Encounter: Chapter 8

And so Desmond was left alone with Altaïr. Could luck get any worse than that for him? Other than that he was kidnapped, kept hostage by an organization straight out of history, and not knowing if you'd still be alive the next day? Well, not technically, but everything sounded better when you exaggerated facts.

Anyways, it wasn't so bad when you were lying on a bed and dead-beat.

He couldn't understand why he felt this way for Altaïr. Firstly, he was a guy. That totally went against his supposed straightness. Secondly, he was related to him, even is somewhat distantly. And, he loved Lucy! Lucy!!

This stupid desire for him...

"Are you all right?" Altaïr asked, his soft footsteps tapping the floor as he walked towards him.

Um, no.

He sat down on the bed next to Desmond, making it creak slightly. "You seem very out of it."

"As I said before, tired.'

"You looked very tense."

"Ah, well." Was he? He tried to loosen his body and imagined himself melting into the bed, with a flurry of feathers left behind in his wake. Well, he seemed pretty strung out. Without a doubt, actually. Every time Altaïr got near him like this he was crazy.

Desmond heard something like "let me help" and felt Altaïr's hand touching his shoulder. He gently kneaded him, then another hand joined, and then it was just this comfortable massage that Desmond didn't want to stop.

"Relax," Altaïr muttered, and Desmond did. This was weird, he though, but then again, I'm weirder. It didn't matter. It worked. And it felt really, really, good. How the hell did he do that? It was almost scary.

He rubbed his back. "Is this OK?"

"You have no idea."

Then, to his surprise, Desmond felt Altaïr's fingers on the back of his neck, carressing his skin. For one moment he felt scared. He heard Altaïr's breath close to his head, and his fingertips were flitting -

The door clicked and Altaïr jumped, shooting straight up. He immediately scooted backwards, ultimately  standing up. It all took a motherfucking two seconds! Two seconds! How could he move so frickin' fast! Stupid assassins.

The door slowly opened. "Hiii, guys," Lucy greeted them, stepping in.

Desmond turned his face away to the wall, hoping no one would see his disappointment. Just when they were getting so close...

"Desmond's still tired, isn't he?" Lucy said to Altaïr.

"Yes..."

Come to think of it, he wasn't tired. Not anymore. Damn Altaïr and his 'magic hands'. He laughed inside when he though that. Magic in more ways than one. He wondered blatantly how many people he had ever killed.

"Just let him sleep," Altaïr said.

Sorry, no. He rolled over, covering his eyes from the light. "Lucy?"
"Yeah, sleepyhead?" Her voice was light, bantering.

He hesitated before asking. "Why did we come back here? Was there a point? I mean, we could have escaped that Vidic bastard..." That was a question that had been bothering him for some time. Viic had let them go out, right? He hadn't given them much trouble about it. Though if they'd been gone for a longer time, then he would get even more suspicious. yeah, he had been calling up during their time out - he might even have a GPS tracking dot on them or something. Who knows?

he was so busy going crazy in his head that he almost missed Lucy's reply.

"Well." She kept her hands busy to help herself think. "We came because we need time to figure out our next step. We've pretty much got nothing. I know some people who are Assassins around here. They've been working some on the Animus project. In secret, of course. Escaping to their hideout would be very risky, especially after our leave to the outside world. I'd like to do some stuff on the Animus with you... So clearly, this was a better idea."

"And Vidic?" He almost spat the name. "How are you keeping this from him?"

Lucy was silent.

"What are you doing about him?"

"Warren Vidic." Her voice immediately steeled. "I know what I'm doing, Desmond. I'm taking care of it. But this is not for you to know."

"Whatever you do affects me."

"At this moment, you don't need to know."

He exhaled. "Fine then."

After a few moments, Desmond asked quietly, "Will we ever get out of here alive, permanently?"

Her voice was equally low. "I don't know, Desmond. I really don't know." She paused. "The Templars, they might kill us. They won't have any trouble if they try, I'm sure. They've been wanting to do that to me for a long time, and ever since you came Vidic was planning to have you dead..." She trailed off.

He frowned deeply. "That's really shitty."

Altaïr laughed uneasily. "We'll find a way to get out," he said, trying to ease the tension.

Desmond blinked under the covers of his hands. He was sure that Lucy was having the same thoughts as him. How Altaïr can get back to his own time... How they could find a way... He gulped internally. If he wanted to go back. He didn't want him to leave.

Lucy looked at her cell. 'sorry Desmond, we can talk later. I've got to run. Business. You know what?" She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. She tilted her head to the side. "You guys should go to sleep. Long day tomorrow."

"What?" Des sat up. Altaïr gaped at Lucy. "Be serious. The same room? Sharing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Go. Come on, I'm busy. Yes, Desmond you're sleeping together," she said teasingly, choosing those words deliberately.  "Or you can take the couch, from the storage next door. And oh yeah, I'm locking the door. Don't close it until you're ready to go to sleep. Des, don't do anything funny." She waved her hand and trotted out the door with a mischievous grin on her face.

The guys stared at her retreating back, even long after she was gone. Their mouths hung slack in surprise, brows drawn together in confusion. They were silent for a long time.

"She can't be serious, can she?" Desmond said finally.

"No." Altaïr was skeptical. "I'm pretty sure she didn't mean it. I hope."

"I mean, no offense, but it'd just be weird. It's just... ugh.. awkward, and... awkward. And kinda gay. Not that I have anything against gays, but seriously. I swear Lucy's getting back at me for being so difficult during the earlier days. Well,  sorry, I admit it. But did she really have to do that? Like she doesn't give a shit about two guys sharing a bed. Damn, that just sounds so frickin' nasty. In a way. It's nothing personal, Altaïr. I mean, I'm her... boyfriend or something, right? And she wants me to sleep with some guy? I know, I know, it just means sleeping as in 'zzz zzz' but it COULD be interpreted differently! Especially by some stupid horny asshole! Who is definitely not me! But, um, it's just... GAH1 God! I can feel my brain fucking up! It's not your problem at all or anything, but this... Lucy is gonna pay. Two guys in a bed, nuh uh! No way!"

Altaïr let Desmond rant himself out until he finished, breathless and slightly red. "Well," Altaïr said quietly, "Lucy did say that there was a couch, right?"

Oh... wow. He'd forgotten. Um, okay. Thankyouverymuchsorryfortherantletsgogetthecouch? Pleaseandthankyou? "Yeah, um... I had a brain fart."

Altaïr smiled. "OK. It's next door."

"Let's go..."

They got the couch, careful not to close the door and lock themselves out. Moving it through the rooms was a little difficult, but in the end it worked out.

"I'll take the couch," Altaïr said.

"No, s'all right. I'll take it." Desmond grabbed a pillow and a blanket, dragging them over. "Go on. You have the bed. It'll be better."

"But..." Altaïr was still uncertain, so Desmond smiled and pushed him towards it. He could tell that Altaïr was slightly relieved. True, the bed was big enough for two, but it was just uncomfortable to share a bed with him.

Or do you? Do you want to get in bed with Altaïr?

He dumped the pillow and blanket on the couch, not bothering to straighten it out. "Let's get to sleep," he said in a funny nasally voice.  Altaïr laughed. I like that I can make him laugh.

After the lights were out, he kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the cushions. A little short and dusty, but it was fine.

"Night," he said across the room.

"Good night," Altaïr replied.

See you in my dreams, he thought as he closed his eyes.

- - - - -

Desmond couldn't sleep. No matter how hard he willed himself, he just couldn't. A silence hung in the room like a big dark cloud, broken only be tiny mechanical clickings and what-not in the building and such. he felt tired, but his mind wouldn't shut up. How was it possible like this? He heard rustling from Altaïr's general direction.

"Altaïr? You awake?"

More rustling. "Yes?"

"Sorry dude, did I wake you?"

"No, I can't sleep."

"Me neither." Why couldn't he? His body was beaten and dead from being knocked around in the back of the car for who knows how long. But he felt like he could stay up and he couldn't stop thinking. Too much to worry about. Too much to think about. Too much to fantasize about... He coughed.

"Are you all right?" Altaïr asked quietly.

"Yeah, yeah. You wanna go back to sleep? Or just try?" he said halfheartedly.

Altaïr's answer was exactly what he wanted it to be. "Actually... I just wanted to ask you a question..."

His heart pounded in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Um... sorry. Never mind."

He snorted. "No really. I want to know. Spit it out."

"It is nothing important."

"As you want it, then." Lying here, talking with him, was exciting. It got his blood pumping, and his vision sharpened in the darkness.

It got even more exciting.

"Desmond," Altaïr said quietly, "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

His heart thrummed. "Yeah? I mean, no. I mean, ask away. I don't mind." After spending weeks with him, they'd both gotten to know each other; basic history and memories gotten down. it seemed kind of ironic, because Desmond had been used to go through Altaïr's memories in the Animus. But this, right now, was the best.

There was a little pause, as if Altaïr was thinking. Then he said in a low voice: "When Abstergo kidnapped you, you left behind a life. Is there anyone... in that life... that would miss you?"

Desmond rubbed a knuckle at his forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm not sureI understand."

"Now that you're here, held by Abstergo, you have left behind something else from before. Back when you were... um... bar tending. Like, was there a woman in your life?"

Does he know? was Desmond reaction. Does he know that I feel for him? But he stayed silent on that. Sorting through thoughts in his head, he wondered about what to say. It was a hard subject for him. After all, he had left a job, customers, a relatively good life. And so now who's gonna pay the rent on the apartment?"

"Me," he said slowly. "There were women that came into the bar. There was this one girl that... um... we got together a few times." Then he became serious. "But what with me as a run-away assassin and keeping from the Templars, I couldn't afford to keep up a real relationship. It's too risky, and it'd tie me down if I ever had to run. So, no. There was no woman. And my friends; I don't know if they would be considered real friends." He thought for a moment. "I had no one, really."

"That's kind of sad," Altaïr said softly. Des loved the way his voice sometimes changed, like dropping from a growl to a throaty whisper. It was so sexy. (Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.) 'But when you were a child, you had real friends?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "I think of them everyday."

"This girl," Altaïr said. Desmond could hear a smile in his voice. "Was she attractive?"

"Oh yeah. Hell yeah." He nodded to himself, seeing not the darkened ceiling, but a gorgeous young woman. "Hawt hawt hawt. Burned me up."

Altaïr chuckled. "So it wasn't anything serious, just a - how do you say it - one night stand?" Desmond thought it was hilarious when Altaïr tried his hand at modern American phrases, seeing that he had often blabbed about such things. (Wait - since when did he talk about quickies?!)

"Um, no," he said, slightly panicked. "Oh, wow. Can we not talk about this?" It wasn't like he didn't talk about sex with guys, but his own attraction to Altaïr made it different.

"Oh, sorry. All right." He was smiling again.

"But it was more than one night," Desmond said slyly. He heard Altaïr hitting his forehead with a pained "Ow." They laughed.

Finally Desmond yawned. He was a little uncomfortable with his shirt riding up, so he wriggled around, which made the springs in the couch squeak.

"Are you tired?" Altaïr asked.

"No, I'm good." Pause. "I like talking to you."

"Me too."

Desmond thought for a little bit. "You know how I said that I had no one? Well, now I do. I've got Lucy. She's like... I love her so much. She's fantastic. She saved my frickin' life in here. I love her." He winced, thinking how sappy he sounded. He dared to add, "And I've got you, Altaïr. To tell the truth, you're really special to me." Now he was going to drown in it.

When Altaïr spoke, his voice was thick. "You know, there's only been one other person who has ever said that to me."

"Who?" he asked, curious to know.

"Remember what I said about leaving someone behind in your life from before?" Altaïr said thoughtfully. "Before the Animus. I think there might be someone that would miss me. Her name was Adha. I used to be in love with her. Beautiful beautiful beautiful. She was one of the most amazing women I know. Next to Lucy, of course." His voice went soft. "She said I was special. Thank you. It means so much to me. You're something to me, too."

Desmond suddenly felt fiercely jealous of Adha, but he forced back his thoughts and just said as a joke, "Well, we both seem to appreciate beautiful women." Then he heard, really heard, what Altaïr said. And he couldn't help but let go of all hateful feelings about Adha. How could he hate someone who made Altaïr happy, or how close he could get to happiness, considering his life. (He was still jealous.)

Over and over, he heard his words. "It means so much to me. You're something to me, too. What was his meaning? He so desperately wanted Altaïr to love him back, but at the same time he felt loyal to Lucy. It would hurt to choose, and yet not to choose at the same time.

Was Altaïr saying that just because Desmond said it? Or did he really mean it! He hoped for the latter. The thoughts tortured him bitterly.

He realized that it had been quiet in the room for a while. He could sense Altaïr waiting for him to say something.

"So-o-o," he said, drawing out the letters. It meant nothing and everything at the same time, but now something just to fill the silence.

"Hm," Altaïr said, now lax.

Desmond replied with a "Hnuh." He felt silly to do this. He started to shirt around again, but he then heard Altaïr's painful gasp and he shot up. With concern in his eyes he looked over at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, starting to get up.

"Just stay where you are," Altaïr said firmly. "I'm just still a little sore. It is really nothing."

Desmond uncertainly lowered himself. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about me."

Too late, he thought. Aloud, he said decidedly, "You need rest."

"Fine then."

"Good night."

"Good night..."

Desmond tugged the blanket around him, trying to get comfortable. This time he had no trouble falling asleep.

His dreams were filled with visions of a bold, strong man and the sounds of his low voice. And a pretty blonde woman. And a very sexy brunette, now that Altaïr had brought it up.