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"Have you guys seen Desmond today? It's nearly 12:30. We don’t really have time for him to sleep in.”
"I haven't, sorry, Luc." Rebecca said, looking up from her diagnostics for a moment.
Shaun neglected to mention how much more difficult it had been for Desmond to sleep as of late and considering they were sharing the space, he had decided it wouldn’t hurt to let the other assassin, the one doing presumably all of the heavy lifting in this operation to rest a bit longer considering he was finally asleep when Shaun had woken that morning.
“I’ll check on him.”
Shaun made his way to the room he had been sharing with Desmond, knocking softly on the door before opening it and poking his head inside the frame and peering into the pitch-black darkness of the room.
Shaun waited a beat before he gingerly pushed the door open just enough to squeeze his body through.
"Desmond?"
No response, his concern growing.
"Desmond?"
Again, nothing.
His heart sank, his mind jumping to the worst conclusion.
"Mate, I'm gonna turn on the light." He said, reaching to flip the switch.
" Don't ." Desmond's voice came strained from the other side of the small room.
Shaun sighed, with a sort of relief which didn’t last long with the way the other man’s voice sounded. He pulled his hand back from the switch. Slowly he stepped forward, making his way as carefully as he could to the bed in the dark, thankfully in this case the room was small so he didn’t have far to go.
He sat on the edge, reaching to find Desmond in the dark.
"Desmond?"
The only sound beside his own voice he could hear was the sound of Desmond swallowing, his throat dry. A sharp breath followed, and then the sound of rustling against the blanket beneath them. Desmond must have moved. The sound of bones cracking was next, a small whimper that Desmond seemed to attempt to catch but didn't quite manage.
"I..." He began, stopping as though it was painful for him to speak. "I failed him again." He said, swallowing another sound that was somewhere between a sob and a whimper, his breath catching in his throat as he did.
Shaun's heart ached at the sounds of Desmond's distress. But what more could he do? He felt around in the dark until he found one of Desmond's hands that seemed to be clenched into a fist. Was that blood?
"Des, I don't understand. I'm sorry…"
Desmond shifted again, looking at Shaun this time and the only reason he knew that was because of the golden glow of the other's eyes in the dark.
There wasn't much explanation or reasoning he could find in all his research to explain the glow, but it often seemed to come with the episodes they had taken to calling bleeds, when the bleeding effect carried his ancestors’ actions, personalities and even memories through to his time outside the animus as though his brain couldn't quite tell the difference between the individuals. It also seemed to happen when Desmond had particularly bad nightmares, which were happening increasingly. While his nightmares were specifically classified as bleeds they were sure as hell close enough.
Desmond swallowed thickly again, "First at the temple..." He said, unable to say much more before trying to swallow another sob.
"I shouldn't have left him. Why didn't I stay? I could have sent someone in my place, then I would have been there to stop--" He cut himself off as though what came next was too much for him to manage saying aloud.
The hand that was over top felt Desmond's felt him trembling, even with the way it gripped the blanket beneath them. He squeezed it reassuringly, having not fully thought out his words. It seemed his effort to comfort the assassin, "Desmond, it was just a dream."
" No, it wasn’t!” He protested, his voice breaking.
He pulled his hand from under Shaun's, “It was a memory.”
Desmond looked down at his hands as though he could still see the blood from his dream.
He looked back up at Shaun. "It was real…I could feel the blood… it was still warm..."
Dream or not he was clearly quite distressed by the experience. Shaun couldn’t deny that fact and he had come to learn that everything Desmond had experienced was as real to him as they were sitting there right now.
Desmond’s hands were shaking even more now, border lining on violently. "I knew the contents of that awful burlap before I even--" He stopped himself again, clenching his fists hard enough to cause fresh bleeding. He slammed his fist into the wall, which Shaun assumed was the main cause of his injury initially.
It seemed whatever was left of Desmond’s resolve had broken with that last statement which was made apparent by the way he all but collapsed into a sobbing mess on the bed, curling up on the bed.
Shaun wasn’t sure what else to do so he simply stayed there as Desmond cried, cautiously laying a hand on the man where he could reach him.
"Des?" He asked softly after some time, once Desmond’s sobs had slowed a bit but he received no response.
"Would you at least allow me to bandage your hands? I know you're bleeding."
The assassin released his grip on the blanket beneath them, his hands resuming their aggressive shaking. A sigh followed, not a heavy one but one all the same. He did little else, save perhaps pull himself into a sitting position so Shaun could more easily reach him.
"I have to turn the light on, alright?" Shaun asked more so than told the other assassin, waiting for a response he didn’t think would come before he stood up and carefully made his way to the switch.
Switching the light on in the room when Desmond didn't object. He returned to the bed much easier this time. Before sitting down, he retrieved a first aid kit they had taken to keep near where Desmond slept. It was easier to find that way and to tend to him since it seemed he unintentionally injured himself as his bleeds got progressively worse.
Shaun got his first look at Desmond since the day before and his pain was clear. His eyes were no longer holding the golden glow from before, they also lacked the spark he always had, obviously tired, the bags under his eyes giving away how he hadn’t slept well in weeks, or more likely months.
Those soft brown eyes were now bloodshot and reddened, cast down at his hands, which he was now seeing in the light. Another whimper left him as he took in the sight of the blood from his now torn knuckles and sliced palms, though it was much less caused the blood that coated his hands in his dream to come to the forefront of his mind.
"I'm sorry..." The words came barely audible, following a faint sound of despair that made Shaun's heart ache.
Shaun carefully took one of the assassin's hands, quietly wiping away the blood before he looked up at Desmond again. "This will be cold, alright?" Shaun said as he held Desmond's hand in his own, the other holding a small spray can of disinfectant above it.
Desmond didn't respond, staring off ahead of him, but he also didn't object, so Shaun proceeded. He set aside the container, reaching for the gauze, then looking from Desmond’s hand he held to the other man’s face, watching how distant Desmond appeared.
He reluctantly laid the man’s hand down needing both hands to unroll the thin material and wrapped it securely around Desmond's hand, making sure he covered both injuries as he had with the disinfectant.
Shaun held the assassin's hand in his own for a long moment even after he had finished, unsure it would bring either of them any actual comfort but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.
He kept a sigh to himself before he went about tending to Desmond's other hand, repeating his previous actions, though this injury was only his palm. Shaun held this one as well for a long moment.
"Desmond, what can I do?"
Desmond didn't speak. He shook his head, his features solemn. There wasn't anything Shaun could do.
There wasn't anything anyone could do. These were just memories, they couldn't be changed.
No matter what else he had been through, everything else he had experienced and would experience through the lives of his ancestors and his own life he knew that horrific sight would never leave him. Malik's fate would haunt him for all his days as it had haunted Altair.
Shaun felt his chest ache with not only empathy for something he couldn’t possibly fathom experiencing but also with the helplessness that he couldn't possibly do anything to ease the other man's suffering.
Shaun let out an uneven breath, carefully setting Desmond's bandaged hand aside, if reluctantly. "How about I make us some tea, yeah?" He hadn't expected an answer, so he didn't wait for one before he stood.
Shaun placed a hand on Desmond's shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze. He tried not to linger, heading towards the door.
"You want me to turn the light out?" He asked, his hand meeting the switch but waiting for a beat.
Desmond glanced over at him, his features so somber, he offered a weak shrug in response. It didn't matter to him one way or another now. The light being on or off wouldn't change anything.
Shaun pulled his hand back from the switch, having left the light on before he headed to the main room. Where he found both of his female teammates staring at him. "Everything alright in there?" Rebecca spoke up first.
Shaun looked between the two of them, unsure how to explain the situation considering the impossible and indescribable occurrence. "Desmond was having another nightmare." was all he could offer.
"It must have been a pretty bad one. I've never heard him make sounds like that before." Rebecca mentioned her features holding concern.
"I would say it's the worst one he's ever had. So far.”
Lucy still hadn't said anything. She didn't know what to say, or she just had no comment on the matter. Either was a possibility. Shaun considered them both.
He knew she usually left the checking in on Desmond to him. He still couldn't pinpoint whether that was because she didn't know to handle anything Desmond was going through, she couldn't handle it because of what happened with Clay, or she just didn't care enough to bother.
The thought of Clay only made his heart ache more. He couldn't let that happen again. Not when he could do something this time, even if he didn't know exactly what that something was yet.
All these thoughts passed through his mind as he made his way through the main room and to the small kitchen-like area. He went through the motions, taking the small teapot down from the cupboard, filling it with the loose leaves he retrieved from the box sitting next to it.
Another uneven exhale as he filled a kettle left on the stove with water from the small sink. Setting it back on the stove and turning on the burner, all he had to do now was wait. He didn't want to leave Desmond alone for too long, but he couldn't leave the kettle. Even though it would whistle, he wanted to avoid any jarring noises, hoping to catch it just before it sounded.
Rebecca hesitantly turned back to her computer, her body language still suggesting she was concerned but not knowing what else to say, she tried to get back to work.
Lucy set aside the papers she may have been pretending to read, walking over to the small kitchen area.
Shaun watched her approach, doing his best to maintain his stoic expression as he leaned against the counter where he stood with his arms crossed.
"How long do you think it will be this time until he snaps out of it?"
A thread that has been fraying through this entire operation finally snapping. Before he could stop himself, he pushed himself from the counter and uncrossed his arms, glancing back toward the hallway, "I am not so sure he is going to snap out of it this time." He made almost aggressive quotations with his fingers as he spoke.
Lucy looked confused for a moment, as though she didn't understand the phrase.
"Do you have any idea what this whole thing has done to him?" Shaun's face took a red tint as his anger became evident. "I doubt you can understand the toll all of this has taken on him, and I am not even sure you care to try."
Lucy looked taken aback by this accusation. "Of course I care about him. I got him out of Abstergo, didn't I?"
"As though that somehow makes up for leaving Clay there? Do you know what they did with him when they were finished? When he no longer had any value to them? Hours upon hours and days upon days of constant unending animus sessions and when he took his own life, they took his body and threw him in the river."
"How did this become about Clay?? It always comes back to him with you! You know I couldn't blow my cover by letting him go!"
"But you could have tried harder to protect him, like you promised. But instead, you abandoned him. If we're not careful, Desmond is going to suffer a similar fate. His mind is already fracturing and taking on all that Altair is. When he has these nightmares, when he sees those visions, he thinks he is his ancestor, he thinks that's the time period he's in. So, while it might just be a machine and a computer program to you, those memories are real to him. Everything he has experienced inside that bloody machine has been real to him. That means anyone and everyone Altair knew was just as real to him as we are standing here right now. You haven't seen him after a particularly rigorous animus session or after one of his bleeding episodes or after his nightmares. The guilt, the pain, the loss, every mistake Altair has ever made follows Desmond now, even when he isn't plugged into that contraption.”
Lucy didn't have a retort, which didn't matter, because it seemed Shaun wasn't quite finished. He had been keeping this all bottled up since shortly after he got to know Desmond.
"I can no longer stand by and watch him fall apart... It was bad enough I couldn't help Clay. I refuse to fail Desmond as well." Shaun felt his heart rapidly pounding in his ears, his chest tightening with each breath.
He quickly turned back to the stove, removing the kettle before it could whistle. Pouring the water in the teapot, he wasted no time preparing a small tray with what he would need. He then pushed past Lucy without another word, walking through the main room and directly to Desmond's room.
His demeanor shifted as he gingerly pushed the door open further with his foot. He approached the bed where Desmond had resorted to laying back down, only shifting to sit up when Shaun approached, low sounds of pain as he pushed himself with injured hands.
Shaun set the tray on the box they had been using as a sort of bedside table before he sat on the edge of the bed. He wanted to reach out for Desmond, to comfort him somehow, but his hand clenched into fist unsure of how he could offer any consolation to someone who had such a devastating experience.
"I hope you don't mind honey rather than sugar. I thought I recalled you saying so last time." He said, his voice was a bit strained. He shifted to prepare their tea, and only stopped when he heard Desmond's voice.
"I heard what you said."
Shaun didn't respond. Unsure what to even say, he had just lost it and didn't even consider that Desmond could hear everything.
He moved closer to where Desmond was sitting, hesitantly touching his arm. He looked from Desmond's bandaged hands to where he was just barely touching his arm, then up to his face. "I meant what I said..." He said, "I'm not going lose you as well."
"What happens when I'm not me anymore, Shaun?"
Shaun felt those words cut through him, deeper than he had imagined they would.
He moved yet again, closer this time. His own hand trembling as he cautiously reached to cradle Desmond's jaw in his hand, "That isn’t going to happen."
"It's already started, and we both know how this ends."
"I couldn't save Clay, but I can save you."
Desmond brought one of his hands up to touch the one on his face, "Shaun..." His voice was so soft as he said the other's name.
Shaun felt his chest tighten again as he pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes. "Let me be your anchor." Shaun's voice was barely audible.
He knew what he was offering wouldn't be an easy task. It was only going to get harder, but he couldn't give up on Desmond, not now.
"I'll do whatever I can to keep you here with me." He opened his eyes now, looking into those sad caramel eyes.
“I care about you much more than I have ever had the guts to admit.”
The assassin's features went from empty to almost perplexed, as though he didn't understand the statement, as if those words weren't meant to be combined. He felt his breath catch in his throat, his chest heaving hard enough to make his lungs strain against his rib cage. Until now, he wasn't entirely clear on what they even were, but now it all seems to become painfully clear to him. How hadn't he seen it before?
Shaun waited for a moment as Desmond seemed to process this new development and when the other's eyebrows furrow with a level of understanding. He bit his scarred lip, some semblance of hope returned to those sad eyes as that soft tint flushed the assassin’s cheeks.
"I do hope that isn't how you got that scar." Shaun teased before he turned back to the tray he had previously prepared. He stirred the spoonful of honey in the cup before offering it to Desmond, “Drink this before it gets cold, it should help you relax, maybe get a bit more rest. You look like you need it.”
“Thanks.” He accepted the cup gratefully, knowing he looked unwell and at least Shaun was trying to help instead of just telling him how awful he looked. He thought it was a bit funny how their relationship had changed over time from that specific example. He never thought he would be here, not only in this situation he tried so hard to avoid but here with Shaun caring for him as much as he appeared to.
He was relieved that the heat from the cup combated the pain in his hands as he held it. A few easy sips and deep breaths, he felt a little better, at least a bit more relaxed. They sat in a relative silence, surprisingly comfortable as they both finished their tea.
“I didn’t bother to ask, I decided for everyone you need more rest and therefore there will be no world saving today.” Shaun stated as he laid down, arms open as he silently encouraged Desmond to join him.
“I’m good with that.” Desmond replied before he gladly made himself at home laying against Shaun, tucking himself under the other man’s chin, his hands finding the fabric of Shaun's sweater, which he gripped a bit too tightly, but that was the only way to stop them from shaking.
Shaun might have said something about the sweater, but with the fragile state the assassin was in, he wouldn't risk it. He just wrapped his arms around Desmond, holding him as though he could protect him from all that haunted him.
They stayed that way for some time. Desmond had fallen asleep since his grip loosened significantly on the other man's sweater.
Shaun exhaled heavily and the brief increase of the rise and fall in his chest didn't seem to bother Desmond, however. He was thankful for that; he was thankful Desmond had managed to get back to sleep. The more he thought about what had happened earlier, the more he put the pieces together.
I failed him again. First at the temple…
From what Desmond had told him, what he had read in database entries about Desmond's first experiences with the animus, he must have been talking about Solomon's Temple. That was where Altair made one of his biggest mistakes, one that haunted Desmond, like no other seemed to.
Shaun wasn’t sure he could remember all the details, but he did know that specific event was when Malik lost his brother and his arm.
I shouldn't have left him. Why didn't I stay? I could have sent someone in my place, then I would have been there to stop–
Altair had done a fair amount of traveling later in his life, in which Shaun assumed Malik did not join him, staying behind to run the brotherhood in the mentor’s absence. Something awful must have happened upon his return…
I could feel the blood. It was still warm...
I knew the contents of that awful burlap before I even–
Shaun thought his heart nearly stopped while simultaneously rising into his throat, unable to catch the gasp that followed his revelation.
His breathing came in short uneven rises and falls from his chest, though it still didn't stir the assassin sleeping against him. How could he have not figured it out earlier?
Now he understood why Desmond had been so distraught.
It may have been a fact of the master assassin's life that was lost to history, but it was one Shaun knew almost uncomfortably so. Malik was the only person Altair ever truly cared for throughout his life. In the time they had lived in, that was not something that could be revealed. Not only did Altair lose the one he most cared for, but he couldn’t possibly mourn properly.
That hadn't been the focus of Desmond's dream, however, it was the unspeakably heinous way in which Malik had been killed, the sheer brutality and malice of the action.
He suddenly felt sick, his stomach turning as his mind conjured up what Desmond must have seen. Shaun was at even more of a loss now for how to comfort Desmond.
Knowing the truth of the matter seemed to only make it that much more difficult to handle.
They couldn't afford to take the time for Desmond to mourn properly, either. Putting him back in the machine that did this to him was not an option Shaun was willing to consider. While he couldn’t avoid it forever, he would stay right there with the assassin for as long as they could, the world be damned.