Bonding Over Drinks

[madimpossibledreamer]

If any of this looks familiar, it’s because this was inspired by an Ao3 complaint thread on Reddit about tea. I’d known most of the stuff (including ‘everybody in the office knows how to make tea as an essential work skill’ from Ask a Manager), but the comment about the particular temperatures made me think about Shaun for some reason, and then immediately made me think...wait a minute, Desmond would get that.
I was planning on Lucy’s conversation with Desmond to come next, but given how I’ve been including Shaun being upset at their coffee this entire series, this just makes sense.
And then I got to research bartending and Italian coffee culture. Sometimes, just trying to include those little details is a lot of fun. :)

Main Points:
Assassin's Creed
Summary: Shaun and Desmond are settling in a bit to their new routine.
Word Count: 860
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Shaun/Desmond

 

         “You look...angrier than normal.” It’s less and less surprising, finding Desmond appearing at his elbow. He seems casual about it, but the way he doesn’t crowd, just lingers near an exit, has made Shaun uncomfortably aware that the reason he does so probably indicates his mental state better than any test they could devise, and not because of the Bleeding Effect. Paired with the comment about replacing him (mentally, using the Bleeding Effect, which uncomfortably doesn’t sound too far off the mark), it suggests a rather abysmal sense of self-esteem. Something, he thinks rather sourly, they can bond over during an afternoon tea. Providing there is any.
         But—hell, Desmond signed up for this. No point in holding back when he knew precisely what he was getting into. “We,” he announces with brittle dignity, “...have no electric kettle. We don’t even have a kettle.” Gavin Banks would understand why he’s having trouble working in such conditions, but he’s retired and of course Shaun had to be settled with the Americans. A choice he made willingly at the time, seeing that Rebecca was here, but he’s second guessing every decision he’s ever made, now.
         Unlike the others, Desmond doesn’t immediately dismiss this as Shaun making a fuss over nothing, or ‘of course we’re roughing it; that’s the whole point’. He looks thoughtful, if anything. “Boiling the water for coffee doesn’t work for it, then,” vaguely gesturing at the Moka pot because he’s an American and wouldn’t recognize one on sight. It’s not even a question, which makes Shaun’s treacherous heart leap with hope. Desmond actually wants to listen to his lecture on tea. Perhaps a proposal isn’t too strong of an overreaction, after all.
         “I could use the Moka pot, but I’m fairly certain Stillman will stab me in my sleep if I contaminate your precious coffee with tea, never mind how careful I am about cleaning, and unfortunately it’s not as if we’ve been buying tea leaves. I’ve been trying boiling water on the stove like a troglodyte, but it keeps ending up the wrong temperature.” The appliances are old and barely maintained. “A coffee maker wouldn’t help. The temperature is just right for coffee and anything else will end up as shite.” And, wonder of wonders, Desmond actually appears to be following along, too.
         He must make a funny expression, because the man just slightly quirks a smile. “Bartender, remember? Temperature affects taste. You gotta know what you’re doing when it comes to cocktails, and there’s a reason you order whiskey on the rocks. Never mind knowing your brands, and why certain beers are terrible warm. Which, by the way, might be part of the whole British snobbery thing—you’re assuming that you can just treat American beers like British ones and probably just tried the few most common ones and gave up.”
         “I,” Shaun announces, voice sounding a little strangled, “...would very much like to snog the living daylights out of you.”
         Desmond glances down, smile faltering slightly, before looking right back up and there’s a challenging look in his eyes, now. “Why don’t you?” As Shaun hesitates, he adds after a glance around, eyes slightly unfocused as if he’s peering through walls, which, actually, he is, “...Nobody else is around.”
         That’s all Shaun’s self control needs to snap, like a twig trodden underfoot. When he finally regains the ability to back away and go back to his sad excuse for tea, he knows the Assassin will be insufferably smug for weeks, and he lacks the ability to care.
         “And here you made fun of me for introducing myself as a bartender.” There’s an echo of an Italian accent peeking through the edges, but seeing as it’s still firmly remained Desmond, Shaun will count that as a win.
         “I stand corrected.” It’s the closest Shaun can come to admitting he was wrong, and judging by the way Desmond appears to be on the verge of preening, he’s also aware of this little fact.
         However, he also goes back to being thoughtful. “We don’t have a kettle, but we’ve got a Moka pot thing?”
         “Because this is Italy and every household has one, rather than us having to pack it ourselves.” And the pots for cooking, which is the only way Shaun’s been able to cobble together something resembling tea. Which means it’s not favoritism. Probably. As much as it feels targeted and directed solely so Shaun specifically has to suffer.
         “Huh.” Why does Desmond have to worry the scar when he’s thinking; it’s quite distracting. “That’d confuse the hell out of Ezio. He wasn’t exactly a fan of coffee, although he might go for a latte.” He pauses and then adds, “...So I probably couldn’t just go out and steal a kettle, then.”
         ...Bugger.
         Shaun would like to contribute more to the conversation, he absolutely would, but he can’t manage a word. At this point, he’s probably extended the insufferably smug period to months.
         “Like the thistles?” he manages eventually, and Desmond just shrugs, pats him on the arm, and wanders off whistling, shortly before the sounds of the others returning from a supply run reach his ears.