squirrellysemantics | (fic) Impact part 1 - AC2 Shaun/Desmond (Reply)

Just what I need. To start another fic when I should be working on finishing others. Bad brain. Bad.

For those that are watching who don't know this fandom, I suspect this won't make a lick of sense without backstory. My apologies.
For those that are AC fans, my apologies if this takes liberties with anything discussed about the Animus in AC1. I've never played AC mainly because Altair's voice acting gives me hives so bad I can't even sit through the walkthrough on youtube.

Title: Impact
part 1
Fandom: AC2
Pairing: Shaun/Desmond
Rating this chapter: R for violence and swearing

AC2 and its characters are owned by Ubisoft. I make no money from this.

Shaun covered his yawn with an awkward stretch. A satisfying little ‘pop’ from his lower back and the world was a little bit tolerable. Not much though. Just a little. The kettle clanged far too loudly for his semi-comatose state as he set it on the crap camp stove that he had pestered Lucy into acquiring for this express purpose. Not like this ridiculous warehouse they were set up in would have anything like a real stove.

Yes, the world would be a whole hell of a lot more tolerable if he could have some proper tea. No way would he subject himself to the revolting rubbish that the Americans called ‘coffee’. With the way he was feeling right now he would have murdered them all in their sleep for a nice Irish Breakfast. A little milk, two sugars and he’d give the Templars Lucy’s head on a platter.

With a little lacey doily underneath if they added in some nice biscuits.

He could lay full blame on his recently acquired psychopathic tendencies at the feet of one Desmond Miles.

It had only been the past three days that this whole business started, really. The sounds that had begun coming from that man’s room at night were simply criminal. The gasping. The moaning. Shaun flushed just thinking about it. For the love of Christ, the bastard must have had the stamina of ten men with the number of hours he’d be at it. No matter how early or late Shaun would try to get to sleep, no matter how many pillows he stuffed around his head-it meant sod all with Mr. Miles: Compulsive Masturbator the next room over.

Little wonder the silly tosser looked so exhausted.

His first sip of his weak American brew was still too hot but it made Shaun feel slightly more human. This was more than he could say for a bleary eyed Desmond who was stumbling through the impromptu kitchen like a bull elephant that had just arrived home from a particularly successful bender. Shaun didn’t bother hiding his smirk as Desmond would open the refrigerator door, close it, and then open it again, searching in vain for the milk the addled man didn’t realize he had already set on the counter.

Serves you right, you git.

Shaun retreated to the relative sanity of his work station. The others had been absorbed with one of Ezio’s earlier memories the past few days but he paid them little mind. One of the assassin teams had stumbled on a particularly juicy looking clue and he’d been consumed with trying to analyze it for them. He took a tentative second sip and deemed it still not quite drinkable. Killing time, he spun in his chair to watch Desmond crawl feebly into the Animus.

Pathetic.

The routine wasn’t hard for Rebecca, as she flew through the process of hooking the man up to this and that. “We’re almost good to go,” she said, fingers flying over her keyboard. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Desmond’s response was less than enthusiastic. Almost weary.

Lucy paused during her final checks at this, her voice couched in concern. “Are you sure?”

“I said ‘yes’ didn’t I?” The answer was filled with uncharacteristic bite.

Hmph.

The two women shared a furtive glance.

Fascinating.

Shaun’s curiosity had been a bit of a problem for him all his life. One could say it had been responsible for pretty much every ridiculous bit of nonsense that had ever happened in his life and he saw no reason to keep it in check here. Something was up, something they hadn’t shared with him.

He’d be damned if he wouldn’t find out what it was.

He tried to make his stroll over to the Ugly Chair as casual as possible. Desmond appeared to already be in the thick of things, eyes moving rapidly underneath closed lids. He felt a bit of a creeper, studying the darker man’s tanned face- something Shaun wouldn’t have had the stones to do if the subject of his attention had been more aware.

There was no two ways about it: Miles looked like utter crap. Deep, purple bags under his eyes, haphazard shave job leaving plenty of stray stubble along the man’s jaw. He watched Desmond ‘s leg twitch violently, obviously duplicating something that was happening in the Animus.

“Oh, fantastic,” Shaun said. “Reminds me of my mum’s toy poodle, kicking in his sleep.” He cooed in a sing song as if to a pet. “It’s just a widdle dream, Dezzie-kins! Who’s a good dog? Yes you are!” With a sneer, Shaun gave a patronizing pat to the man’s head.

The length of Desmond’s body stiffened in his chair. A deep, low moan that Shaun had become intimately familiar with over the past few nights echoed off the room’s high ceilings.

“Shit!” Lucy was on her feet in an instant, checking vital sign monitors as fast as she could.

Shaun backpedaled a little, sending a scalding wave of tea over his hand as another familiar moan came from Desmond. He could see sweat breaking out on the reclining man’s forehead. Was this what had been going on in the evenings? Some horror brought on by the bleeding effect letting neither man get any sleep?

Good job, Hastings. Leave it up to your wholly inadequate sex life to think a man in agony was spending the night wanking furiously. “What’s happening?”

“It’s this most recent memory!” Lucy said curtly as she punched keys like a madwoman. “Desmond’s been having a hard time getting through it and it’s just been worse and worse every day.”

Due to lack of sleep perhaps.

Speaking into her headset, Rebecca tried to keep her voice calm. “C’mon Desmond! You’ve gotta calm down. I know it’s rough but it’s not real! It’s just a memory. Ezio survived it. You know he did.”

Desmond shook his head unseeing, little abortive gasps like a man drowning. The monitor claxon was blaring any number of alarms as the man’s heart rate climbed higher and higher.

“Bloody hell! Just get him out of there!” Shaun looked between the two women uncomprehendingly as neither of them moved to disconnect the man in the chair. “What kind of memory is this?”

Rebecca was determined not to look at him.

Oh.

This was not good.

“It’s from a sequence where Ezio was briefly captured by the Templars,” Lucy said without batting an eye. “They tried to extract information from him before he was rescued by the other Assassins.”

“What?” His outrage almost made his voice crack.

“Look! Abstergo is going to stop at nothing until they have their hands on what they want!” The blonde at least had the decency to flush guiltily. “I figured it would be the safest way to train him to resist their torture techniques!”

Blood rushed to his face. “Yeah, well it won’t help if it fucking kills him, you stupid bint!”

Whatever words they were about to exchange were cut off by Desmond’s drawn out cry. His body tensed into a perfect arc in the chair, hovering for a moment before falling back. He began to thrash, fighting the hold the DNA scanner had on his arm.

“Pull him out! Now!” Lucy struggled to extract his arm for him but Desmond was still trapped inside his head and lashed out at her blindly. She went flying, impact with her desk knocking her out cold.

“You gotta hold him down while I shut down Baby! I don’t wanna find out which one of them breaks first!” Ah. Good old Rebecca.

Shaun hesitated. As much as he would never admit it out loud even under pain of death, he knew the other man was stronger than him. Much stronger.

Desmond bashed his head against the headrest once and again. Echoes of Sixteen.

Get in there, Hastings. Actually do something besides watch for once.

Not quite sure what else to do, Shaun sat on the raving lunatic, hoping to use his mass to help him at least a little. “Desmond! Yoohoo! Desmond! I know you’re in there!” He gritted his teeth as he wrestled, trying to pin the other man’s arms to his sides. “Come out, come out wherever you- ugh!“

A very thick skull hit him right above the eyebrow. Really fucking hard. Hard enough to make his teeth click. Hard enough to be glad that he hadn’t just bitten off his own tongue. Stars filled his field of vision. He felt feet press to his gut and a kick and he was suddenly sprawled on his back across the floor like a particularly bothersome cockroach, glasses long gone.

The lightshow cleared from his eyes enough to see Desmond perched on the edge of the Animus, a bird of prey preparing to pounce. “Faccia di merda,” the man hissed, white hot with a need for vengeance that could not be contained in the past.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Desmond!” Rebecca, bless her, scrambled over the table, trying to intervene. “No!”

Time slowed down to a trickle. Everything seemed so clear now. Amazing. Why couldn’t he move? Shaun’s limbs weren’t listening to him anymore. Oh, yes. Perhaps it was because of the sheer terror at the very real possibility of the man hovering over him tearing him limb from limb. Minor detail, that.

You’d think joining the Assassins would have better prepared him for a proper fight. But it hadn’t. He couldn’t blame the Assassins, really. He was a crap fighter, not being born to it like the others. The Assassins were also not so trusting as to share their skills with one who wasn’t truly one of their own, especially one that abhorred the thought of taking a life. But he hadn’t actually lied to Desmond when he’d said he’d killed people. Well, perhaps technically. Metaphorically speaking was another story.

See, he had killed people. Indirectly, of course. He’d guided teams in who had done the actual killing, but it was his brain that found the target, his hand that guided the weapon. There was blood on his hands just as much as anyone’s.

Things sped up to impossibly fast as Desmond flew through the air, oddly elegant as he landed in a graceful straddle. Hands flew fast as lightning, heels of the assassin’s palms striking his target in the chest repeatedly. Must think he’s using the hidden blades, Shaun’s brain supplied unhelpfully as the empty handed hits still snapped a rib, making it suddenly impossible to breath. A sense of self preservation had Shaun gripping the wrist whose fingers moved to thread through his hair, trying to pry it loose as the hand pounded his head against the floor. As much as he wished he could, he couldn’t avoid the final blow, time standing still again as the hand rushed towards him. He felt his gorge start to rise at the implication of the incoming palm strike directed straight at his eye.

The explosion of pain as it hit mercifully dragged him into unconsciousness.