to himself.

"That wouldn't be a bad thing… No more snarkiness at my not even middle school education, people who can fight like I can, no more 'training sessions' as an excuse to beat me up…"

He shook his head and busied himself with packing. He and the old man slept on the floor that night, and when morning rolled around, he moved all of the things onto the wooden slate and attached it to the horse. It all came naturally as he helped the man onto the animal. He felt so at home here.

"Tell me about where you came from," the old man said as Desmond mounted.

"Sorry, Granddad?"

"Your home?"

Desmond cocked his head and then pursed his lips. "I don't remember much about it. I've been on the run for the longest time. I was captured by an evil corpor—group of men—then was rescued. The lady who rescued me became my family, and we've been chased around ever since. Then I ended up here and… I'm eternally grateful you found me."

"I'm sure you'll prove your worth at the guards' camp up ahead."

He grinned. "I've been trained better than Altair himself. I can take them."

The old man raised an eyebrow. "Better than the legendary 'Great Eagle of Masyaf?'"

He nodded.

"Quite a bold claim."

"I will prove it to you."

"I will wait to see if what you say is true, Great Liar for a Living."

Desmond laughed, and the old man chuckled with him.

"You certainly made a good impression on me with those men from yesterday. You slipped into the commanding role so easily."

"They have a lot of men like me. One rogue liar will easily slip through the ranks."

The old man laughed, and Desmond smiled at his happiness. It had been long time since he felt like this. Between Shaun's constant bitching and all the stress from his training, it had been a long time since he had laughed. He grinned as their horses plodded along, carrying the small amount of stuff the poor guy had.

"Where are you moving in Jerusalem?"

"My daughter lives in the rich district."

He nodded. "Okay! Jerusalem is a beautiful city."

"But the people are not so sometimes."

He laughed. It was high noon before they entered the guards' encampment. The Crusaders nodded at him as they passed, and when they entered the heart, one of the cooks flagged them.

"Are you hungry, sirs?"

Desmond's stomach rumbled in response, and the cook laughed. They were served, and he and the old man ate with the men as their horses were tended to.

"Pardon me for asking, sir," one of them started.

Desmond nodded.

"But I don't remember seeing you. You seem awfully young to be a Templar knight."

"I was a special case because of my talent."

The group nodded as if they had seen it a million times.

"May I ask a question?" another asked.

"Go ahead."

"Why are you not at your post?"

He chuckled. "I asked for leave to help move my granddad to Jerusalem."

"The city of the Muslims?" one of them exclaimed.

Desmond nodded. "Crazy, I know, but I will be able to access the inside of Jerusalem that way."

They were silent for several minutes, and he smiled at his "granddad" when he felt a hand on his leg.

Then, "I guess that proves why you're ranked so high. I never would have thought of that."

Desmond was surprised, then, he smiled. He wasn't used to such a compliment. Shaun would have berated him for other parts of the lie he hadn't thought of yet. He finished his meal before another spoke.

"Permission to speak?"

"Granted."

"You must have been promoted recently, yes?"

"Yeah."

"I wondered."

"Why?"

"Most of the Knights would not give us the time of day. They just boss us around and guard their precious boxes, only to be killed from behind by the damn assassin Altair."

Desmond laughed. "Yes, I was promoted very recently."

"I'm jealous."

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of someone approaching. A Templar Knight, dressed just like him, one of those sixty he had killed in the memories, approached him.

"Why are you wasting your time talking to these men? They are not worth your time."

"I was letting my granddad rest."

"Off with you, scum. Leave the Knight alone."

Desmond raised an eyebrow as they filed off slowly. He frowned but held his tongue as the Knight sat down.

"Where is your helmet?"

"I lost it in a fight. It was ruined beyond repair."

"Who could you have fought to ruin headgear like that?"

Without thinking, "Altair, the Great Assassin."

The Knight exploded into laughter, drawing the attention of everyone around. Desmond scowled. Finally, the Knight stopped laughing.

"He has killed many of our men. How can you claim to have beaten him if you are still wet behind ears?"

"There is a reason I was promoted so young."

"Prove it. Fight me."

The Templar Knight rose, and Desmond's scowl deepened. "Why? Is my word not enough?"

"I find it hard to believe." He turned to the camp. "Listen here! This man claims to have beaten the Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, when we have lost thousands of men to him! I think he should fight to prove his claim, don't you?"

A moment of silence before a loud cheer went up through the crowd. Desmond rose and snarled. "I got this scar on my lips as proof, and soon, I will have my blade at your throat!"

There was a loud clash as the Knight's and Desmond's longswords met. A loud cheer went through the Crusaders, and he almost felt bad as he snarled at the Templar Knight, swirling around as he dodge a blow and striking him with the hilt on the back.

It was a short fight. A few strikes, and it was over. Desmond had one foot planted firmly on the man's chest, and his sword at the Knight's throat. It took every ounce of control in him not kill the man. There was a mighty cheer from the others, and Desmond jerked back. The Knight scrambled to his feet and took off his headpiece, bowing on his knee and holding it out.

"I believe you. Here: I would be honored if you would use my helmet for your safety."

He stuck the sword in the ground and looked at it, forcing his words: "I could not endanger the safety of a brother in the Knights Templar."

"You are of far greater worth than I, sir."

Desmond reluctantly took the helmet when his granddad nodded for him to. "Rise. I am not that much better."

"You underestimate yourself, good knight," the man said as he rose. The Templar clasped a hand on his shoulder. "I am honored to fight beside a man as strong as you."

Desmond smiled, and the two hugged briefly. He honestly felt as if he were at home. Perhaps stealing the man's clothes in the temple was the best thing he had ever done. He grinned as the others crowded around him to ask him questions.

"Is that really how you got your scar?"

"Was he fierce?"

"Could you see his movements at all?"

"How hard did he hit?"

"How did he escape?"

Desmond laughed. They spent the rest of the evening camped outside of Acre, and he built for himself an incredible lie, but it was still easier to keep track of than back before he was kidnapped. When night rolled around, he found himself given an extra set of clothes and a full stomach. He was treated extraordinarily here. His "Granddad" was lying beside him.

"You did a good job."

He looked at the man from his bedroll. "Thanks."

The old man smiled. "Thank you, Desmond. For protecting me."

He smiled. "It's no problem, Granddad. I feel really lucky to be here."

He fell asleep with a smile, feeling more at home than he had in a long time. He woke with the drum call early that morning. He dressed and checked on the old man before crawling out of the tent. He helped tend to the horses, bumping heads with his horse. It nickered softly and stomped at the ground. He laughed and rubbed its neck.

"Be a good girl, Belle."

He felt a page come up beside him. "Belle?"

He looked at the page. "It's a girl, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but… you're always switching horses. Why get attached?"

Desmond smiled. "Learn to love all you can, when you can. You never know when it will be taken from you."

The page tilted his head.

"I fell in love with a woman named Lucy. I don't know how's she doing, or if she's even alive."

The page nodded and petted his horse. "The guards are talking about creating a squad for you and your grandfather."

"Really?"

"They are amazed by your feats, and they hope you will train them."

He looked at the young man, watching his barely-held excitement.

"They also say you will have several apprentices accompany you."

Desmond smirked. "Really?"

"Yes, sir."

He grabbed the apprentice in a headlock and laughed when he yelped. The boy struggled to get out of his grip, laughing as Desmond poked his stomach.

"Are all of you novices this squishy in the stomach?"

The young man was kicking and flailing in the headlock, laughing hysterically as he struggled to answer.

"Well?"

"Y-yes, s-s-sir!"

He smirked as the young man dissolved in a fit of laughter, held in Desmond's headlock as he mercilessly tickled him.

"What's your name, kiddo?"

"T-T-Timmmoth-thy!"

"Tttimmmoththy?"

"N-no!" The young man took a huge gulp of breath before shrieking when Desmond got him in the sides.

"Oh, you're really ticklish here, Tttimmmoththy?"

He kicked out like a horse, laughing as he tried to get away. Eventually, Desmond relented and smirked as the young man fell on his rump, scrabbling back a few paces.

"It's Timothy!"

"Oh, Timothy. That makes more sense."

His horse stomped its foot and snorted, and he patted her nuzzle before turning and walking back into the camp. Timothy practically danced out of his way, and many of the nearby Crusaders were watching curiously. Desmond jogged back to the tent and helped his "Granddad" get ready before leading him to a log and fetching them breakfast. He decided not to wear the helmet yet.

After they ate, he thanked the men profusely and hopped on his horse. Both were ready to go. It took an extra hour to convince them not to take an entire escort with them. The two rode off shortly after camp was in full swing, and he sighed, stretching when they were out of sight and headed toward Jerusalem. He breathed in, inhaling the scent of the old world. It felt great.

"You have quite the reputation a head of you. Do not think it has not been spreading like wildfire."

Desmond let his arms down into a stiff shrug, still stretching.

"Eventually, even King Richard and Altair may hear of it."

"One step at a time, Granddad. Everything happens one step at a time."

The old gave him a serious look as he shook like a dog.

"I'm still trying to get use to being here."

"You will cause yourself much trouble."

Desmond scowled. "I've been in deeper shit. Like when I was kidnapped and forced to do weird shit for—"

"Watch your language."

"Right, sorry, Granddad. I just feel… good here. Like I can do this." He leaned forward on his horse. "My head hasn't felt this clear in so long. I used to see all kinds of things. Here, my mind is clear, and I don't see anything anymore. I'll fight whatever comes. They didn't kill me when they hunted me down, and they won't be able to kill me now."

"You are arrogant."

Desmond looked at him sadly. "No, not really. I know I could die. I know there's a really good chance I'll wind up dead with this lie I'm weaving, but I could die happy here even if I was captured and tortured for years. I feel so good here."

The old man shook his head. "You are an odd one."

"I am not from this century."

"Right, right, with the treasure from the temple, correct?"

Desmond nodded. They rode in silence to Jerusalem, and he enjoyed the old man's company. His rumor preceded him wherever he went, and he was exalted like a god. He didn't particularly care for the rumor, but it was necessary. It took several days to get there, and every morning, he checked the gun, helped with the horses, and rode with the old man. Desmond never said it, but he was becoming incredibly attached to him. He loved the silent company, the sage advice he'd sometimes give, or the compliments on his fighting style—which he owed entirely to Lucy and Ezio. The old man, while worried for his sake with the rumor, seemed to enjoy the attention as they passed safely into the gates of Jerusalem.

"Incredible!" the old man whispered to him. "To think we got in without any hassle from the guards!"

"See?" Desmond said as they rode through the market. "It was worth the lie to get you here safe. You helped me out majorly."

"Majorly?"

"Big time. A lot. That means I owe you my life, pretty much."

"So this is the man who claimed to beat the great Altair Ibn-La'Ahad?"

He looked to see Malik standing in front of them, several paces off. He was scowling. Something nagged in the corner of his mind, and he became aware of the small doll in his tunic. Shocked, Desmond pulled out the small ragdoll and ran his fingers over it.

"Where did you get that!"

He held it up, realizing the marketplace had cleared out. He laughed at the likeness. "It looks just like you."

"Where did you get that?" Malik growled.

"It was a gift from a man I put to peace."

Malik's eyes narrowed. Desmond held it out, and the one-armed man stepped forward, reaching out and touching it.

"You put him to peace?"

"I gave him a burial. Then the old man found me, and I volunteered to help him move."

He hopped down from the horse. Malik ran his fingers over the soft cloth head, feeling the hair on its head. He barely heard the man whisper, "You look like Altair."

"Apple, I'm his ancestor," he mouthed.

Desmond saw his jaw clench as he withdrew his hand. "Your sword belonged to me, once."

"I know. Kadar told me."

"Altair watches you."

"I kinda figured. He's usually with you."

"Novice." He laughed at the hint of pink on Malik's cheeks as dai turned and paced away. "Do not think you will get away with your claims. Altair will hunt and fight you."

Desmond smirked. "I can take him."

Malik looked over his shoulder when he was at the edge of the market, something between a smirk and a smile on his lips. "I look forward to it."

Desmond found himself grinning as he hopped onto the horse. As they trotted off, he heard Malik shout, "And take care of that sword and doll, or I will get you before Altair does!"

They traveled to the northwest corner of the rich district, and arrived at a small house. A young woman came running out.

"Papa! You've arrived! I thought for sure it would take you several weeks with all the Christian soldiers at Acre!"

Desmond hopped off and helped the old man down. The old man smiled proudly. "I happened to come across a very talented young man. He was able to get past the guards with his uniform."

The lady gave him a close once over. "He's a Templar Knight, dad."

"I know—I know. Just trust your father. I've made it here because of his rank."

He helped him carry his things in, working hard in hope they'd let him stay. When they were done, she gave him something to drink. He sipped the glass of water slowly as they talked at the table.

"You abused the power of the Templars? They'll kill you when they find you out, you know."

"I'm okay with that. I'd rather die here than go back to where I was."

"And where was that?"

"It is better not to ask, my dear," Granddad said. "Allah has acted in strange ways, but it has been a blessing for us. Do not question what he graces us with."

Desmond smirked. "Sorry, ma'am. I don't think you would understand it."

She gave him a suspicious stare. "And you're not a Templar Knight?"

"Not really, no, but my other clothes didn't blend in, and these were the closest thing I could find."

"Not many people have the chance to say that."

He chuckled and polished off the water. The woman refilled the glass, and he had three more before he wasn't thirsty. He took a back seat in the conversation, worrying more about the fear knotting his stomach. Malik wasn't kidding: he was fully expecting to fight Altair. Perhaps he should go visit him again.

"—we have to move to the middle district. We've got quite a bit of debt—"

"Granddad," Desmond said, rising.

The old man looked at him. "Yes?"

"Can I go out and about? I'll be careful. I know how sneaky assassins can be."

The old man pursed his lips. "I would feel better if you didn't, but a young man like you will surely get bored while we talk. Go ahead, but I want no tales of fights with others."

He nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Scat. We will figure out what to do with you while you're gone. Be back before sunset; although, I suppose as a Knight, you don't have to worry about that."

He smiled and put on the helmet he set by the door. Slipping out, he felt remarkably concealed in his Templar Knight uniform. He knew there was a graveyard around here somewhere, and if he could find that, he could find the treasure chest. He roamed in the northwest corner, climbing up the eagle point to find it. It was hard to avoid the guards as he climbed so they wouldn't get suspicious, but he managed it. In the extreme back corner, he saw the graveyard, and he took off the helmet, holding it close as he performed a leap of faith. He felt his back hit the hay, and he took a bit to enjoy the feeling before getting out, brushing himself off, and slipping the helmet back on. He walked to the graveyard, feeling powerful in his costume. He wondered if the others would freak out when he returned.

He paused in the middle of the street. He remembered the others' faces, but their names eluded him. His hand rested on the hilt of his—Malik's—sword. He didn't understand how he didn't remember his friends from the future. He had only been there a week and a half—mostly due to the guard camps and making new friends in the Templar ranks. He frowned: he should remember their names. It was going to bother him now.

Eventually, he shook his head and shrugged. It wasn't going to help him now. He looked himself over once in full uniform. The gun was tucked neatly into his belt and holster, and his backpack was still around his back. His hidden blade was still on his arm. He set off for the graveyard. When he got there, he waved to the Templar in the corner.

"I've been sent to replace you. The head wants to see you."

The Knight pointed at himself.

"Yeah. I don't know why, but it didn't sound bad."

The Templar nodded and began walking toward him. "Thanks."

When they passed, Desmond grabbed him and sunk the hidden blade deep into his stomach, watching him fall. He grinned in the helmet and walked over to the chest, opening it. His grin spread wider across his lips as he spun his backpack around and unzipped it, creating a nest in his hoodie. He paused when he found a thin black thing. He stared at it, wondering what it was, until it hit him like a ton.

"My iPhone!" he said, setting it aside.

He turned his attention back to the chest, brimming with gold and plans. He grabbed his iPhone. He needed a picture of this, if only he could remember how to turn it on. He fiddled with it for a second before it flickered on, and he frowned. He needed to remember how to do that. After a few second of messing around with it, he got it to take several pictures of the chest and the surroundings. For the man with the glasses, he told himself.

He turned it off and set it to the side, stuffing the small bag with the gold and treasures. He grinned as he packed as much as he could before he zipped it up, picked up the Iphone, and tucked it in by the ragdoll.

"Right, Malik."

He adjusted the heavy weight on his back and ran at the wall, scrabbling for purchase and finding it, crawling quickly up to the roofs. He ran along them, grateful that the Saracen guards paid him no mind. He found his way to the assassin's bureau and jumped in through the top, near jumping out of his skin.

"Die, Templar!"

He drew the longsword and parried the blow. An assassin novice was fighting him. In seconds, he had the poor man pinned. He saw Malik come rushing in, sword in hand, but the blow never came. He kept the novice pinned, watching the dai through the opening in the helmet as he recognized the blade.

"Novice, this man is an ally. You've come sooner than I expected."

"Safety and peace, Malik. I didn't want to sit through them talking about my future. I'd rather wait."

Malik nodded. "Has Altair found you?"

"Not yet. Is he here?"

"No doubt wondering why I have not killed you yet."

He slowly got off the novice and took off the helmet. He wiped the back of his neck and scowled. He was sweating like a dog.

"Follow me. I will get you something to drink."

Desmond followed awkwardly into the other room, taking a seat at the checkerboard. Malik got him a glass of water and sat across from him after attending to the novice. When he was done, he said, "Be gone with you, Novice."

He brought the water pitcher over. "Do you play chess?"

"No," Desmond shook his head. "I'm not that smart."

"Yes, well, your harebrained schemes worked well enough to get you here."

"I'm surprised, but thanks for the compliment."

"It was not a compliment."

"It is to me."

"Tell me about that happened with the Apple, so I will have information to give him."

He let Malik hold the ragdoll as he spoke. Desmond recounted everything he could about his mission, the century he had come from and the Animus, and his journey here.

"You are useless: you can't remember much."

Desmond scratched his head. "I don't know why, though. I've only been here a week and a half. I shouldn't have forgotten the simple things about my world. The only thing I haven't struggled to remember is how to shoot."

"Shoot?"

"A gun. Here."

He took out the gun and explained how it worked, leaving Malik studying it closely. He told him about how he had forgotten how to turn on the Iphone, and they spent well into the night discussing the future. The more they talked, the more Desmond remembered, but it was all fleeting—a brief thought, vanishing the same second he remembered it. Malik dispatched a messenger to inform his Granddad he would be gone all night. At midnight, Malik stretched.

"It sounds like your forgetfulness is not because of you, but because of the Apple. I am sure it has done stranger things, but to erase your memory?"

He saw Malik frown, and he shrugged. "I can't entirely say it's a bad thing. I'm more at home here than in the future, and I've stopped seeing things."

"You're talk of the future is fascinating, but it will do us no good if we cannot think."

He raised an eyebrow when Malik yawned.

"I am tired, and I need to process this information. I will lend you my room to sleep in, so that if an assassin comes in, I will get to him before he to you. Tomorrow, you will tell me more about the Bleeding Effect after breakfast."

Desmond nodded, feeling tired when Malik yawned again.

"If you do not mind, may I hold the doll I made for Kadar—"

"Sure, my first question to him was if it was for you, but he shook his head 'no.' I think he knew it would buy me shaky security."

Malik smiled softly as he gazed at it, and Desmond thought he looked absolutely beautiful in the lantern light.

"Thank you," Malik whispered, closing his fist lightly around the tiny scrap of cloth.

Desmond inhaled sharply when a watery-eyed smile was turned his way.

"It has been so long since I thought about him for fear of my hatred returning. The new Altair does not deserve the same hatred as the old one."

Desmond offered a soft smile. "I'm glad I could bring it to you. He was a cool kid from the memories I lived."

Malik rose, looking back at the doll. "He was a good young man. I miss him terribly."

He followed Malik to his private chambers, where they settled down on the small bed to sleep. He stripped from the armor and the layers of clothing.

"How do they do it?" he muttered.

"Speak up, idiot."

"That's the nicest thing I've been called in while. How do the Templars do their work in these uniforms?"

He shook himself to cool down after peeling off the last layer. He was still sweating slightly, and the moving air felt good on his skin.

"There is a reason why they do not move when they 'work.'"

He took the offered towel from Malik and wiped down with a bowl of water. "Thanks, dude."

"Dude?"

"Uh… means 'friend,' 'brother,' or something like that."

He turned to see Malik lying in his underclothes on the mat. Whatever deity existed had surely lost an angel—of course, he also said that about the blonde woman back home.

"Ah, yes, that must be twenty-first century terminology."

Desmond smirked, and Malik frowned. The younger man stepped back slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"

"You look like that idiot Grand Master when you smirk. Smile. You look better that way."

Desmond was surprised as he settled beside Malik. "Really?"

Malik yawned, and he stretched out beside him in his underpants. Before he could get an answer, he was out cold. He woke at noon the next morning, dressing quickly and walking out.

"You must have worked your brain too much yesterday."

"I agree," Desmond said, stretching.

When he looked back at the man after working the sleep from his muscles—which were thanking him for the relaxed training regime—he saw Malik staring at him, scrutinizing him.

"Yeah?"

"You do not react to my sarcasm and criticism. Even Altair, while it is not anger, does respond, but you agree to it."

Desmond shrugged. "I'm used to it. I get it all the time from glasses man."

"Shaun," Malik said, giving him a once over.

"Yeah, him… how do you know his name?"

"You remembered last night, briefly. Now, I have lunch ready, since you slept right through breakfast, you idiot. Join me and tell me more."

He did as he was told. And they talked well into evening, and Desmond was in the middle of regaling the tale of Lucy's and his escape when Altair strolled in, sword in hand.

"Get out, Templar."

Desmond shot up, hand flying to his sword. Malik stood.

"Stop, Altair. This man is an ally."

"This man claims to have beaten me."

"Sorry, but I had to—"

"Then I challenge you."

"Altair, he should be blue in your Eagle Vision."

"If he claims to have beaten me, he will fight me."

Desmond swallowed.

"We will fight in the marketplace. In front of the guards."

He scowled at Altair's smirk. "You've got to be kidding me."

Malik leaned back on his elbows. "He will attack you if you do not."

Desmond frowned. "When?"

"Now. I will meet you there."

"I still have to drop something off at my family's home!"

"Your clock is ticking."

With a growl, he looked at Malik. "Sorry, but I have to run home."

Malik pulled the little ragdoll out of his robes and handed it to him. "Keep it. Kadar told you to take it for a reason."

Desmond grinned and took it. "Safety and peace. I will see you later."

He zipped past Altair and up the wall to the roofs, running until he dropped in front of his Granddad's house. He walked in, glad to get the heft of the backpack off.

"Granddad?"

"Desmond? I was wondering when you'd come in back!"

"I've got something for you."

He was unloading the backpack when the old man and his daughter came running it. The daughter gasped.

"Where did you get that?"

He gestured to it. "In the chest that the Templar guards just northeast of here in the graveyard. Take it. I hope it pays off your debt."

He watched as they ogled it.

"Granddad, I have to meet someone in the marketplace. I'll be back, okay?"

"Before dinner tonight. I want you home for tonight."

Desmond nodded. "I will be."

He was gone before they could say anything about the gold. After a few seconds, he heard Granddad shout, "Wait, I am coming with you!"

He waited as the older man caught up. "Granddad, I don't want you coming."

"Why not? Who are you meeting?"

He leaned in close. "Altair. He wants a fight."

"Then there is no way I am not coming with you, someone must be there to scrape you from the streets."

Desmond scowled. "Thanks for the confidence booster."

"Didn't you say you could handle it?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, but it doesn't mean I'm not as nervous as Hell."

"I am sure you can do it. I have seen you fight."

He wrapped an arm around the old man's shoulders, walking to the marketplace. When they arrived, he sat the man down and told him not to move from the bench. Then, taking a deep breath, he walked into the center to wait.