Them's Fighting Words

[madimpossibledreamer]

Bill and Lucy had to come in with the angst. Rude.
(To be fair, Lucy is getting sick of no one choosing her, either, and both her masters think Desmond would be easier to control with her holding the hawking glove.)

Main Points:
Assassin's Creed
Summary: The aftermath of the Flower Incident, as Shaun titles it in his head, is not easy.
Word Count: 1178
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Shaun/Desmond
Warnings: swearing, Shaun being Shaun (i.e. rude & disaster gay)
 

 

         “He likes you,” Rebecca teases with a smile, like this is all a lark.
         Shaun shakes his head, attempting to focus. Good Lord, are any of them going to let him get anything done? “He doesn’t. Not when he’s in his right mind, anyway.” Maybe it’s harsh to dismiss the feelings, maybe it had been more Desmond than Ezio, but he’d still been experiencing the Bleeding Effect. He hadn’t even spoken directly to Shaun since it happened, unlike practically everyone else in the entire Brotherhood, it feels like, all questioning his professionalism. Which was utterly rude; he’d worked in academia, for crying out loud; he could manage to work with attractive blokes with no fuss.
         “Shaun, every time he walks by your workstation, no matter how bad the session in the Animus was, he looks for that little bouquet, and every time he sees it, he smiles and it’s suddenly it’s like nothing else matters. Even during a Bleeding Episode. The second he catches sight of it, it grounds him. He. Likes. You.” She punctuates her words with poking, the infuriating woman that she is.
         Suddenly, it’s enough. Suddenly, it’s too much. The speed with which he turns his chair around catches her off guard, and well, why not? Why the bloody hell not? If they’re making his life their business, then it’s their business, no matter how ugly. “So, what? We kiss, he makes an honest man out of me, the Templars all bow down to the power of love and we run into the sunset and have little tiny Assassin children together?” His voice gets a little too loud and it’s probably a very good thing that Lucy’s out shopping right now and Desmond is asleep.
         “Jesus, that’s worse than you normally get. What’s up, Shaun?” It’s a testament to how long they’ve known each other that she doesn’t yell at him.
         Shaun takes deep breaths and attempts with every breath in his body not to cry. “To say Bill and Lucy were not pleased is an understatement,” he tells her through gritted teeth. “We all know the absolute travesty that was my last attempt at a relationship. People died because I couldn’t keep my head out of my arse. If I can’t stay professional, Bill’s going to reassign me, and we all know Desmond can’t afford anything less than the best.”
         Rebecca looks like she can’t decide whether she wants to go soft and coo over him oh please don’t that’s the last bloody thing my remaining shreds of pride need or go punch someone.
         Shaun would very much vote for her to punch someone, if only because taking pleasure in others’ pain is one of the few remaining sources of entertainment he has, these days.
         “Lucy’s jealous,” Rebecca asserts, all protective mother eagle, and entertainment it is, then.
         He shrugs. It doesn’t much matter. Well, it does, it would tear off little bits of his soul, but that’d put him in the same boat as Desmond, wouldn’t it? The Assassins saved him, so in true old-fashioned terms he owes them a life-debt, and if they want to kill him slowly, poison his soul, then who’s he to do anything but submit.
         “Never betray the Brotherhood. There’s attraction there. If they…” he gestures half-heartedly, “...Lucy can still keep her wits about her. And if worst comes to worst and we…” Lose Desmond. The words catch in his throat. See? If he can’t even say the words, then how the hell is he meant to face the reality, if it happens? “She’ll still be useful. I’m too useful to risk like that, and we can’t afford distractions or delays. And it’s not…” He swallows, wanting to take off his glasses and clean them so he doesn’t have to look at his fellow Assassin’s face. “It’s not as if I have a prior claim.”
         “You saying it won’t kill you if he dies, even when nothing happens?” Rebecca asks knowingly, pulling him into a hug he’ll deny ever occurred when he can’t bring himself to respond. “People aren’t possessions. You don’t just ‘call dibs’ on a person. If we’re not fighting for the right for people to love who they want, be who we want, then are we really different than the Templars?”
         It’s a nice sentiment, but he can’t let himself have that hope. “We’re Assassins, Rebecca. We sacrifice ourselves so others can live those lives.” He’s the historian, he knows these things. And then, more softly, because it’s the truth, he adds, “If anyone’s earned at least a vacation, it’s those two, and...you’ve seen them. They are good together.” No matter how much he wishes he were on the other end, instead. This is for the best.
         She sighs at him, but it’s for the best, he knows, no matter how much it hurts. But, apparently, sensing it’s an argument she’s not going to win, she chooses a different argument. “You ever think that maybe all that stuff about Lucy being able to take it might be why Desmond chose you, not Lucy?” she asks softly. “She told me she was going to ask him out, but chickened out of it, because she didn’t want to ‘distract him from the mission’.” That’s the sort of confidence you shouldn’t be sharing, woman, not that he’s going to say a word. “She’d miss him, but move on, and sure, maybe she loves him as much as she can, but maybe he wants more than that.” To be remembered, and more than as a bittersweet memory. He understands, but it’s not—it can’t.
         Bloody hell, no matter how much he might tease her about her intelligence, let no one say Rebecca Crane is not also a genius. “You’re acting like he did make a conscious decision, while suffering from the Bleeding Effect. A version, as of yet, we have very little data on. But that’s beside the point. I’m not going to shag the bloke just to get him killed, Crane.” And if it makes him a sad, angry, lonely Brit then so be it. Nothing’s changed.
         “We’re training what is probably going to be the greatest Assassin ever. Somehow, I get the feeling he’s going to take ‘impossible’ as a challenge, and I don’t think he’s going to listen to orders he doesn’t like,” she warns him, hugging him even tighter and then letting go, and as he starts turning back he catches a glimpse of a hawk’s eyes, bright and unnaturally still, watching him carefully, unblinking.
         It’s hard to tell how long he’s been listening. It’s unclear if he’s Bleeding or even understood anything that was being said, but Shaun freezes anyway.
         And then, slowly, smoothly, Desmond inclines his head just enough toward Rebecca, walking back to her own station, and it probably means he agrees with her, on at least part of it, and then disappears into the dark like he’d never been there in the first place, and Shaun swallows back the wave of dread and worry and robotically, methodically, gets back to work.