From the Frontlines

[madimpossibledreamer]

Warning: this might be a feels chapter.

Main Points: Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Chelsea's return is entirely voluntary, because she's got a secondary assignment.
Word Count: 1099
Rating: Teen 

 

         Chelsea had never really bothered to go looking for Shaun Hastings before. She hasn’t been in the field, so it’s not like his research would have been filtering through to her, he’d never really mingled, preferring to hide away in his office or in the pub or (probably) some local flat, and the few times he had shown up he’d just been sarcastic at everybody. But a promise is a promise, and Desmond (probably) wouldn’t care about someone who didn’t deserve it. Even Lydia has her moments. So she takes a deep breath, knocks, and lets herself in.
         “Oh, a new recruit, is it? I’m afraid I don’t have time to play tour guide, thanks to news of our most recent impending armageddon, so go find someone else to bother.” Well, his attitude definitely hadn’t improved, but he’s also looking exhausted and a little bit rumpled. He doesn’t even bother to look at her, just keeps clicking away at the computer, taking another good long sip of what is probably tea (very possibly to prevent himself from faceplanting on the keyboard).
         “Not exactly.” She fidgets, unsure of how to begin, and he sighs, exaggerated in order to illustrate just how much of a burden her presence is. That, and he hasn’t offered her any tea. He’s definitely an arse.
         “Well, spit it out and stop wasting my time and yours,” he tells her, clipped.
         Before training with Desmond, she might have just gotten quieter or maybe just left, but this attitude just hardens her resolve instead. “Desmond sent me.”
         He whips around fast enough that he very well might have made himself dizzy, in his sleep-deprived state, eyes wide and attitude utterly vanished. He is also speechless, which as far as Chelsea’s heard in the rumors flying around Templar Hall is a first, or very nearly. His mouth moves a few times, but no sound comes out, until he manages a very faint “What?”
         Encouraged, she steps forward, holding out the food she’d been instructed to get. She hadn’t understood, exactly, but suspected it might have been a reminder for the man to take better care of herself and, given that Shaun’s eyes get even bigger behind the glasses, probably some other kind of message as well. “Desmond sent me,” she repeats.
         He sits in complete silence, frozen, until he finally breaks it with an extremely heartfelt “...that complete and utter bastard.”
         “I can just take it away, if you don’t want it…” she starts. Desmond definitely deserves better than to be insulted for trying to actually be nice and helpful.
         He doesn’t bother even answering, just snatches the bag with the sandwich and the coffee out of her hands before she can even move. It’d be easy to write that off as Hastings continuing to be the jerk everyone says he is, if he wasn’t still completely and totally silent, not bothering to voice a single continued complaint, as he makes a space on his desk and tries unsuccessfully to discreetly wipe at his eyes and retain his composure like he doesn’t care. They’re still a little glassy when he looks at her again, and his attempt at maintaining a level tone also fails awfully. “He isn’t…” He pauses, swallows, and tries again. “He’s alive, then. He’s all right.” If they’re meant to be questions, he’s doing really badly at asking them. She’d almost say it’s rhetorical if not for the almost haste in his tone.
         “He’s fine,” she confirms and watches as tension just drains from him. Like he had actually been worried. She should know better than to question Desmond, honestly. He breathes in deeply.
         He’s not smiling when he looks at her again, but he’s a little less demanding. “Well? I’m sure he has some other kind of message he wanted to send as well.” He is still unfortunately himself, though.
         “We managed it. We took out the Park.” He just shakes his head at that. “I think he wants to talk to you about how he did it, after…” she trails off. After he manages to clear up everything with the Templars, she doesn’t say, because that seems impossible, but also, Desmond has managed to do the impossible before and he’s probably just going to go ahead and do it again.
         “Of course he did,” Shaun mutters under his breath, probably to himself. “It’s just a minor miracle he managed not to severely injure himself in the process.”
         “He’s really good at this!” She realizes after she’s blurted that out that it possibly hadn’t been meant as a criticism and more just as a statement of worry.
         “He is certainly capable, and takes more risks than he should. I hope you’re not learning from that part of his example.” Okay, that’s a little rude, still, but...he might be worried about her, too, and that’s nicer than his exterior.
         “Apparently the amulet you sent helped?” she tells him, and suddenly he’s staring at her again rather than into space, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
         He relaxes again when it seems like she’s not going to add anything else. “Well, of course.” Desmond hadn’t wanted to explain, and apparently Shaun didn’t either.
         “I also have an energy drink for Rebecca Crane…?” she continues.
         “Thank you,” the woman says from over her shoulder, at least thanking her before taking it from her. She hadn’t even heard her enter the room. She is...nicer, if still a little unsettling, but Desmond had been really focused on Shaun, for some reason. Not like Rebecca was an afterthought, mind, just that something’s going on there she can’t quite parse yet.
         “He was worried about the two of you, so…assuming I don’t get reassigned in fifteen minutes, I could help out.” It doesn’t hurt to have some knowledge of how any of this works, either, though before she’d been working with Desmond, she wouldn’t have even thought about it. Rebecca nods like she’d been expecting all of this (how, is she kind of psychic or something?) while apparently that’s enough to spontaneously remind Shaun of his manners (which is probably also some kind of minor miracle). Though he doesn’t act as embarrassed as he should, or like he’s not offering this near the end.
         “Lucky for you, I freshly made tea. How do you take it?” At least she doesn’t have to wait for the kettle to boil. She’ll probably have enough time to finish the cuppa and then dash.
         “Milk, no sugar.” He’s strange and rude, but Desmond’s not the type to get intimidated and he’s pretty good at reading people, she’ll admit.