A/N: I am not too ashamed to admit that I am a selfish person; writing Affinity has been great fun, and almost every minute of it has been a blast, but this was written only mostly for myself - and well, so many people to thank, so little desire to inflict a long block of bold upon any new readers: Oh well, tough luck, and so a big thanks to people like ThePieFairy, TwilightSymphony, FuzzySeduction, Scarletina, doodle808, Miss Interrogative, SushiMao, and everyone else who has read this story and enjoyed it enough to favorite it, put it on alert, or review it - plus a special amount of gratitude towards Sunburned-Stickperson, who is incredibly likeable and probably super attratcitve in real life; Flip - an anon who had some wonderful things to say, and Laluzi, with whom I have shared a lot of great Private Chats with, and who has unknowingly inspired probably, like, third of the plot in this. You are all great and deserve a pat on the back, followed by maybe a Swedish massage.

Anyway-

xxxx

January, 2012

It had been nearly three years since Alex Mercer had died. It had been two years and seven months exactly, since the Blacklight virus had infected Alex Mercer's corpse – so that later he was awaking in the morgue and searching for answers. It had been that long since he had combed through New York City – had been hunted down as a national threat, killing both innocent and disgusting human beings.

It was deep into winter now, and the Blacklight Virus that identified itself as Alex Mercer had been living with his sister in a relatively new apartment, a mile north of Columbus Circle, deep in the West Side, where there had been heavy repairs after The Outbreak. There was no need for being in a safe house, anymore. According to the news feed, and all 'reliable resources' it was the strong will of America's soldiers that finally stopped the strange onslaught of the horrendous virus. "Cunning minds rival to those that worked on the Manhattan Project..." It was a great confidence booster, compared to civil wars breaking out in Africa and the Middle East; the good versus evil battle for the Big Apple had left many people hopeful.

Alex wasn't really in that category.

It had been difficult, learning what he was. In a way, he had come to terms with the fact that he was less of a human, or perhaps more of one. But he still knew he was different from everyone else. His sister always supported him when he needed it, and gave him space when he wished for that, too. There was sympathy, but no empathy there. He knew that was something he would have to live with – no one truly being able to connect with what happened to him. And over the years he found himself slowly starting to reform into how a regular person would act.

But sometimes, he needed a little push.

"You know I would do anything for you," he said to his sister, looking up from his hunched position on the living room couch. "But I think that getting me a social life shouldn't be one of those things that you'll force me to do."

Dana crossed her arms. "Alex," she started to use that stern, motherly tone on him, crinkling her icy eyes. "All you do is perch on the rooftops like fucking Batman on causal day. I know it's hard for you to interact with other people, but going out is a good way to start. You can't just stare down at Times Square for the rest of your life."

"I wonder how long that'll be," he muttered. If he had to guess, he was probably immortal, or pretty damn close. "And I don't go to Times Square..." he added sullenly.

"Central Park; Harlem; the ports by The Hudson - whatever,"

He sighed. "What did you have in mind?"

"It's Sunday night. Let's go get a drink."

"What, at a bar?"

"Yeah, there's plenty around here. Try and strike up a conversation with someone, make some friends – if you want to fit in, that's what people do."

The idea of going up to a stranger and bonding with them made his fingers twitch. "Sounds… weird."

"We can go somewhere casual. I'll be there to make sure you don't do anything crazy." She moved to her room. "I'm going to change, Alex. We can head out in half an hour." Alex scowled, knowing that if he tried to escape, he'd just get an earful later, and if he stayed, someone as headstrong as Dana would somehow manage to call in a SWAT team to drag him to some establishment. He let out a small growl.

"And stop acting so depressed. One night's not gonna kill you." she half shouted, two rooms over.

His frown deepened.

xxxx

"So, what is this place?" Alex followed Dana's back, listening to her heels click determinedly on the pavement. They stopped at a four story building somewhere on 14th street; just above Greenwhich - an ideal place to put a bar, since college kids and twenty-somethings living in the area tended to flock to the closest establishment. The building was one of those old apartment houses and store fronts; split down the middle with an indoor wall. One side was a restaurant, and the other had tinted green windows, with two small lights lamps on either side of the bar's polished sign.

"Mkinley's. It's a pub. A small, sort-of-quiet pub that serves regular people that you can just talk with about trivial things like sports and weather…"

Alex lidded his eyes. "How did you even get me to agree…"

She turned around. "Look, I'm trying to help you, Alex, but you can't just keep on living like… a sociopath – not unless you want to be on some mega watch list in the Pentagon. Again. Can't you see that-" The door to the bar swung open, and a couple came out, holding onto one another in the bitter January air. They were laughing. Alex and Dana silently watched them lean into each other's sides, moving slowly down the sidewalk.

"All right," Alex said after a moment, finally facing his sister. With some finality, he opened the door for himself and Dana. They both sat at the bar, two stools in between them, Dana faced away from him like a stranger, more or less forcing him to fend for himself.

After a moment a bartender approached. "Can I get you anything?" he asked Dana. Her lips muttered something, but two men to the right of Alex had picked that moment to laugh a little too loudly for him to hear.

Alex kept his head down. He himself had merely seen others drink alcohol. Mentally, he recalled dozens of consumed memories – box wine and daiquiris and the art of the Mixed Drink; whatever happened afterwards tended to be slightly disturbing memory flashes that he attempted to ignore. By the time the bartender was asking him about his order, he slowly said, "A scotch on the rocks," picking up a name that seemed suitable.

"Would you like that neat, sir?"

That was when the other lost Alex. He didn't really have time to search through a hundred minds; hoping one of them was a whiskey connoisseur. "Whatever you recommend." The barkeep kindly stepped away, and Alex dug his hands into the thighs of his jeans before deciding to look around.

The bar's lights were low enough to just mime four o'clock evening shadows on the booths and two, abandoned pool tables – though the liquor shelf was covered with mirrors and colorful bottles with showcase lighting.

There was a warm glow in the creamy walls and dark wood counters. The floor looked clean and the twenty people in the bar weren't at the intoxicant level to start making asses of themselves; some of them were hung over their drinks, talking, or a few had turned their attention to a small television hanging in the left corner of the establishment.

"Your drink, sir." Alex turned to find his small glass. He sniffed it gingerly before bringing it to his lips.

The scotch was cold going down, but made a small fire from his tongue to the roof of his mouth, all the way down his throat. Another sip let the acidic warmth spread out like a curling presence into his lungs, the sharp tang on his nose and rising up into his head like smoke.

He recognized this flavor, briefly tasting it in the blood he had consumed: The homeless and late night partyers that hadn't bothered with taxis or subways that night. He remembered them all with some difficulty and half a headache; that time before he had bothered to regret such atrocities on innocent civilians, before his humanity ever really existed.

But the taste was intense, and within the first five minutes he had finished his glass and asked for another.

And another.

And another.

Eventually he had lost count and conveniently found out that Blacklight viruses couldn't get intoxicated, though those two men from before were beginning to give him odd looks, and he caught his sister doing the same. But he didn't sway or nearly throw up or act any different than when he had first walked in about an hour ago.

The only change was an ebbing feeling of exhaustion, as if he had exerted himself, pounding drinks. But that feeling was ignored as he pressed the bartender for another refill.

But this time he didn't respond with a 'yes, sir' or 'right away, sir' and he could see the black button up shirt in front of him not moving. He finally lifted his eyes, actually studying the man who, up until this point, had been just as noticeable to Alex as the knots in the glossy, wooden counter he sat at.

The man was dressed simply with closely cut brown hair – slightly darker than his with matching eyes and tanned skin;and he thought he saw the outline of a needle-thick scar, right on the corner of his mouth. He was furrowing his brows, slightly.

"Are you sure you haven't had enough, sir?" The two men to his right had suddenly picked up their drinks; waiting for a signal.

"Why would you say that?" They began to thickly swallow their auburn colored beer in tall, sweating glasses, though Alex wasn't sure why.

"You've had five glasses." The other added gently, sliding away the glass cautiously. "You should be thirsty. Would you like some water?"

Alex swallowed and noticed the crinkling in his tongue, which didn't really make sense to him; after all, he had just been drinking fluids – why would that make his mouth feel like the Sahara? The two men had slammed a few bills down on the table, quickly calling another bartender over. They had enough dignity to not run out of the bar, but Alex could feel their apprehension.

Did they think he was going to fight the man working over the counter? For more scotch? He tried to casually look at the jacket he wore, maybe there were some blood stains that he had forgotten about…

"Excuse me, sir-"

Alex looked back. The other man was still there; he didn't seem nervous. Cautious, but not nervous. Sitting up a bit straighter, Alex shook his head.

"No, you're right. Some water would be fine, thanks."

He could feel Dana stare at his profile, but he ignored her, like they really were strangers.

xxxx

The bar had, finally, begun to thin out. A few stragglers were cozy in their booths, talking and laughing, letting it carry over the news feed playing on screen. Dana had gone off, to the bathroom, and Alex had decided to leave with her after she came out.

He had planned to explain to her that he couldn't just snap his fingers and 'fit in' with everyone else. He needed time, and while coming to the bar was a good idea, he would have preferred if he just worked it out himself. Running over the words in his head, he didn't notice the bartender lean beside him until he had already started talking.

"There are a lot of riots in Southern Africa, right now," he said lightly. Alex turned and saw him staring at the TV, blue and red bars at the bottom of the screen showed weather closings for a few schools, while a blonde woman narrated several riots that had broken out abroad. "It sort of feels like the world is ending," he offered.

"Were you here for The Outbreak?" The other man shook his head.

"I had gotten in just when things were wrapping up. I saw a lot of footage, though. Those… things. It was horrible, watching people get torn in half, civilians being gunned down… I didn't really want to come here, but the news said it was safe enough."

"Do you think they're the most reliable?"

The man smiled. "No, probably not. But I needed a new job and, well, I mean it sounds bad, but with practical genocide going on, there were a lot of apartments available for really cheap. Places that needed new employees, too."

Alex nodded. "I guess that's true." He blinked, realizing he just spent two minutes talking to someone he didn't know. It was easy. Easier than he had thought. He looked at the other man, who was still bent at the waist, leaning over the wood. "So you're a bartender?"

"Stock investor, actually. But I like to keep a low profile… relax, I was joking. Jeez, some look you just gave me. Yes, I'm a bartender. I picked it up in college – it was a good way to earn cash; gave me a good excuse to get afternoon classes, too."

"Have you graduated yet?"

"I don't look that young, do I? I graduated oh, last summer… Down in Florida. But then the new freshman started coming in, and I got fired." He struck a sharp glance at the wall.

"Bitter?"

"Yeah… It's really cold up here, compared to the Sunshine State, at least."

"Well it's not like you came at the best time," Alex offered passively, by now the two had shifted, and Alex was facing the other man like he was about to order another drink.

"That's true. How are the summers here?"

"The city is like an oven, I'm sure you won't be disappointed." They both had smiles on their faces. Tiny, protective smiles without teeth. It was just a random, harmless conversation, Alex knew, but now he just couldn't keep his mouth shut.

xxxx

Dana had walked back into the bar finding her brother staring down the bartender, who was currently in a monologue about how ice ruins a glass of scotch, gesturing and holding Alex's glass. Occasionally the other would say something back, and get a laugh or a correction followed by animated points and gestures.

They both looked like they were enjoying one another's company, and Dana tried to sneak into her seat in a way so that neither would notice her and stop talking, but as soon as she approached the pair, Alex had turned. "Oh, there you are." He said simply, standing up. "Are you ready to leave?"

Dana looked between her brother and the other man. "I…uh, yeah, sure. Let's go." It was late, anyway, she figured.

The bartender touched Alex's arm to get his attention. "Thanks for putting up with me for so long," he held out his hand, and Alex didn't even stare at it questioningly before grasping it in a handshake.

"No problem. I don't know anything about drinking, so it's nice to have a teacher." He slowly let go of the other's hand before saying, "My name's Alex, by the way." He decided to leave out his last name.

"Jonathan Fetcher." The other man said. "Nice meeting you."

xxxx

A/N: Affinity works as a branching story that takes place between the end of Prototype 1 and 2, and before the first Assassin's Creed game. The pairing will be Alex/Desmond... At some point. We'll get there.