Chapter 1: Halls of Platinum
Chapter Text
From their third floor apartment, the city that never slept was at peace.
At least, it was the view from their third floor apartment. He knew that somewhere out there, there was a war that had been centuries old being fought. That their peace could be shattered any minute.
Their day-to-day could just vanish in a blink like that.
Yet not.
There was no place to go. It was six in the morning on a Sunday.
The red hue of the street light poured gently into the narrow window above their bed.
Still warm, curled up in the warmth of the blankets and Desmond’s arms. Clothes were strewn
around the floor. His arms were stinging and somehow, he could stay there in this moment forever.
With his girlfriend that he did not deserve.
“Mmm….” Layla mumbled against his neck. “Too early.”
“Oh.” Desmond stopped.
“No, you...keep going,” Layla muttered. “Time...can stop. Time is annoying.”
He continued to stroke her hair. “Yeah, it really is.”
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“It doesn’t seem like it. What’s on your mind?”
“Not much. Just you.”
“Do you want to....”
Talk about it.
“No, I’m alright,” Desmond said. He kissed her forehead. “Thank you, though.”
Maybe a little while longer.
He could stay here a little while longer.
\\\
She was great.
She didn’t prod into his past, as much as he could tell she desperately wanted to. She gave him
space. Allowed him his privacy in their tiny little corner of the world.
Maybe one day, he could tell her about this mess. Maybe. Never. It was terrifying enough to just
think about it, but to include her into this mess…
No. He couldn’t.
He left it behind for good reason. He had heard horror stories of people who got too close and
found out. How they always ended up hunted down, killed or tortured.
No, there was no way. He can’t do that to her.
How terrible that the question of ‘should I tell my girlfriend of the centuries old conspiracy I am
somehow wrapped up in?’ was a daily topic as much as what was the weather for the day.
It felt like an eventuality.
It shouldn’t be an eventuality like that.
He liked the evening shifts when she came in.
Sometimes to the quiet corner of the bar. She stuck around to keep him company on slow
weeknights and rode home with him. His co-workers knew her on a first name basis. Sometimes
she helped.
It was something special when it was just the two of them.
Then it had to all go to hell.
\\\\\\\\\\\
The move to her apartment wasn’t as difficult as she felt it would be. The few belongings fit in
three medium-sized suitcases. The apartment she was renting was furnished and paid off. She’s
only been in Canada for a few weeks and Abstergo for a few hours and she already knew one thing for sure.
She fucking hates Melanie Lemay.
Abstergo Entertainment felt artificial. Too new. The bean bags on the floor looked too new, almost like they were put there for show. All of this was suspicious to begin with. But damn.
Sofia Rikkin.
Sofia.
Sofia was so fine. Sofia got her. She got her good. She did always have a weakness for blue eyes, anyways. Strong women. Goddamn it. Yes, it was a rebound. Yes, Layla was still upset.
Imagine being down so bad for a gorgeous woman that you move to Vancouver for her.
Imagine telling yourself you were over a man leaving you---
No. She wouldn’t go there.
Her mind was running through all of this. All of this, while being stuck in an elevator with the most aggravating woman in Abstergo.
“So, you went to Berkeley for undergrad,” Melanie said.
Layla did, but she did not think much of it. All eyes were on NYU for grad school. And she made
it. Almost three agonizing years of tears, hard work, sleepless nights, she earned her masters and won the recognition for her thesis.
Yet of course, Melanie didn’t give a shit about New York. Of course she cared about sunny
California. California wasn’t even that sunny. Fucking Northerners. Canadians. Whatever.
“I did,” Layla smiled, voice as fake as Melanie’s. “Volleyball scholarship.”
“Congrats! What was California like?”
Polluted, filled with smog, terrible traf ic, loud parties, good weed, terrible people on all sides of
the area----Sofia. I saw Sofia a lot. Sofia’s smile. Her hair.
“It was nice,” Layla eyed the elevator ascending to the tenth floor, then to the eleventh.
“Pleasant, even.”
Is it a little obvious that I’m so bitter that Sofia left me like that?
It could not go faster enough to the seventeenth floor.
“So, where did you go to school?” Layla asked.
“Down the street at University of Montreal. Go Carabins! I was on the volleyball team too!”
Small, awful world.
“What position?”
“Libero. What about you?”
Ah of course. Libero. It showed.
“Hitter,” Layla said simply.
“We have an annual volleyball tournament in the spring,” Melanie said. “Guys versus girls type of thing.”
Oh, fucking kill me right now.
“I tore my ACL,” Layla lied.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” Layla let the conversation die there. “Me too.”
The lobby and the Sample 17 floors felt like two separate worlds. There was some regret with the impulsivity of this decision, but not so much. She was separated enough from the heartbreak. She was ambitious for her career and goals. She was done with New York. Done with Desmond leaving, done with the heartbreak of all this.
So she moved.
Maybe it was a little brash. But she was Layla Hassan. Everything she did was brash and charged with emotion. She valued her passion. But she was Layla.
She liked trouble.
And trouble seemed to like her.
\\\\
“Hey Newbie!” Layla called out after the analyst who was poking around her station.
“Hiiii Layla, I need to go---”
“To the bathroom? Me too!” She dragged her by the arm.
Layla locked the door behind her. She readied the stapler.
“Uh---can I help you?” the analyst asked.
“I want answers,” Layla held out the stapler.
The analyst laughed nervously. “Like you would do it.”
Okay. Layla did like a challenge.
Layla let out a laugh. With a quick movement, she turned the stapler sideways and slammed it
against the wall, right next to the ear of the intern. The click was loud.
The analyst let out a shriek, which Layla quickly covered with her palm. “Tell me everything,” she threatened. For better measure, she stapled the stapler again, like a flintlock being cocked. She uncovered the analyst’s mouth.
“Okay, okay! I’ll tell you everything!” the analyst exclaimed.
Well, she did not think she would get this far.
“Who do you work for?”
“No one,” the analyst croaked out. “I--I work for no one.”
Layla readied the stapler again. “Oh bullshit , I’ve seen the Kenway footage. I know that Abstergo is just a front,” she said. “They coulda gone with a dry cleaner’s shop as a front, but instead they have this multi-million dollar bullshit.”
“But--Only I have access to the full footage--”
Layla laughed. “What, with the little bitch four square Frogger lockscreen as security? I’m a
computer science major from fucking Berkeley and an NYU grad. I could crack this in my sleep.
So, answer me when I ask you again, who the hell do you work for and why shouldn’t I staple you to the wall?”
“I don’t work for anyone, Layla. I--I literally just applied for this online. All they told me was to
give the files to the courier---”
“What courier?”
“The barista in the lobby!” the analyst was close to crying. “I was told to give the files to the
barista---”
“Who told you to do it?”
“John from IT,” the analyst was crying now. “He told me to not tell anyone, especially Melanie.
John told me that I didn’t do anything wrong. Layla, I don’t know anything--they’re not even
paying me--I don’t even like pirates! Please Layla, have mercy!”
“God, you’re pathetic.”
“Layla, I don’t care about this Assassins nonsense. I don’t even know what they mean! I just
wanted to have a job out of college and I applied here. And I hate it here! I hate it so much! I can’t wear my hoodies, I can’t even cry by the vending machines without feeling like I’m being watched for animus side effects---I applied for another internship out of state at a boring, every day, nature magazine. I would have been an underpaid coffee runner. And they rejected me! They rejected me to run coffees!” the analyst started sobbing. “All I wanted was a fucking job! And I ended up in this mess!”
“Oh my…..god,” Layla said. “Are you okay?”
“No!” the analyst sobbed. “I’m tired of this! I have loans! LOANS!”
“Okay, I’m--sorry. For this. But now, we’re kind of stuck together. Here’s the plan. Wash your
face with cold water,” Layla said.
“What about my eyeliner?”
Layla could salvage most of it.
“I have eyeliner in my pocket. I never got your name.”
“It’s Deanna Geary. I’m across from you,” Dee blew her nose into a paper towel. She went to wash her hands.
“Oh…shit. Well, Dee. I am in your debt. Can we unionize? You and me?”
“How so?”
“Something is suspicious about all of Abstergo, right? More than just the surface.”
“Yeah…”
“Do you want to stick with me and figure this out?”
Dee nodded. “I think I can do that.”
“Good. Cool. Thank you---I am so sorry about the stapler intimidation tactic, by the way.”
“It’s--cool. One day, we’ll laugh about it, right?”
“Oh yeah. Totally,” Layla pulled out her eyeliner. “Come on, let me fix my mistake.”
Chapter 2: After The Fire
Summary:
Layla finally burns the bodies.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I will not let my heart be consumed by darkness!” Bayek could feel the creak of the ship under his feet, but the wood was intact. He aimed the bow of light into Apep’s face, letting the arrow soar into the serpent’s neck.
It hissed in pain, spewing venom from it’s fangs to the ship Bayek stood on.
Bayek rolled forward and dodged the spray, only catching a few drops against his arm. They burned, like multiple fire ants biting all at once. He bit down a wince of pain and continued moving.
“It already has. Vengeance is a sin from the gods,” the disembodied voice hissed.
Bayek let another arrow loose. “To Hell with vengeance!” he shouted. “I seek justice! Justice for the people of Egypt! Justice for my son! And justice is no sin!”
“You know nothing of what you speak of.”
“The only sinful beings, the only aberrations in this realm is the Order of the Ancients! And I plan to take each one of them down!”
Apep tossed its head back in mocking laughter, the sound unnatural and sinister that sent goosebumps across Bayek’s skin.
“Such big talk for such a small human!”
Bayek let the last arrow fly and land to meet its target right between its eyes.
And Apep screeched in pain, writhing and breaking what used to be a temple into pieces. It fell apart, burning bright then disintegrating into the green lake that ran under the boat Bayek stood on.
He tsked, shaking his head. “Such small strength for such a big snake,” he said.
And he let the dream sequence take him to the next place.
Layla woke up.
She knew from the stiffness of her back that she wasn’t on the cot. She also knew that she didn’t remember getting out of the animus. She looked down to her right arm and saw that the needle was still in her skin, that the small tablet on the lid of the animus was still turned on. Her heartbeat was steady, as were her blood sugar levels.
Shit.
She fell asleep in the Animus again.
Layla felt the loss of determination of getting back at Abstergo slowly dwindle into nothing. She knew that isolation and being alone contributed to feeling so hopeless. She was so alone. So utterly alone.
At least on the outside.
But from her eyes, she could see Bayek and Aya, alive and not mummified. She could see them as vividly as she could see them in the Animus.
But of course, they were not the actual Bayek and Aya. They were only hallucinations, only copies of the originals. Layla’s versions. And it all was part of the bleeding effect.
They were figments of her imagination, connected to her thought process and mind. Maybe they stemmed out of the isolation and loneliness that Layla was currently going through.
From the heartbreak of losing Dee.
Layla knew Bayek disapproved of burning bodies, as it went against his religious views and morals. She knew that burning bodies was the only way to get rid of the agents that were starting to grow a stench in the cave.
She also knew her Bayek leaned against the lamp that lit the cave into life. His arms were crossed and, as expected, had a look of utter disapproval across his features.
Great.
Layla stopped looting the second body. “Don’t give me that look,” she said to Bayek.
“What look?” he asked.
“That look you do,” Layla went to the corpse’s right pocket, finding a few piastres inside a wallet. And of course, an Abstergo ID. Sloppy. “That look of...disapproval. I don’t have to explain it to you. You know what I’m talking about.”
“She speaks the truth,” Aya said to Bayek.
“Burning bodies isn’t right,” Bayek protested.
“You know what I am about to do. And you know burning the bodies is the only way of getting rid of them.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right.”
Layla scoffed. “Yeah, well, a lot of things aren’t right about this, pal,” she muttered, and returned to looting the next body.
With the shovel strapped on the wall of the Jeep’s bed that Dee had packed, Layla had already dug a ditch away from the shrubs and trees and most importantly, away from the cave. And one by one, she dragged and dropped the bodies from the agents sent to take her out into it.
Digging had taken all afternoon and evening long, sweat pouring off her forehead and through her clothes. She had taken a leap of faith, (never got old) into the cold cave water for a rinse, changing into her last set of clean clothes for the burning of the bodies.
The small gallon of gasoline intended for the Jeep was doused over the agents. One of the matches intended for lighting up the gas stove was thrown and Layla watched as the bodies burned, burned and burned to the bone.
She could feel Bayek’s memories of Cyrene civilians walking into the campfire, thousands of years ago and hearing their screams of agony, but she didn’t sand would keep the charred remains covered once the fire died down.
She punched into the sand of the ground, listening to the muffled thud and tense surface under her knuckles.
She was so alone.
Without her eyes in the sky, she was alone.
She glanced up into the sky, stars bright and shining. She felt ghost of memories, of Bayek teaching his son about the stars.
She doesn’t have her eyes in the sky anymore.
Oh habibi, I miss you so much.
Salty tears dripped eyelashes, down her cheeks and on the sand.
Layla heard soft footsteps and felt a strong, broad arm gently go around her shoulder. She was pulled into a strong embrace; one she knew wasn’t really there. She knew if she opened her eyes, there wouldn’t be anyone there.
“Shh…” Bayek’s voice and breath felt warm against her skin. Tears wouldn’t stop flowing. And Layla knew he wasn’t really there.
This is not real.
Yet Layla continued sobbing, burying her nose in Bayek’s scarf.
This is not real.
“Shhhh,” Bayek murmured and gently patted her hair. “It’s going to be okay, Layla.”
None of this is real.
Yet the sensation felt so real, so present. Aya was there too, her calloused hand rubbing circles on her back. Layla knew the sensations came from memories, from experiencing both of them in the Animus. From the nights they were both felt broken and found comfort in one another.
Yet...
This was the only contact she’s had in weeks.
Maybe even in months.
Rather than turning it away, Layla welcomed it.
Notes:
Please leave a comment if y'all enjoyed!
Chapter 3: The Independent Variable
Summary:
Nearly three hundred years after the fact, Desmond woke up to tears on his skin, with complex feelings that weren’t his own, the scent of the sea stinging against his nose and the same thought he had countless times before.
Chapter Text
He was just looking to grab some gold and be on his merry way. A map for something that he had no fucking idea about, but the money was money. Excuses were excuses.
It was only when he saw the piles of slaughtered Assassins and heard the loud sobs from the survivors of the massacre when Edward realized that he truly, deeply, fucked up.
They left the island the day after the massacre and buried their men at sea.
Edward sailed in silence, noticing the absence of the three cannon shooters to his right, only one spotter remaining at the crow’s nest, the empty and to his back with the remaining fire barrel twin.
On the left, Jonathan would be sitting across from him, cracking a few jabs to make his brother and Edward laugh. He was the livelier twin, the louder one that reminded Edward a little bit about himself when he was that age, young, reckless and thirsty for an adventure.
Edward only gripped the wheel of his ship tighter, and looked to the horizon ahead. He let the wood bite into his palms and let the salt sting into his eyes.
The sun began to set and the waves crashed against the hull. The screams of the Assassins and the men that died because of his betrayal.
He let Ade take the wheel with no words spoken and went down the stairs into his quarters. And immediately opened a bottle of new rum. He drank and drank of it, taste burning at his throat, and he continued to drink from it.
He drank and muffled any sound he had into his arm, and tried to drown the feeling of self loathing that he knew was there. He had done this many times before. The neck of the bottle felt as familiar as a handle of the ship’s wheel. But the guilty do not deserve to cry. He deserved to burn.
And even when he felt the numbness from the rum, even when he closed his eyes to lay down in his bed to sleep, all he could see was the pile of dead Assassins in Tulum.
Grief, loss, longing. Heartbreak. The shadow of guilt that followed Edward James Kenway throughout his life was somehow here.
Nearly three hundred years after the fact, Desmond woke up to tears on his skin, with complex feelings that weren’t his own, the scent of the sea stinging against his nose and the same thought he had countless times before.
Not this shit again.
At the time he was in Abstergo’s sub-basement, he wasn’t conscious. Or alive. Kind of. Not fully. He was dead. Kind of. He was hydrated, fed, and asleep. Slowly being healed by…something. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t have a chance to ask. Yet there he was; experiencing the life of his ancestor’s ancestor, completing the Kenway trinity that he did not think he would ever complete or even consider that it existed. It all still felt like an endless dream to process.
The Abstergo interns in the floor above him only got the top ten moments and highlights, what was expected of a pirate’s life. The beta reel that was already beta’d and washed over a thousand times to the point it was not even close to the actual story.
But Desmond was the independent variable. He got it all; the victories. The losses. Eddie liked to explore alone in beautiful islands that Desmond knew did not look the same today. Eddie liked to feel his toes in the sand. He drank rum with his friends. He picked up stranded starfish from the beach and would wade into the sea until he reached a reef to let the starfish down to safety.
He pet every friendly dog he could find and let every stray cat slink around his ankles. One time, he chased down a chicken.
Desmond would do that when it got so bad. He thought about the rest of it. The nice memories instead of the drinking binges, the mental breakdowns, seeing blue stain red and lifeless bodies floating in the sea. Like Connor having a specific spot in the Homestead to watch sunsets in. Or how Ezio spat out the first sip of red wine he had when he was eight. Sometimes, the thought of another memory that wasn’t his own could dampen the feeling of burning in his arm.
In the present, he knew he was somewhere in Egypt. He had to push that thought--that fact--into the forefront rather than the backseat of his mind.
Desmond stared up at the metal of the van interior and counted to ten. To fifteen. To twenty. He waited for his heart to stop racing and tried to ground himself in the present.
The smooth hum of the road underneath helped to ground him as Rebecca drove as carefully as she could during the early hours of the morning. There was music quietly playing from an aux cord from Shaun’s phone.
There was no isolated server under Abstergo anymore. No more scientists, no more bulletproof mirror glass.
And no open sea before him, either.
Eventually the van came to a stop at a petroleum station on the side of the road. Chances were that Layla had stopped through at that station before she went to the cave. It wasn’t like he was going to ask about her, though.
It would be their final refueling stop before reaching Layla Hassan’s last known location. Last chance to get snacks and drinks, and to make them last until the next supply pickup in three weeks. The cover of taking supplies to a dig served to be a good front for the mission, as well with them resupplying every once in a while. It felt a little bit like the old times in Italy. Kind of.
How his father managed that level of clearance, he did not exactly know. And he wasn’t exactly interested in finding out. Even after the coma, Bill had the habit of making an answer to a simple question be turned into a lecture.
From what he knew of Layla Hassan’s Abstergo reputation via the stolen memos and intercepted emails from their source, she was a thorn in Abstergo’s side; a model employee turned rogue engineer with an attitude and wildcard work ethic to match. A priority memo spoke about how she breached contract by signing in under a co-worker’s name to snoop around on data servers under the Dorian project.
Then again, Desmond took everything from Abstergo with a tiny grain of salt. For a company known to be a means of Templar propaganda, and also the ones that technically tortured him for a while in the goddamn basement, he was not too keen on believing them.
Not when he knew Layla, his Layla, so well.
He would be lying if he didn’t spend hours re-reading all those notes and memos about her and all the write ups for the trouble she caused. That was Layla Hassan. That was his girl.
Was.
Was.
He deeply fucked up in having her think that he left her with no warning whatsoever.
Then again, he went missing.
In the front seat, Shaun emptied the change of piastres into the small square between the cupholders. The cold brew in their minifridge had been one he was saving for an occasion like this, when his head was hurting and he knew painkillers wouldn’t help to fully alleviate it.
Desmond popped open the can of cold brew and took a sip. Oh, it was heaven. This was heaven. This was peace. This was—
“So, how do you think the conversion talk will go?” Shaun asked.
But, naturally, the devil that is Shaun Hastings did not let him savor it.
Desmond sighed. They’ve been over this.
“Because this is a stealth attempt from your father to recruit her. Right? How’s this for a slogan? ‘Join our cult that is slightly better than the other cult your employer was a front for!’ It sounds nice,” Shaun supplied. “It’s almost convincing.”
“No, this is an attempt to make contact with her,” Desmond said. “We’ve been over this.”
“Right, then. Since we’ve been over this, do remind me of when we will look into the Cairo lead.”
The words were spoken, but Desmond could not think of a meaning to them.
“You know. Cairo. The thing that your father asked you to do, specifically, and allowed you to do this mission.”
Desmond blinked. He thought back to where he was again and that the dizziness came from waking up with the bleeding effect, not because he was stepping on solid ground after being in the sea for over four weeks again.
“Uh...What Cairo lead?”
“Desmond,” Shaun clutched at his chest, feigning to be hurt. “You’re killing me here.”
“One thing at a time. You know me. I do not exist until after I’ve had my coffee.”
“And you’re living up to quite the New York stereotype.”
“Miracle I’m living at all,” Desmond stated but he decided to move on. “But whatever. Run it by me again.”
“So, the initiate’s contact we know.”
“Dorian…The French guy.”
“Right. Arno had stints with the Assassins and not much is known of his Brotherhood career in our records outside my own notes on the project, even with the Parisian team looking into him. The long winded point is...he had high Isu DNA. Very high. He sent the Apple of Eden to Cairo, and he kept the Sword of Eden to himself. But there’s a potential data stream of him returning to Cairo. And that’s it. There’s nothing after that. And when in Egypt....”
“Isn’t Cairo like ten hours from here?” Rebecca asked. She unwrapped a protein bar and crumpled the foil into their traveling trash bag.
“It is,” Shaun said. “What we know so far is that Arno returned to Cairo again at a later time, but there is no record of why and for what reason. Barely anything is known about him. For all we know, he never died.”
“Immortality? Now that would be strange,” Rebecca said.
Desmond thought back to the Observatory and Eddie feeling like he had seen the cosmos. He thought back to Ezio, then Connor, then to 2012 and waking up to cold air and seeing burnt skin.
“Eh, I’ve seen stranger.”
He tugged at his sleeve to cover up the burn from the Apple, from all those years ago.
He tried not to think about it.
Layla had covered up the smoke alarm with a ziploc bag in precaution to Desmond’s cooking.
She always did that.
She sat on the marble counter and swung her bare legs back and forth as Desmond cooked on the stove. She wore her shorts that went to her thigh and her tank top from her college volleyball team.
Desmond was in his work shirt and sweats, halfway changed from the night. He had the morning shift and worked on inventory all day, preparing for the Knicks game that the entire bar went feral on. He skipped those nights, usually. At least his boss didn’t force him to work. He said it was because of his headaches, which was true.
But Desmond was claustrophobic.
Enclosed spaces and crowds freaked him out.
So there he was, at home with his girlfriend who he still could not believe was his girlfriend, cooking something that he liked. There she was, laughing and giving him instructions on what spices to use. Shrimp fried pasta.
Though it was mostly her laughing at her own jokes.
“You’re telling me a shrimp fried this pasta?”
“It’s not funny,” Desmond tried to argue, but Layla’s laugh was contagious.
“It is! You have to admit that!”
“It really isn’t.”
But he knew that she was right. She made the unfunny jokes funnier by just laughing. She made his worst days brighter by just smiling. Who was this girl who he did not deserve?
Instead of arguing with Layla, he merely kissed her smile and went back to cooking.
Kogouma on Chapter 3 Fri 08 Dec 2023 08:10AM UTC
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Seperatedcomasix on Chapter 3 Mon 19 Feb 2024 02:52AM UTC
Last Edited Mon 19 Feb 2024 03:00AM UTC
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esmeme_machine on Chapter 3 Wed 06 Mar 2024 01:15AM UTC
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