Chapter Text
Desmond gets up in the night to double-check the locks; he’s never felt safer than he does now, in a house full of legendary Assassins (and two legendary Templars – it’s still strange when he stops to think about it), but he can’t always quiet the paranoid hiss in his mind. He looks back at Elena, to be sure she’s still sleeping peacefully, and then makes for the door.
The room bursts into light before he’s gone three steps, and he throws up his hand to shield his eyes.
Wait. This isn’t his room. Is it? Not unless he’s seriously redecorated and invited a load of people in period costume for a party.
Desmond looks instantly behind himself. No bed. No Elena.
Okay. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. It’s just a visit; it has to be. It’ll pass.
But who is he visiting? And why now? He hasn’t had any visits since the day the world didn’t end, and he’s pretty sure the others haven’t been visiting since they came to join him in his time.
This looks like some kind of fancy European house to him, so Ezio’s his best guess. But he can’t actually see Ezio, looking around.
What can he see?
There’s a small crowd of people off to the side, blocking the corridor, so densely packed he can’t make out what they’re looking at. Desmond takes a half-step toward them, and then something else catches his attention: the only three people who are moving away from the scene.
A small boy. Desmond thinks he’s upset; his expression is blank, he doesn’t really look aware of where he is, but he’s shaking. A man – his father, Desmond guesses – with his arm around the kid, talking to him quietly. And a red-haired girl walking alongside them, looking anxiously at the boy; she’s probably his sister.
Someone else is watching those three, Desmond registers out of the corner of his eye. His heart stutters with recognition when he looks up. Shay.
For a moment he thinks the mystery’s solved, or part of it, at least; he’s here visiting Shay.
But... no, wait. It looks like Shay is dressed in his modern clothes; he seems out-of-place in this house full of frock coats and hoop skirts. None of this makes any sense.
Well, maybe Shay will know what’s going on, at least. It’s good to see someone familiar.
“Shay!” Desmond calls.
Shay looks up at him. And Desmond sees the look on Shay’s face, the sheer horror there, and he knows that something is seriously, seriously wrong.
A moment later, Desmond is back in his room, Elena mumbling in her sleep behind him.
The first thing Desmond does is touch Elena’s hair, gently, to make sure he’s here and she’s here and she’s still real. Then he slips out of his room and creeps along to the one Shay and Aveline share.
He hesitates outside. He’s being ridiculous.
But he knocks anyway.
There’s stirring inside the room, and a brief exchange of voices; he can hear both Shay and Aveline. Good. Good. There have been many occasions on which he’s wished this room had better soundproofing, but he’s grateful for the lack now.
A moment later, the door creaks open and Aveline, wrapped in a bathrobe, looks out.
“Desmond,” she says, looking relieved. She tucks the knife she’s holding into her pocket. “Is something wrong?”
“Not really,” Desmond says. She looks good. Well; she looks well. “Are you okay?”
“Is there some reason I might not be?”
“I just...” He hesitates. “It’s stupid. I had a dream about Shay. He looked really freaked out. I just... wanted to make sure nothing had happened to you.”
Aveline smiles and pulls him into a hug. “I’m fine, Desmond. And so is Shay, as far as I know.”
“Good,” Desmond says, holding her tightly. “Take care of yourselves. And, uh... sorry for waking you.”
-
Desmond doesn’t tell anyone about it. Honestly, he’s scared. The visits were the best part of those months in the Animus, even if he didn’t always appreciate them at the time, but... he was miserable back then. He barely knew who he was half the time. And somehow he can’t imagine having the visiting without the misery.
So he just has to pretend nothing’s happening, and... maybe it won’t be.
Maybe it was a one-off. Maybe he won’t have to worry about this happening again.