A Mind Like Water

[madimpossibledreamer]

They were feeling worse, so took tests, and at least it isn't Covid.  So that's a bit of a relief, but I'm still worried about them.  Good wishes would be appreciated.

Main Points:
Assassin's Creed
Summary: Desmond brings a concern to Shaun.
Word Count: 670
Rating: Teen for Shaun swearing.
Bill is only mentioned but is still a jerk.

          “Shaun.”  The man seems to appear out of nowhere.
          “Christ, Desmond,” Shaun replies, glad he’d just set down his tea before his good sense kicks in and gives him a good response.  “Well, at least it seems like some of all of this is working,” he gestures aimlessly at the Animus.
          He hates to agree with Bill on anything, but Desmond’s passive personality was infuriating.  The man doesn’t have preferences.  He’ll eat anything, drink anything, without a complaint.  The single time he’d gotten in a fight with his father was shocking, particularly when he never did that again.
          “I figured you’d be the one to ask about historical speculation.  Altaïr had a suggestion.  The Isu said they’d done their best to create me.  Do you think they’d made me easy to control, too?”  Flighty.  Ironic or not, it’s the best word for all of this.
          “Altaïr?”  That’s worthy of an extra deep frown, mostly because Desmond doesn’t seem to acknowledge a normal frown, and this has to sink in somehow.  “Have you been—”
          The man waves it off, not taking it with the proper seriousness it deserves.  Really, that man.  “It’s not the Bleeding Effect—well, I can’t say it’s not possibly related, but it’s not what all of you are worried about, anyway.  I’m not hallucinating.  But sometimes, I’ll find myself thinking like him, and he’s definitely the most paranoid.”
          Understatement, really, given some of the things he’d read, but he’s digressing, even in the space of his own mind.  “Unfortunately, I’m a historian, not a scientist.  I might mention it to Rebecca, see what she says.  Not that we’re not on a time limit, of course, but…”
          Desmond shifts, impatient.  Strange, for the one who’s so ‘zen’ it’s infuriating.  “I know you think I’m a doormat.  Just like…just like he does.  But…do you think maybe that’s on purpose?  Like…they wanted to create a tool that’d do what he’s asked when they need him to?”
          Not a hint of it shows up in Desmond’s voice, but he’s insecure.  But then, Shaun should’ve seen it coming; for all the laid-back my life is no effort not even when I’ve been kidnapped by Templars airs he projects, the signs are easy enough to notice, if you’re looking.
          It’s not like he says anything directly, but he keeps bothering them.  Even when, like Shaun, they’re dismissive and tell him to go away, he keeps coming back, quiet and interested, and he’ll just keep listening to them talk once he gets them going.  Mostly, it’s the small gestures, learning to make Shaun’s tea and Rebecca’s coffee and quietly doing so without asking for thanks.  Maybe because he doesn’t expect any, which is kind of pathetic if you think about it.  But then, it fits Desmond.  Poor bastard.
          He has to be careful.  He shouldn’t, really.  He’s been trying to hold onto the dislike, if not hate (it was never hate, if he’s honest, but he was definitely trying not to feel any pity, not when Desmond could crack at any moment—no need to develop attachments that would only hurt).  But damn it all, Shaun’s only a mean bastard.  He’s got a heart.  So it’s uncharacteristic, but he has to be whatever semblance of reassuring he can find.
          “Wouldn’t say that, Desmond.”  That shocks the man out of his pity party, which is a start.  “After all, to listen to Bill, you’re a stubborn arse who wouldn’t follow a single order he gave, yeah?  Pretty sure some all-seeing alien would consider that a ‘design flaw’.”
          It takes a moment for the words to sink in, before Desmond chuckles.  It’s quiet, but this is all more human than anything Shaun’s seen from him in a while.  Worth encouraging, he supposes.
          “Thanks, Shaun.”  He actually sounds grateful and everything, too.
          “The next time you have a ridiculous thought, talk to me.  I’ll set you straight.”  But from Desmond’s grateful smile and wave as he leaves again, it seems he’s beginning to understand Shaun, too.