Desmond near shrieked when he felt a hand on his thigh under his piles of boxes.

"I think I've found him, loves."

He felt the hand retreat, and he started army crawling from under his tunnel. He heard the first box be lifted from the pile.

"Are you sure?"

"Only so many things feel like flesh."

He was almost at the open vent.

"There goes his foot!"

He felt a hand wrap around his ankle, and he grunted and kicked backward. When the hand let go, he dashed and dived head-first, scrabbling into the small opening. Thank God he was skinny. The loud clanking as he scrabbled rung in his ears.

"Hold on, mate! We're friends!"

He leapt and grabbed the ledge of vent to pull himself up.

"Mate, wait!"

He had heard that before. He scrabbled up the metal venting, adrenaline pounding through his veins. He wasn't going to be caught. He climbed through the vents until he was peering to the outside.

"He's right below us. I heard him."

He shrank back down, moving as quietly as he could.

"Should we take off the fan?"

He was panicking: he was cornered. Slowly, he made his way to a different opening and kicked it open, dashing through and out the door. He felt a large body tackle him, pinning him to the concrete road. He thrashed, listening to the other person's grunts. He wasn't going to die.

"Stop," the body grunted, "squirming!"

"No!" he shouted, connecting a solid kick to the kneecap.

"Lucy!"

He twisted his head and dug his teeth into the man's shoulder, managing to get his hands up enough to grab his captor's arms and started clawing him. He was glad he kept his nails sharp for these reasons as the man hissed in pain. He could taste blood.

"Goddamnit! Stop it, you bloody tit! We're allies of the Resistance!"

He howled and thrashed harder, sinking his teeth in deeper and digging his nails into the man's soft belly. He felt something prick his neck, and that was the last thing he remembered.

When he woke up, he was in a soft bed with a warm comforter over him. It smelled slightly of cucumber melon—the smell of his mother's bed. He smiled slightly: it must be a dream. He rolled onto his side, curling one arm under the pillow and burying his nose in it.

"No, he's asleep, sir. He's got a ridiculous smile on his face. He must be dreaming."

He froze.

"Yessuh, he's related to them. He's our last survivor. Tit fucking got my arms, stomach, and shoulder good… I'm going to let him sleep… No, he's hooked up to several IVs… Yes… Malnourished… No, probably from running and paranoia… He'll be okay… Yes… Tough fighter… Not skilled, survival fighting… No… Yes, sir… No, I'm hanging up… Yes, to let him sleep."

His eyes cracked open just enough to see three IVs in his arms and the man who must have tackled him sitting in a chair.

"Bloody useless idiot."

He closed his eyes and curled under the sheets, drawing them up and under his arm. He was in for it now.

"Fuck, he's gorgeous."

"I know, right? Even though he's as skinny as a rail."

It was one of the other three—sounded female.

"Well, that group was one of the strongest groups we had," the third voice, female, said. "The fact that they took a year of constant barrages and siege to fall should've shown you how good they were."

"Really?" the man said. "I bet once we get him in shape—"

"Fuck," the first female voice said. "He's gonna be ripped."

"We should let him sleep."

He heard them pad out, and he was asleep within minutes, whatever they had drugged him with still working out of his system. When he woke again, there was a woman with blonde hair sitting by his side. He blinked blearily.

"Awake now?"

He grunted, raising his arms to rub his eyes. He felt her hand wrap around his wrist.

"Don't do that. You've got IVs in your arm."

He growled softly, and he heard the woman laugh.

"Welcome to the Resistance, Desmond."

He harrumphed and rolled on his stomach. He heard the woman gasp when the IVs were pulled.

"Be careful, please. I know that you're still sleepy."

He grunted: his face planted firmly in the pillow. "No."

He heard her sigh.

"Look, you useless lump of flesh, we're bothering to take care of you—the least you can do is show us some gratefulness since we saved your ass from the Templars outside that warehouse."

That accent—he must have been from the Western shores. "Fuck off," he mumbled. "I fucking hate all of you."

There was silence, and Desmond spoke again.

"Leave me alone. I don't want to be with you."

"Why not?" the blonde woman asked.

"Fucking shit ass-bandits. I'm sick of your kind."

"You are one of 'our' kin—"

"No, I'm not. I'm not one of your Goddamn kind. Leave me alone."

"Listen, you bloody arse, you are, whether you like it."

"No. Not since my mother packaged me as a dead body to be rolled out of the town so I wouldn't die. Leave me the fuck alone."

He curled up, pulling up the covers to his chin and ignoring the sigh when the IV tubing was tugged on. He frowned and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to pull up his fading memories of his mother and father. Their arms around him, his father wrestling with him, or his mother teaching him—they were all a dying part of his past, and he didn't want it to be dying, either. Especially since he hadn't any other memory like that to keep him going or anyone love him like that in ten years. Being on the run was not for good relationship.

"Are you even listening?"

He ignored them. Eventually, they left him alone, only coming in to change the IV or bring him food from a formulated diet. He filled out quickly, gaining a healthy amount of weight. Finally, he got out of bed to pace around the house.

It was a house—a moving house. There were machines everywhere as the house rocked and swayed as it moved. Perhaps not a house, per se, but a ship—Desmond had always wanted to be on one. Pipes ran up and down the walls, and loose plaster tried its best to cover most of it. The worn wood under his feet was a luxury compared to the concrete and metal he was used to. He stood in the narrow hallway—barely big enough for two people shoulder to shoulder.

"Well, looks like you're up! Luce! Shaun! He's out!"

He whirled around, teeth bared and fingers curved, ready to attack. The woman before him had a conductor's hat covered in patches and badges and pins, and a set of goggles rested on the visor. Her shirt was a black tank with advertising for some airship company—"Pheonix" he thought it was. She had a tan jacket with belts to strap it closed hanging loosely around her shoulders, and her black baggy mechanic's pants ran into high black, steel-toed boots with buckles all up the front.

"Who the fuck are you?"

She made him feel almost bad for being in threadbare shirt and pants. He didn't even have shoes.

"Rebecca Crane, I'm the mechanic on this girl."

His lip curled when he saw two more people. The man was dressed in proper attire—expensive attire—and he didn't dwell on it, but the woman was dressed in a brown dress, ruffled at the bottom, with a white silk, ruffled top covering her shoulders and her hair all done up like those beautiful women he had seen in the courts of the balls he would steal from.

"Don't let her fool you, mate. Lucy's a deadly fighter."

He hissed and backed a step, crouching low. He couldn't help it: he didn't trust these people. He saw Lucy lean forward and extend a hand.

"Desmond, we want to only hel—"

"Stay the fuck away from me, you assholes!"

He was backing up slowly down the hall. He didn't care if he had to jump off the plane to escape. He would. A Leap of Faith never failed. Desmond must have looked filthy compared to these impeccably dressed and cleaned people.

"Desmond, we nee—"

"I'm not giving you anything! Leave me alone!"

He hissed and snarled, his eyes darting between the three. The man stepped forward, and he growled.

"What? Do we have to give you your shots, you animal?"

"Shaun," Lucy said, pushing him out of the way, her skirts swishing around her, "your commentary is the last thing we need right now."

Shaun shrugged. "I'll be in the kitchen. Are you hungry, Rebecca?"

"Famished, man!" Rebecca said, looking after him. "I'll take whatever you're having."

"Dutifully noted."

His back hit the wall, and he noticed a window nearby, but the damn woman did, too, and stepped between him and the window. He was cornered. He snarled when she stepped forward again, and he crouched lower, ready to claw her eyes out.

"Maybe we should just let him adjust," Rebecca said. "You know, like a new pet—"

"I'm not your fucking pet! Leave me alone!"

"—and increase the altitude so he can't jump. Just give him time. After all, he has been living on his own for the past ten years."

Lucy stopped and looked at the only person with some sense on the ship. Any closer and he would've bitten her hand off.

"Well… I don't think we have the time to let him adjust."

"We never do, but it's either that, or let him rip your hand off."

He snarled when she looked at him again, and she withdrew her hand, straightening. She sighed. "I suppose you're right. Maybe we'll get lucky enough he can come to the masquerade."

"He'll have to learn how to fight."

"I can fight: leave me alone."

The much primmer woman frowned but walked off with the mechanic. Desmond waited until they were gone before he straightened. He peered out the window, his stomach tightening as he saw the plane pull higher into the clouds. He was trapped here. Eventually, he resigned himself to this fate, vowing to escape as soon as he could. Sure, he fought like an animal, but he was good enough he didn't need a "formal education."

He'd rip them all to shreds if he had to.

The ship was small, the hallway he was in the only one there was. At one end was the engine room, at the other, the captain's quarters (which Lucy inhabited). There were two more bedrooms beside his, and Shaun's was always clean and tidy; Rebecca's, always a mess of blueprints and designs. There were toilets and sinks in small rooms attached to the bedrooms, and the only shower in the captain's area. He knew he should probably use it, but he was all ready filthy, and his clothes were still threadbare and thin, so he couldn't find it in himself to care. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how to work the nozzles on the shower—he had never been able to clean himself more readily than a sink and a bar of soap or a river, all of which were few and far between with his travels to stay ahead of everyone. There was a (teenie-tiny) kitchen, and a small deck that circled the outside.

Over the next few days, he avoided the others like the plague. If one was in the room, he would leave. If he was trapped, he'd clamber up the pipes to sit in the ceiling, growling if they came too close. His hands and feet were thickly callused from years of training and climbing. He could grab the pipes as heat passed through them and not feel a thing. He also found lying on the railing of the decks outside was wonderful.

He had to admit, though, that the mechanic was probably his favorite. While the other two flat out ignored him, she would leave out pieces of chocolate, casting a glance over her shoulder to where Desmond was. After a week, he began helping her quietly, when she would take a break because something was too high, too stuck, or too tight, he would fix it for her and vanish. She started leaving bottles of sweet, fuzzy drinks for him—pop, he thought he had heard it called. Usually, they were purple and grape, but occasionally, they would be orange. And even better were the clear-ish ones, "cream" soda, he had overheard.

It was after three weeks he finally started talking to them. Well, to Rebecca. She had been sitting in the main engine's room, staring at a screw that was ridiculously high up. Desmond hopped on the banister that accompanied the few stairs leading down to the room, crawling along slowly.

"What's wrong?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin. "Desmond?"

He kept his distance as she looked at him, still rather shocked. Then, she shrugged. "Can't reach one of the screws, but I'm too damn lazy to go get the ladder, so I'm just waiting until I've got enough energy."

Desmond blinked as she turned back to staring at the screw. Eventually, "I can get it for you."

She laughed. "Naw, I won't go make you find the ladder—"

Keeping in an arc away from her, he made his way over to the engine and jumped, hoisting himself up the scalding pipes to the screw. She jumped up, and his lip curled.

"No way! How can you stand to touch those?"

He held hand out for the wrench, and she handed it to him. He made certain not to touch her, just in case.

"That's incredible! Holy shit! I've gotta tell Luce!"

His eyes narrowed as she ran off, but he un-tightened the screw and jumped down, crouching on his toes, his elbows on his knees. She came swaggering in a few minutes later, two bottles of the fizzy drink in her hands and a small box

"Okay, I couldn't find Lucy, but I did find the fridge."

She plopped down a safe distance from him and offered one out. He took it and hooked his teeth under the cap, popping it off.

"Man, that is awesome. I'm jealous."

He raised an eyebrow as he took a small sip. "It's the clear soda."

"Cream soda. And here! I stole Lucy's box of candies. She's always 'saving' them, so I figured I could pig out with you."

She opened the box and offered it out. There were all kinds of hard candies—the kind that looked like the boxes in the candy stores he'd seen. He'd always wanted to try them. Hesitantly, he reached out for one, picking out a brown one shaped like a barrel.

"The rootbeer barrels? Interesting choice."

He said nothing as she chose the fiery-red hard candy.

"I like 'em hot."

He put the candy in his mouth slowly, sucking on it. It was good, to say the least.

"Don't tell Shaun, but I'm the one who finished his gummies. I'll share them with you, too, next time he gets them."

He watched her closely as she sighed around the candy and leaned back on her elbows.

"You're awful quiet."

He shifted the candy in his mouth, watching her closely. She began filling the silence with tales of their adventures and how they eventually came across their ship, and while Desmond didn't pay a lick of attention to her, he slowly moved closer, wondering if he should trust her. Eventually, he was within touching distance, and he found himself reaching out to lightly touch the goggles on her head. She fell silent, watching him as he ran his fingers over the engineer-style goggles. He traced the edge of the hat and the band of the eyewear.

"We're planning on getting you some new clothes," she said. "Soon as we land. Lucy's got metal claws being made for you to fight with by one of our allies, Leonardo da Vinci."

"Goddamnit, Rebecca! Would you stop drinking so many of those sodas—"

Desmond was barreling passed Shaun before he could finish his sentence. He didn't help her again for three days. The next time he ventured close, she was on the deck, and he had been lying on the far side on the railing. He opened an eye to look at her and slowly crept closer.

"We land tomorrow," she said without looking at him. "In the city of Shuar Usa."

He stopped several feet away. The wind was threatening to tear him from the ship, but he wasn't going to let it.

"We'll get you new clothes. I'm in charge," she said as she smirked. "Since I'm the only one that's talked to you."

"What if I run?"

"It's the last Resistance-dominated town. You won't be able to."

His lip curled, and he hunched closer to the railing as he growled.

"Hey, hey, relax. Lucy and Shaun aren't coming with. I've put them in charge of restocking the ship."

"I don't care. Leave me alone."

"We can't. You're too important."

"Why?"

"Because the place you came from was our strongest. And we need you to help us."

"I don't want to help you."

"Please? I'll take you to the candy store!"

He looked surprised when Rebecca offered, turning to him with her hands pressed together.

"I need someone I can talk to. I mean, geezus, Lucy and Shaun are so stuffy and mean sometimes, and you'll sit there and drink soda with me and steal candy with me, and you help me work on Baby. Please, Desmond?"

She looked like a kid as she begged him. He frowned, studying here.

"I know you don't trust me, but please stay, even if just for the company?"

He frowned and turned to look at the clouds sailing past. He watched her from his peripheral, and she seemed to be debating something before reaching out slowly. When he tensed, she stopped, but he made no indication of caring particularly, and she lightly touched his knee as he perched on the railing. His gaze snapped to the hand, and he could see it pull back slightly, but not retreat.

"Please?" she asked again, and his eyes flicked to her before back to the hand.

He watched it as if it were going to attack him, and when it slide forward and rested on his thigh, he found himself growling softly, his lips beginning to pull back into a snarl. She didn't move it as he stared at her hand, watching, waiting, and ready to attack.

"I think it's cool how animalistic you are," Rebecca said. "That was the specialty of your people. That's why it took so long for them to be wiped out."

Desmond's gaze flickered to her again, his lips slowly straightening.

"You were trained to fight like monsters, and I'll be damned when I saw you fighting Shaun. They knew what they were doing. You guys were the test group. The success group."

He looked back down at the hand. It was vaguely reminiscent of his mother's touch, warm and inviting.

"You guys aren't technically humans."

He slowly let go of the rail with one hand and reached to cover his hand with hers. She smiled at him when he did. He pulled her hand off and hopped down from the railings, twisting her hand slightly so he could hold it as he leaned against the rails. He missed his mother. Rebecca hummed happily when he held her hand.

"That's a yes?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. She laughed and squeezed his hand slightly.

"It's good to have you on board, Desmond."

He said nothing, just stood there, holding Rebecca's hand as they watched the clouds pass them in the ship. As light faded to dark, Rebecca yawned mightily.

"I'm off to bed. Gotta get up earlier for landing."

He looked at her, not quite wanting to let go of her hand yet. She grinned at him.

"You know, if you weren't so jumpy, I'd let you sleep with me tonight. Just by standing this close and holding your hand, I can tell you're a fucking heater. Much warmer than Shaun or Lucy."

Desmond startled, letting go and stepping back a step. "You've slept with both of them?"

Rebecca shrugged. "It's who we are. Keeps our team together, yeah? Anyway, my bed's open if you need a body to cuddle with."

She walked inside, and Desmond watched her go. The moon was high before he crept in, checking the halls for signs of the other two. He peeked into Rebecca's room. She was curled up on her bed, dressed in a bra and her (men's) underwear. Her hair was sticking out all over the pillow, and he crept in closer. She murmured when he tried getting on. He froze, one leg on the bed as she turned over and opened her eyes slightly.

"Des?"

He began to pull away, but she smiled sleepily and let her hand flop uselessly at a second pillow on her bed.

"I's cold. Get in here."

He looked at her suspiciously. He didn't know if he should trust her, but she looked inviting, and her bed looked warm. And if she didn't mind how filthy he was, she looked like she might be fun to sleep with. It had been a long time since he had the luxury of another living body against his—his last memory, of his mother when he was sixteen, and he had curled up with her as they napped in a garden.

His heart was pounding, and it took him a bit to fall asleep, but eventually, he crawled under the blankets and lay in the warm bed. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she cuddled close, laughing tiredly and telling him to relax. She was warm, and so was the bed, and he nestled against her.

When morning came, the two were hopelessly entwined with each other as if they were trying to suck the other's heat away. Desmond licked his lips several times as he finished dreaming about the rootbeer candy he had eaten a few days ago. He stretched, his muscles tensing tightly before he shifted. The warm body beside him grunted, pulling the pillow over its head, despite the fact the arm was wrapped securely around Desmond's. He grunted, and Rebecca looked at him groggily.

"Go back to sleep."

Desmond murmured something nonsensical and rubbed his nose, which was hard with their arms twined together, before hiding his eyes in the crook of her neck. She smelled of oil and dirt—like an engineer should—and Desmond found it comforting. It wasn't like the light, sweet smell of his mother, but there was definitely something feminine about the way she smelled, and combined with the smell of the engine room, he found it enjoyable.

When a loud knock resounded through the door, Desmond jumped, the covers soaring into the air as he scrambled from the bed and pressed against the far wall, snarling. Rebecca, now fully awake, stormed over to the door and threw it open.

"What the fuck, Shaun? I was sleeping!"

Shaun was at the door, all dressed in his knee-length black overcoat with tails, his black waistcoat and white collared shirt. He had a black tie and black pants and made Desmond want to attack when he gave a haughty scoff at him. "Sleeping or no, we're approaching Shuar Usa. Get your ass in gear."

"Damnit! I was all curled in with Desmond—"

"Congratulations, you giant slut. You slept with an animal—"

"Not fuck, you asshole," she shouted as she shoved him. "And fuck off. Let me get ready, you sniveled-nose prick."

Shaun rolled his eyes. "I'm rigging the straws next time. I'm never waking you again."

"Fuck off, asshole."

She slammed the door and rubbed her eyes. Desmond growled when she walked toward him, and she stopped, holding her hands up.

"Woah, sorry. I'm a little grouchy in the morning. I was gonna suggest we take a shower."

Desmond's eyes widen. "Together?"

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "It's big enough for two, but the tank for one shower. You'll have to wait, and even though I enjoy the smell of dirt and sweat and grime, Lucy and Shaun don't."

He studied her carefully as she gathered her clothes and started walking out. He crept behind her, still uncertain if he should trust her. She hadn't tried to kill him in his sleep, and he had enjoyed having her next to him. He paused just outside the shower door. She didn't bother to close it, just stepped in and started stripping.

He squirmed uncomfortably in his spot. Desmond wanted to take a shower, but he still wasn't sure he could trust her. He had been waken before he could realize what position he was in that morning and adjust—he didn't know. She turned on the water and stepped in, sighing.

"Hey, Desmond!" she said, peeking out of the shower curtain. "I had an idea, since you're still all jumpy and paranoid."

He stared at her.

"Why don't you let me wash you, and vice versa? Hm? I think that might help. If you don't want to, then you don't have to."

His heart was pounding. He didn't think it would be a good idea to let her wash him, but she was right, and she did seem trustworthy—it was his own doubt that stopped him. Hesitantly, he stepped in and closed the door, pulling off his shirt and pants. They really were the only thing he had owned on the run. He hesitated briefly before tentatively pulling back the curtain.

"Hey! You decided to join me."

"Yeah… I guess."

His voice sounded odd to his own ears. He wasn't used to using it, and he had a feeling he was going to enjoy talking with her. Rebecca pressed the soap into his hand, and he jumped.

"Here, you can go first, if you like, so you can touch me, instead of me touching you."

He stepped in, breath hitching at the hot water.

"Is it too hot?"

"Ah! No. No, I'm just… I've.. well…"

Rebecca grinned, hands on her hips.

"It's the first shower I've take since I ran away."

Her eyes grew wide. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Rebecca whistled in disbelief. "I don't know how you do it, Des."

He was situated under the stream of water, enjoying it. Rebecca was too close for comfort, but the shower was small, and the stream of water would only fit them if she pressed against him. He wasn't sure he could handle that without panicking. Rebecca moved in close without waiting, and he tensed as she pressed her back against him.

"Sorry, kid, but I'm not letting you hog all the water."

He still had the soap bar in his hand—he could potentially kill her with it if she tried something funny. Nevertheless, he took one of her arms and began washing it with the soap. He heart was racing: "man alive," he was paranoid something was going to happen to him. She hummed contentedly as he washed one arm, then the other, then her back, her butt, and her legs, her feet, then up the front, over her stomach, her breasts, her shoulders, her neck (he thought about how easy it would be to kill her), and her face, her hair. He had to admit he liked it. She looked so utterly at ease, and he felt slightly proud. He must have done a decent job as he scrubbed the soap through her hair.

"Geeeeeeeeeeeeez, Des," her voice was rough, "you really know how to pamper a woman. Teach this to Shaun, would ya?"

He grinned. "I don't think I could teach him if I tied him up and forced him to watch."

Rebecca chuckled as he tilted her head back to wash the soap out. "True."

He finished cleaning her and stepped back slightly. "Better?"

She nodded. "I can see where the water is trying to get that grime off. Com'ere, lemme clean you."

He clutched the bar, hard, as he moved back. Rebecca's eyebrows rose, and she held up her hands.

"I'm not gonna harm you, okay? Just trust me."

He found himself whining softly as she slowly pried the soap from his hand. His arm pulled away when she finally got it. She knelt down in front of him.

"Relax, all right?"

He tried, but his muscles tensed when she touched his leg. As she continued to wash him, he couldn't deny it felt good, but it was hard for him to trust her. When she touched his hips, they jerked back minutely.

"Sorry, Des."

She went slowly, gently working up his body. He jerked whenever she moved to a different area, and when she touched his dick, he growled softly, stepping back.

"Sorry, sorry, you just seemed so… at ease about washing me."

He squirmed. "No, no. You've done nothing but help me. I'm just… having problems trusting anyone."

She laughed. "When was the last time you jerked off?"

"What?" he shouted, stepping back.

"You're just so tense." She laughed. "Have you ever—"

"No. No. I haven't. I've never even thought about it."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're…"

"Twenty-eight."

"And you've never come?"

"No."

"Wow…"

"I don't see why it's so important. It's not like I could get laid if I wanted to."

"You were walking the streets of our enemies! You could've had a whole harem and not been caught!"

"I was walking because I lived in the shadows."

She shook her head. "I can't fucking believe it."