Something Wicked

[madimpossibledreamer]

For maximum irony, it’s Maria, the crossbow Slayer

Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Assassin's Creed (Beginning's End)
Summary: Rebecca and Shaun try to solve the riddle of Xander.
Word Count: 1938
Rating: Teen
pre-Shaun/Xander

         They leave before closing time, Rebecca supporting Shaun. Xander nods at her as they leave, genuine concern and care in his eye, and Shaun pretends to be affably drunk up until the point where they’re out on the street and out of sight at which point he sobers up as much as he can, given the amount he drank. She doesn’t have to ask what he’s up to; sometimes there’s nice bonuses to being bffs and partners in crime and she knows Shaun absolutely wants to follow the guy. (And, yeah, it’s something they’ll have to do either way if, like, the guy ends up being a Templar or something, because he absolutely moves like an Assassin, and she’d texted Gavin surreptitiously and they didn’t have anyone stationed in the area, so yeah.)
         The bartender had deftly avoided any subjects they couldn’t talk about with an ease that would almost make it seem natural, if they weren’t looking for it. Rebecca had goaded the two into a game of darts, Shaun lost in concentration as he desperately tried to show off and Xander, laughing and embarrassed, doing so well and so casually that it’s clear he’s practiced and probably would be a sight with throwing knives, too. Like he knows he’s doing things that could give him away, but is too tempted to just do them anyway. At least, that’s what Shaun seems to be thinking, and while Rebecca absolutely does not think Desmond’s been reincarnated or something, there’s still something going on there.
         It’s not like Desmond had been the only Assassin runaway, though there’d been a strange correlation (she can still hear Shaun muttering “correlation is not causation, Becca”, from before he’d belatedly come to the same conclusion she had, that Bill is a dick) to how closely they followed William Miles’ pattern of harsh Assassin upbringing and the number of children who had attempted to escape—and many of the skills they’d been taught were practically explicitly designed to aid in their escape and ability to stay off the grid, marred only by the fact that barely any of them had social skills or were particularly well-adjusted. It’s just that Desmond was the only one who’d managed to stay off the radar for long, something that Bill would have taken pride in, if not for the fact that he was too busy being furious about the challenge to his authority (and, distantly, the possibility that his son could be caught by Templars). She doesn’t know of any that matches Xander’s description, even with both eyes, though that could be due to the fact that they’re so compartmentalized as it is.
         They’d probably be better off not getting spotted on the rooftops, but there’s absolutely no way she’s letting Shaun try to climb in his state, the decision solidified all the further by all the times the historian tells her how absolutely fine he is, no matter how much he tries to fool her by varying up the wording.
         She’d also gotten pictures of Shaun on her phone, both looking despairing and checking the bartender out, and hopes she won’t have to delete them because the new crush got himself killed, too. Those are to be shared, later, after they know how this is going to go, and if the answer is ‘badly’, they will not see the light of day.
         They pretend, instead, to be waiting for a taxi, hopefully just far enough away that they won’t get noticed. And when Xander comes out, well.
         It’s not one of Desmond’s white hoodies, but it is a hoodie, a soft blue one, and jeans, and a nice pair of running sneakers. Also, that very slight bulge right on the forearms looks awfully familiar, and if that’s not pair of Hidden Blades, Rebecca will eat Shaun’s sweater. (She’s not quite confident enough to go so far as to say that she’s going to smash her computers or something else really reckless.) Apparently, he doesn’t wear the suit home, but it might be in the bag at his back, one that’s more complicated than Desmond’s had been with a ton of straps and zippers. He’s followed out by an older man—probably the owner that they hadn’t seen all night, who he waves off with a smile and another laugh, and Shaun sighs. He’d be swooning if he wouldn’t be so embarrassed. Fortunately, the probable owner doesn’t walk in their direction. Xander glances over their way, though, eye seeming to gleam a little in the shadows cast by the street lamp, but he doesn’t walk toward them or give them a second glance, because his gaze is caught by something else, only when they look, too, it just looks like a building.
         Which, yeah, means that that’s probably Eagle Vision or something along those lines, because otherwise there’s absolutely nothing about that building to see. And then he mutters under his breath, annoyed and distracted, but they’re not close enough to make out what he says.
         They see as he gets a running start and throws himself at that building opposite the street, though, climbing like a born Assassin. Pretty good form, too. Really, she’s impressed, and she’s pretty sure Shaun is too, although his respect probably translates into an idea that the bartender’s hotness intensifies.
         “We won’t be able to keep up like this,” Shaun bemoans, eyeing it, clearly having sensibly given up the idea that he’s going to be climbing buildings in his state, and Rebecca retrieves something from her own bag.
         “Oh ye of little faith,” she taunts. The drone won’t be particularly quiet, but she’s upgraded this baby with the best microphones and cameras, so staying at a distance won’t be quite the hardship. It’s still not quite stealth, but enough civilians fly drones, even in the middle of the night, that it’s not so big a deal.
         The clear relief on Shaun’s face is kind of adorable. “I could snog you right now, I really could,” he murmurs, resting his weight against the building behind him, now that he knows they don’t have to try to follow.
         She waves a hand at him, focused on piloting. “Pff, like either of us want that. I’ll settle for a picture of you and the cute Novice you’ve got your eyes on ‘snogging’,” she suggests, kind of sad that she’s missing his blush while she’s focusing on not crashing her Precious (so named after Shaun’s Tolkien kick, mostly because Rebecca was right there with him in telling the bosses ‘no, looking into JRR’s possible Assassin and/or Templar ties is not a waste of time or funding’ even though it was mostly just them geeking out) into a building but aware there will probably be opportunities in the near future.
         And yep, Xander’s parkour skills say he’s done this a million times before, every leap and hold and step sure, moving toward...that’s a cemetery in the distance. They follow at a jog, as fast as Shaun can move without upsetting his delicate stomach. It might be smarter to just stay at a distance, let the drone do all the spying, but for once Shaun is being the reckless one throwing himself into harm’s way, and Rebecca is definitely not letting him do this alone. She might have been teasing him about having his back, but she was also deadly serious, because they were Assassins and that was actually a possible theoretical.
         Xander vaults off the building with no trace of hesitation, no fear of injury, falling into a perfect roll that barely decreases his momentum, if any. He’s in a full-out run by the time he vaults onto the mausoleum and then straight back off of it, performing an absolutely perfect air assassination onto—
         “...Did that man just...turn into dust?” Shaun asks incredulously, and yep, that means she hadn’t been seeing things. He’d had some old-timey soldier aesthetic. Rebecca can’t name it off the top of her head, even having watched a few sessions of Desmond-as-Connor in the Animus, but Shaun could probably tell her (and insult her about her lack of education), possibly pinpointing the uniform to the year and area of make.
         Neither he nor they had been prepared for the howl of rage from within the mausoleum. “You’ll pay for that!” a woman yells as they stand still in the alleyway, stunned and confused. She moves in that dress, which would hamper Rebecca’s fighting, like she was born to fight in it, tearing the stone door off its hinges as her face twists into something monstrous (the shapeshifting actually happens before their eyes and Rebecca desperately wants to know how that works) as she charges, slamming Xander into the side of the stone, snarling—showing fangs.
         That’s enough to shock Shaun out of his confusion; he makes an unintelligible outraged sound at the pain in Xander’s eye and the groan and takes a single step before a crossbow bolt smacks, thunk, into the attacker’s back, and then she, too, is crumbling to dust.  The bartender coughs and winces as he stretches, clearly getting a feel for the possible injury. Without a care that he’d been mere seconds from possibly dying. As nonchalant about the injuries from the fight as, well, an Assassin.
         “That’s not a PoE; we would’ve seen the light,” she mutters, mind going haywire. “It looked like it happened when he severed the guy’s neck, and when the crossbow bolt hit the woman’s heart. Vampires? But that makes no sense…” Shaun’s just as confused and probably having a brain overload as she is, but from the sound of it most of his vocalization of that fact is mumbled cursing.
         A woman hops down from a tree, crossbow in hand, but she doesn’t seem to be hostile, because Xander’s honestly kind of pathetic attempt to get back into a fighting stance disappears entirely once he sees her face, at which point he just kind of slumps against the side of the mausoleum again. She approaches the novice Assassin (or whatever) at a quick pace, and if Rebecca doesn’t miss her guess, that’s both worry and annoyance in the exact look of her glare.
         “You should’ve bothered to call one of us for an escort. Were you just going to let the puppies tag along?” the newcomer asks Xander, inclining a head in their direction, which—how, they’re in the alley, not in the open—and there’s that lopsided rueful smile again as Xander reluctantly stands.
         “I can take care of myself, thank you very much, and I was, yeah,” he grumbles, almost pouting at her before he looks at the alley, too. Which is actually kinda hilarious. What, he’d enjoyed them stalking him? Has Shaun managed to find the person who flirts worse than he does?
         Well, no time like the present. Rebecca steps out, dragging a pouting Shaun behind her, and gives a little wave, cheekily, and he grins and waves back, and then they start strolling over like they don’t have a care in the world.
         “I, um. I’m guessing you’ve got questions,” Xander greets them, nervous and not looking them in the eye and oh god he really cares what they think; that is too cute.
         Shaun raises an eyebrow and takes a deep breath and he’s going to launch into one of his rants. Xander almost looks like he’s looking forward to it. He is adorable. “Really, Xander, you think? Last I checked, I was the least sober person in the street. Perhaps I was wrong? Maybe you were imbibing your own wares—”
         Then the howling starts, cutting him off midsentence.