Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jack is at home when the world is apparently supposed to end. He watches it all happens and doesn't get one bit of it – one moment it's clear skies as far as the eye can see, and then suddenly, northern lights in the middle of the day. They spread over the sky like a cloak as clouds are blown away, and for a moment the whole world is lit in purple, green and red, as the colours race overhead, the fastest, brightest Aurora Borealis he's ever seen.

So, he thinks, that's weird, and goes to get his phone before it can start to ring – which it does, just as he's putting his fishing gear away. The Northern lights are still going, still bright – he can see them even inside, they're lighting up the whole forest outside his house.

"I take it I'm not the only one seeing this?" Jack says to whoever's calling – and then, the flash.

He's probably lucky he's inside – even then the thing is blindingly bright. The gentle light of the mysterious northern lights is completely overwhelmed by the blinding outpour of just… light. For a moment outside there are no shadows, no shades – just light, as if someone caught a flash of lightning, held it suspended and gave it a slightly yellowish hue. And Jack thinks he knows what it is – he's seen something… a bit too much like it.

"Yep, that's a solar flare," he mutters, to no one on the other end. The line's gone dead. Outside, his truck's hitherto dead car alarm is going wild – the aid conditioning cuts off, as power goes out. The light goes on and on and on… "Well shit."

You must go.

Jack checks his phone screen – yep, it was the mountain – and then goes to get his sunglasses and hat and head off.

Driving under the blinding glare is not the most fun ever, but he manages it – doesn't help that lot of cars are just stalled on the road, their more modern electronics fried. There are lot of car alarms going, sirens in distance, and still somehow everything seems… too quiet. Radio doesn't work, either, and phone lines refuse to connect.

It's not a full disruption, but there's definitely some magnetosphere shenanigans going on in the atmosphere. And damn, if the sun keeps on going on like this, the electromagnetic disturbances are probably the least of their worries.

He times the thing as he drives, going by the moment when the call from SGC cut short. At 17 minutes, 16 seconds, the flare starts wearing off, the sun still flashing sort of worryingly but the blue of the sky becomes clear again, and yep, there's the northern lights, still going strong. Jack chances a glance at them through the windscreen and then pulls his sunglasses firmly back on and puts the pedal to the metal, weaving past stalled vehicles.

The mountain is abuzz – there's cars lining the front, everyone having raced to work apparently. Daniel is there too, squinting at the sky through sunglasses from under a dorky sun hat.

"Jack."

"Daniel. What's going on?"

"You know about as much as I do – I headed back the moment the northern lights started. The front door's jammed – the system went into automatic lockdown," Daniel says and makes a face at the sky. "That was a solar flare, right?"

"Looked like it," Jack says, peering at the sky and then looking down. "Don't look at it."

" You looked at it."

"I glanced at it, you're staring at it. Didn't your parents ever tell you not to look directly at the sun?" Jack asks and shakes his head. "Carter's inside, I assume?" She has shorter trip to make and he can't see her anywhere topside.

"I assume so – she said she had some calculations to go through," Daniel says and then looks up at the sky. "Is it just me or should that have been – bad?" he asks and then motions at the northern lights. "And also, that, is that normal? I'm no astronomer, but that doesn't seem normal. And it started before the solar flare too."

Jack glances at the sky – not at the sun – and then shakes his head, turning to the doors. The airmen stationed there are holding people off. "Gentlemen," Jack greets them. "What's the situation?"

"Sir, the electronics shorted out," one of them says. "We're working on getting the backup running right now and –"

There's a clank, as the massive blast door unlocks from inside, before moment later starting to open.

"Stay back, people!" one of the other airmen call to the civilian scientists filing to enter. "The system is down and we will need to check ID's – get your ID ready and form an orderly line –"

You must hurry.

"Daniel," Jack calls, before pushing to the front and, with the perks of rank, makes it in first.

Outside, the northern lights finally start fading away, the solar flare finally passing.

So. It's not everyday you find out that you and everyone and everything you have ever known should have just died. It's only like, once, maybe twice a year thing. And honestly, Jack thought they were full up on the world-ending-events thing already for the year.

"Prometheus' shields barely held," Carter reports to a room of rather stunned SGC personnel, Hammond at the head scowling with confusion and concern. "Hundreds of satellites were just vaporised – including all the L1 point satellites, which gave barely any warning on time. And the electromagnetic disturbance was pretty much planet-wide. I wouldn't be surprised if any moment now we will start getting reports about power plant failures – certainly most of the power grids must be down, globally."

"I thought this was supposed to be a mild solar event," Hammond says.

"Wait, we knew about this?" Jack asks. "Why didn't I know about this?"

Carter gives him a confused look. "Sir, it's been all over the news for two weeks now," she says and then looks at Hammond. "And yes, it was predicted to be mild – some electromagnetic activity at the poles was expected, but nothing of this magnitude."

"And what was the magnitude of the flare?" Daniel asks. "Because I was out there, it didn't look mild."

"No," Carter agrees, shaking her head, her eyes wide. "No, that was a superflare. This – this was a world-ending event."

Before any of them have the time to even begin to digest that, Walter rushes into the room, saying, "Sir, Colonel Pendergast is on the line – he says they have something you need to hear immediately."

Hammond nods and gets up, all of SG1 following to hear it. The general takes the call in the control room, where everyone is wildly trying to get their systems back running properly – but most of whom stall to listen. "This is General Hammond, what's the situation on orbit, Colonel?"

"Sir, it doesn't look good, but that's not why I'm calling," Pendergast says. "I think this takes priority. Sir, we're detecting energy readings from the planet below – we picked up some of it just prior to the flare."

"What kind of energy readings?" Hammond asks, frowning. "A solar flare of this magnitude could cause catastrophic failures in any number of systems – was it nuclear?"

Aw shit, Jack hadn't even thought of that – what a global sorta-EMP might do to the nuclear arsenal. Holy shit, that's a scary thought.

"No, sir, it was – we think it was alien," Pendergast says. "We only managed to properly catch the tail end of it, but our scientists here say it read like – like a shield, sir."

"A shield?"

"Yes, sir, a ship's shield – an energy barrier which spread over the – the whole world, sir. Our people up here think that was what the northern lights were about – it was the… the energy shield."

There's a moment of silence, while Jack shares looks with his team and Hammond quickly reorients himself. "Do you have coordinates for the origin of the energy readings?" he asks, turning to look at SG1.

"Yes, sir – I'm sending the coordinates now. It was in New York, sir – near a small town named Turin."

Hammons arches his brows at Daniel who shakes his head, wide eyed – apparently nothing overly exciting about Turin, archaeology-wise. "Very good, Colonel," Hammond says so the microphone. "Is your beaming technology online and is it safe to use after the electromagnetic activity?"

"We're running diagnostics now – will know in a couple of minutes."

"Good, keep us posted," Hammond says and nods to Jack.

You must go.

"Gear up?" Jack guesses – he's still wearing a hoodie.

"Looks like you're heading to Turin," Hammond says. "Whatever it is, if we can detect it, others might also be able to – and I don't want any offshoot or NID or Trust or whatever they are calling themselves these days getting their hands to it first. Get there, find out what it was and secure it."

"Gearing up it is," Jack says with a nod.

So, not only was the world going to end, but either someone knew about it, was prepared for it, and somehow had the ability to protect an entire planet from the wrath of a star … or they're dealing with some ancient alien doing them a solid with automatic protection from probably beyond the grave. Jack's money is on the Ancients.

"Either way," Jack mutters. "Not how expect to spend my christmas break."

"It is not Christmas yet," Teal'c comments calmly.

"And look on the brighter side," Daniel comments. "We're not dead."

"You know, for the bright side to work, you would have to have a dark side," Jack says. "I'm not sure it applies here. Like, we didn't even know this was coming. So there's the side where we live and then there' the side where we all die in a super solar flare. How the hell did no one see this coming?"

Carter clears her throat. "Obviously someone did," she points out.

"I would've preferred heads up, how about you?"

"Whatever stopped the solar flare seems to have been immensely powerful," Teal'c comments. "No Goa'uld has such technology – and it seems unlikely that people of Earth would, either. As such, it is likely whoever set it up was not from Earth."

"Your point?" Jack asks.

Teal'c blinks at him. "Perhaps they did not deem it important to inform us of the protection's existence. Or could not."

Jack scoffs. It's all sensible, and it's not like there's actually that much to complain about being saved from a world-ending events, but damn, he's cranky. He doesn't like this, any of this. He does not like his day being ruined by world-ending events. Sue him.

Turin doesn't seem like much. It's a woodsy nature area, hilly and a bit mountainous, with plenty of rivers and little ponds, with Lake Ontario just a hop and a skip away. Prometheus drops them right in the thick of it, as close to the energy readings as they safely can – something about the location's general magnetic activity made the technicians a bit twitchy, so it's a good walk away from where whatever it was started.

Which is how they find that there's definitely been movement in the area. And not by flying saucers or anything sensible like that.

"Tire tracks," Carter reports, examining the mosses and grasses off the beaten path.

"These seem very recent," Teal'c adds, kneeling down to check them. "And it seems like they left in a great hurry."

Jack glances over – yeah, he can see it. They wore grooves into the moss layer by how quickly they hit the gas – the vehicle even skidded. It's a small wonder they didn't hit a tree. "Recent like, last half an hour recent?"

"Seems like it," Teal'c says, and looks ahead.

"Looks like there's something up ahead," Daniel comments and motions to the side of a hill. "Bet you anything that's a cave."

"No bet," Jack says and grabs his p90 tighter, aiming ahead. "Carter, you take the rear. Teal'c, with me. Daniel, don't touch anything."

It's testament to how weird all of this is that Daniel doesn't even complain. They move as a unit towards the cave mouth, to find that, yeah, there's definitely been activity here, recent and very modern. There's cables running in the cave, scaffolding, platforms for moving things on wheels over rough terrain. Someone had set up a shop here – and left in a damn hurry.

"Don't like this, don't like this at all," Jack says. He'd expected like… ancient automatic security system. He didn't expect an established hideout of very modern equipment. Damn, he's too used to dealing with threats off world. "Carter, call Prometheus, get us some backup down here."

"On it," Carter says, reaching for her EMP proof Asgard-based communicator.

By all rights they should wait for backup, but –

Time is short.

Jack nods and presses onward. "Let's go," and SG1 falls into their usual positions around him, as they move to enter the cave.

Daniel stares at the walls in wonder as they go, murmuring, "I think this cave was used by native Americans – look at those markings – but the carvings beneath, those don't look like anything characteristics to the tribes in this area… and see those clean lines? Incredible…"

Jack ignores him, keeping his eyes up front. There's light ahead. Not a natural light. Yeah, he doesn't like this one damn bit.

They come to a cave, a big-ass cavern of what looks a lot like volcanic rock. Jack only notices that at all is because the rock of the tunnel starts turning into goddamn obsidian and then the cave opens and the thing across the cavern takes all their attention.

There's a glow, obviously very alien… something across the space. A field of white shimmers there, and there's sources of light somewhere in the rock beyond it, and more light past that, and yeah, this is no normal cave.

"Doesn't look like something Goa'uld built," Jack says, tight.

"Yeah, no, this is something… something else," Daniel answers. "It's a little different – but look at the shape of those columns, and the wall there? It looks a little like the architecture on Heliopolis – Ernest's Planet."

The things Daniel remembers – most Jack remembers from the place is that it sucked.

"Sir," Carter says quietly. "Look – computers."

And not just computers. Computers, chairs, beds – it really looks like someone set shop here for a while, for weeks maybe. There's even bags of garbage to the side – with food wrapping sticking out of one of the bags.

"We can deal with that later – I think the big alien looking thingy over there takes the priority," Jack says tightly. "Come on."

Together they move across the broken floor of the cavern, Jack peering occasionally into the holes open in it. This place, whatever it was, has gone through a wringer – and why is there lava rock everywhere? New York isn't exactly known for it's volcanic activity.

Up a set of steps, Jack can't tell if they're stone or metal or both somehow, and to the weird mechanism. The white lit space is beyond them.

"Carter?" Jack asks, and she quickly goes to check.

"I don't know the technology, sir," she admits. "It doesn't look familiar at all. I'm getting some energy readings from it, but…" she takes a stone from the floor and throws it into the white. Nothing happens – the stone falls, clatters on the floor, and stalls. "I think it's been… turned off, whatever it is."

"Some sort of shield, perhaps," Teal'c comments, looking at the white shimmer. "The mechanism of it seems to be still be active."

"Got something here," Daniel says, and picks up something from the floor. A flat ring on a leather strap – like someone's necklace, except for the obviously alien designs on it. "I think I found the key to the front door," he comments, looking between the ring necklace and ring-shaped spot on the weird shield mechanism thing.

"Yeah, and I think I can see the guest," Jack says and moves ahead.

There's a body, lying not far from them – a man, it looks like, wearing jeans and a white hood. He's lying spread eagle and awkward on the edge of some sort of pedestal – there's tech of some sort there, kind of weird half-podium thing, and a sort of bowl underneath it.

The man doesn't move, and after making sure there's no one else in the area, Jack crouches down to check for pulse.

"Looks like he's been burned," Daniel comments with a hiss of sympathetic pain. "Look at his hand."

Jack digs two fingers onto the unconscious man's neck, feeling and –

It's not a pulse. Hell, it's not even something he gets from the guy – it's more like suddenly there's voice in his ear, or like someone's put hand on the back of his head, pushing at him, urging him to do something and Jack suddenly realises that he really needs to be doing CPR right now.

So that's what he does, before he even realises what he's doing – he swings the P90 behind his back and moves to resuscitate, kneeling over the guy and beginning to work on compressions. His team doesn't question it, they only act – Daniel moving to do rescue breaths while Carter gets back on the com, calling for Prometheus, telling them to prepare for a beam up – and that they need a medic urgently.

In the corner of his eye Jack sees a shimmer of white, and as he puts all of his strength into getting the unconscious guy's heart beating again, he swears he can hear someone sighing with relief.

The doctor in Prometheus' medical pronounces that the guy will survive – but that depending on how long his brain was without oxygen, there might be side effects. The guy's arm is damaged too – they get some funky readings from it but no radiation damage, so far. Whatever happened to him, it got pretty damn close to killing him. The guy is put on life support, just in case.

"He's gotten a massive shock of… some kind," Carter announces later. "Whatever that thing was, using it wasn't without its risks, apparently."

"Wonder if he knew what he was doing?" Daniel murmurs. "I mean, if what we think happened did happen, he saved the world, right? Almost at the cost of his life. It's…" he shakes his head in wonder.

"Yes, it's very damn impressive – what I want to know is who he is, how he knew about any of this, and what the hell that place is," Jack mutters. "Any idea when he might wake up?"

"After the shock he took to his system?" Carter asks.

"We'll have him transported to the SGC as soon as the doctor clears it," Colonel Pendergast says. "In the meanwhile, we'll secure the site. There's already been some activity in the area."

"What kind of activity?" Jack asks warily. "And do we have anything on anyone, you know… leaving the area in haste, after the deed was done and they left their guy to apparently die?"

"Nothing on that, sir, but we did intercept a van making their way to the area – just some tourists, who wanted to get higher up to have look at what the solar flare had done to the area," Pendergast says. "Nothing to be worried about, but just in case my men have set up a perimeter in the area."

Jack nods, chewing on his nail. "I'm going to go make a report to Hammond, recommend we get a couple of teams from SGC to the site, and some tech experts," he says. "Right. Call me if the hoodie guy twitches."

Chapter Text

Six hours later they have a lot of questions and not a lot of facts.

The damage done by the solar flare was catastrophic, there's no way around it. Though not quite as severe as full-on global EMP, it's not that far off. Power grids are still down all over the world, the number of fried electronics was somewhere in the billions, and already the damage was estimated at trillions and more. GPS is down, satellites have been fried, a whole chunk of the goal infrastructure is just gone. And that's not even counting the amount of damage done to more sensitive tech, like hospital equipment and, oh… weapons systems.

"This is not a good position to be in, people, with enemies like the Goa'uld out there," Hammond summarises the situation.

Funny thing, Jack had always figured they were kind of helpless, here on the good old Earth, but – now they're even more helpless. The international space station is gone too, which leaves Prometheus as their last eyes and ears in the neighbourhood. With communications stuttering at best worldwide…

"Do we have any idea of the number of casualties?" Daniel asks quietly.

"Nothing concrete yet, but it's estimated at hundreds of thousands," Hammond says grimly. "Potentially higher – not to mention the number of eye injuries caused by the flash. Now, what's the word on the site you uncovered?"

"Carter?" Jack asks and nodding she stands up and activates a screen for a little PowerPoint magic.

"After we secured the individual found at the site, we've spent time investigating and cataloguing everything we found," Carter says, opening with a wide shot of the cavern. "It's obviously a deliberately constructed building, likely a remnant of a larger structure – there are adjacent chambers to the main one, some with machinery and stairs, most in various states of collapse. Daniel can tell you more about the architecture, but the building material is like nothing I've ever seen before. I've brought samples for further study, but it's a some sort of alloy, temperature resistant."

She changed picture, to a piece of some sort of alien tech. "Though the technology present is unknown to us, it seems to work within familiar set of rules. I think these," she shows a picture of a row of cracked crystal chips, "are a part of crystal-based information storage, the sort Goa'uld use – but much more advanced. SG4 also found these," another picture of weird crystal blocks, all with very faint inner light within them, "which we estimated to be power sources for the main device – they're all almost depleted now, though. We brought them to study as well."

"And what of the main device itself?" Hammond asks.

Carter flips through pictures. "Whatever it was, it was initially protected by an energy barrier, here – the barrier is still active, though it just been opened. The main device we believe is this – this was how it was controlled or activated."

The picture she shows is the weird blocky podium over the bowl divot. She eyes it for a moment and then admits, "I have no idea what it is or how it works, sir – it's completely dead now, and nothing we did produced any hint of activity from it. But I think going by the location we found our John Doe at, it was manually operated."

"The John Doe who's still unconscious," Hammond murmurs, thoughtful. "Anything on the loose electronics you found?"

Carter draws a breath and then opens another screen. "All the computers were destroyed – each and every one was installed with a manual kill switch. Press of a button and container of acid destroyed all the hard drives – which was done shortly before we arrived. We did find two things of interest though. Firstly, this."

Jack frowns a little at the gismo they'd found. It's a sort of weird backrest thing that was left sitting on its own on a slab of volcanic rock, turning it into the weirdest and worst sun chair he'd ever seen. That wasn't the interesting thing, though.

Carter motions at the back rest thing. "These electrodes here are for scanning brain activity – we've barely started examining them, but they're easily the most advanced electroencephalography sensors I have ever seen. And, here," another picture, close up, "an IV line, which runs directly into the chair and then back into the person sitting on it. Whatever this thing is for, it's designed to constantly analyse the blood of the occupant sitting on it."

"And judging by the marks on our John Doe's arm, he'd used the thing a lot," Daniel adds. "Granted, the scars are barely visible under the burn."

Hammond nods. "And the other thing?"

"Our John Doe's phone," Carter says, a bit more subdued now. "It had no SIM card, and by looks of it wasn't used for communications – but it has some pictures in it… and audio files. This one was made earlier today."

Sam opens a picture of a group of people – their John Doe, an older man in two piece suit, a young woman in a jumpsuit and younger bespectacled man sitting in a chair front of the rest. Then Carter plays the audio.

So this will be a short one, dad. Just ah, something to remember me by if things go south… if I don't make it out of the Temple today. I've tried to be optimistic about all of this, but… I uh… I just can't. I think spending all this time in Connor's memories had made me anxious. His story is so painful, in so many ways… Still, he never lost hope. Even when his faith in others eroded.

I can only believe that what we're doing is the right thing, that I can stop this disaster. I know this. I mean, the technology is there, just waiting for us to use it. I'm the final piece of the puzzle. Something in my genes, in my memories, some final piece of code to switch the whole thing on. That's why I'm here. That's why they brought me here, only, uh… I don't, I don't know what I have to give up in return. My sanity, my life? It's… it's impossible to say.

I do know this. Our battle with the Templars won't be over. Whatever is inside that temple is not an ending. It's just another chapter in this endless story. and it will be your job, your and mom's and Shaun's and Rebecca's, to keep turning pages.

You know, I keep thinking about something Orson Wells once said. Something like, uh... "If, if you want a happy ending, it all depends on where you stop telling your story." Maybe that's the answer, that's how people keep marching forward.

If something goes wrong in there and I don't make it out alive, when you tell my story, years from now, please… tell them the one where I lost my way, but then I found it again, just in time to save the world, and – and just… end it there.

That will keep everyone smiling.

Goodbye, dad. Say hello to mom for me. Tell her I love her, okay? Tell her I love you both... I love you both.

For a moment no one says anything as the file ends and the man's voice peters out. Jack stares at nothing for a moment, just letting it settle in.

"Do we have a name for the John Doe?" Daniel then asks, quiet.

Carter shakes her head. "No ID, no records – nothing's coming up. We're running his prints, but so far nothing."

"So no way to let his dad know he's not dead?" Daniel asks.

"We might have to wait until he wakes up," Carter agrees sadly.

Jack, trying not to imagine what it might feel like, getting a message like that from your kid, clears his throat. "Some interesting buzzwords there," he comments, casting a look at Hammond.

"Yes," the General says and looks over the team. "During your missions, have any of you heard anything of Templars?"

They all shake their heads, saying "No, sir," and "Never heard of 'em," and "I have not heard of such group," except, of course, Daniel.

"Well, uh. Templars, if he meant the Knights Templar, are a known order here on Earth – they begun in 1119, having a major role in the Crusades. Religious military order, sanctioned by the church, the usual. It's not precisely my usual area of study, but there's still a lot of rumours about, you know… Templar secret society, controlling the world, that sort of thing," he says.

Just what they need, anther shady secret society trying to conquer the world.

"I can look into it," Daniel offers before adding, "But before that – the temple architecture. I think it's Ancient."

That catches everyone's attention and quickly Daniel jumps up to take over the presentation.

"The writing, what little we found, was different – it looks like it had the same roots, but I couldn't even begin to read it," he says before bringing up the pictures, some old, some much newer and higher quality. "But here, here and here – the designs match not only those in Heliopolis – but also the designs in the columns in P4X-639."

He looks at them excitedly, while Jack's stomach sinks. He doesn't remember that many planet designations by heart, but that one's burned into his memory. "The damn time loop planet?" he demands.

Teal'c too makes a stink face at it – or rather, he arches a single eyebrow in a very significant and stink-eyed manner.

"Well – I'm not saying it's the same thing," Daniel days quickly. "But I think it proves the temple's origins. And, I mean, we knew that Ancients used to live on Earth – now we know it wasn't only around Antarctica. And – and the John Doe mentioned Them – and it didn't sound to me like he was just talking about his driver."

"And there was a mention of DNA," Carter says meaningfully.

Hammond hums. "Very well – continue your research," he says. "And look into the Templars as well, doctor Jackson," he adds. "Let's try and find out what we're dealing with here. In the meanwhile, O'Neill, Teal'c – keep an eye on our guest. Let me know the moment he wakes up – or if you find something out."

Jack browses the news while on watch. The John Doe still has a gas mask on, and an IV drip just in case he might go into a burn-related shock, but aside from that, nothing much happens.

The guy's DNA is still being run, and the doctors have hooked him into EEG – not the weird fancy one from the cave, but their own regular old EEG with wires and everything. Sadly – or thankfully? – there's nothing exciting on it. The guy is completely out.

So, Jack is reading the news while Teal'c is playing with a knife found on the guy.

"Are such concealed weapons commonplace on Earth?" Teal'c asks while snapping the weird blade in and out if its mechanical sheath. "I have never seen anything like this, included in our assigned gear."

"Novelty knives are dime a dozen – not very useful in the long run though, so the military users regular old mass-produced knives," Jack says dismissively. "Cheap to make, easy to use and reliable. Delicate thing like that is going to break the first time you use it."

"The design seems remarkably durable to me, O'Neill," Teal'c says. "And this had seen some use. There is blood on it."

Jack looks up at that. "Oh," he says. "Well, bag it and take it to someone for them to take swabs on, just in case. Honestly though, it's more likely this guy accidentally stabbed his own hand than anyone else."

"He did mention a battle in his message."

Jack sighs and puts his phone down. "He did, didn't he?" he murmurs and runs a hand over his eyes. "What do you think about that thing he mentioned, about memories. Spending time in someone else's memories."

"I think the person he named was Connor."

"Yeah, that – what do you think about it?" Jack asks.

Teal'c puts the weird mechanical blade in a plastic bag. "I'm afraid I do not know, O'Neill."

"Hmm," Jack answers. Outside, half of the world had declared a state of emergency, and the other half had gone completely dark. The national guard is being deployed all over the country. They had no less than eight major explosion scares since the solar flare – and so far they'd been the lucky ones. At least a dozen power plants worldwide had just failed.

And here they are, just watching this guy. It feels weird – weirder still that there's so little they can even do. This seems like an incident they should be able to do something about – this is just the sort of damage aliens might cause. Except they didn't. It was just the Sun.

Universe is goddamn scary at times. You think you've finally gotten some handle on it and then, boom, super solar flare.

There's a noise from the room that's audible to the observatory – their John Doe, groaning. He mutters something, and the EEG for a moment goes wild. Doctors rush in, Fraiser going immediately for the pen light and aiming it into the guy's eyes.

"Sir, can you hear me?" she asks, taking off the breathing mask. "Please stay calm – you have suffered a massive shock and were knocked unconscious. Can you tell me your name?"

Jack stands up, as does Teal'c. There's two airmen in the room, in case the guy tries something, but if need be, Jack and Teal'c can be in the room in a few seconds.

The John Doe groans, closing his eyes and then turning his head away while Janet forces his eyelid open to check his pupil. "Hey," he says in a tone of complaint – definitely the same guy as the one who'd made the message.

"I'm just checking your pupil response," the doctor says. "Can you tell me your name?"

The man squints at her and then around her at the other doctors, at the airmen. His eyes find Jack and Teal'c too and Jack's surprised to find they are a vivid glimmering gold in colour.

"Have we checked if this guy got a Goa'uld?" Jack asks uneasily.

"Doctor Faiser did an ultrasound," Teal'c says.

"You get anything from – you know –" Jack makes a wiggly finger motion.

Teal'c hesitates.

"This guy has naquadah in him?" Jack asks with dismay.

"It's not the same sensation – but there is… something," Teal'c says.

"Where am I?" the John Doe asks, watching them uneasily.

"Can you tell me your name first?" Faiser asks again.

The man looks at her. "Can you?" he asks dubiously.

The doctor smiles. "My name is Janet Faiser – I am a doctor here."

"And where is...?" the man trails off, staring towards the door and for a moment saying nothing. Quickly Jack turns his head to see, but – nothing there. The door is locked and shut.

And yet it almost feels like –

"Huh," the John Doe says, blinking and looking at Janet. "Um. Why am I here?"

Janet, to her credit, doesn't even hesitate. "What's the last thing you remember?" she asks.

The guy just sighs at her. "Come on. People I don't know kidnapped me from wherever and took me to a place I don't know. Are you going to tell me anything or am I held captive here? Just to make things clear right at the start."

"You weren't kidnapped, you were rescued," Jack says to the microphone of the observatory. "I did CPR on you myself – you're welcome. Now be good and tell the nice lady your name so that we can all stop playing paranoid." In hindsight he adds, "Oh and I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill – with two els – and this is Teal'c – with one el. Nice to meet you." Teal'c nods along with his words.

The John Doe arches his brows, glances at the doorway and then says. "Oh. Okay," he says. "Um. I'm Desmond Miles. Nice to meet you too."

Jack leans back to his chair, satisfied and throwing a look at him, Fraiser continues her examination of the young man, asking questions to affirm that the guy is in full control of his faculties and that he has fine motor control down. Jack gives a call to Hammond while it happens, asking permission to question the guy.

"How is his temperament?" Hammond asks.

Jack peers at the somewhat wide-eyed but not that put off patient as he endures Faiser's check up. "Honestly, not bad."

"Then proceed – with care, Colonel."

"I'm always careful, sir. I'm the soul of bedside manner."

Somehow Hammond manages to convey a look through the phone before hanging up on him. Rude.

"Now, your hand," Fraiser is saying in the medical room. "We have it under localised anaesthetic, which is likely why you haven't noticed yet – but you've suffered some damage…"

The guy is pretty dang calm, as they examine the arm and he pokes at the skin. In the end all he says is, "Huh. Okay." And nothing else. Chill dude.

"You sure he's not in shock?" Jack asks quietly when Janet lets him and Teal'c into the room.

"Not according to his vitals," the doctor says. "But let me know if something comes up."

Jack nods and slips in, Teal'c close at his heels. With a nod he sends the airmen away from the room, leaving them alone with Desmond Miles.

The guy scratches at his bandaged arm, watching them. "So, Desmond – can I call you Desmond?" Jack asks, to which the guy shrugs. "What do you know about solar flares, Desmond?"

Desmond hesitates and settles his hands in his lap. "Not much. This isn't a real hospital, is it?"

"No, it's a medical ward on a military base," Jack says – and there it is again, sort of golden patina in the guy's eyes, not exactly like that of a Goa'uld, but – it's something. And then it's gone again.

Creepy.

"Okay," Desmond says slowly. "Not – what I expected."

"Going by the message in your phone, you expected the worst," Jack says and pulls up a chair. "And if we had been just a minute later, I think you would have been right."

"You have my phone?"

"We got a lot of your stuff from that cave temple place," Jack agrees. "I can probably get the phone back to you, though I must inform you, photography on base is strictly forbidden except under special dispensation from the General. This includes filming video and recording audio," Jack says, and when Desmond just stares at him, he asks, "You wanna tell me about the temple and what you did there, Desmond?"

"Not particularly," the young man admits.

"Tough luck. We know you did something. We also know if you hadn't done what you did, we'd all be toast. And somehow you knew what was going to happen before it did, early enough to obviously prepare for it," Jack points out. "And we'd really like to know how."

Desmond sighs and leans his head back against the cushions. "I don't suppose I can plead the fifth and ask for a lawyer?"

"You'd have to have a legal identity for that, I think," Jack says apologetically. "But you're not under arrest, Desmond – see, we, we like our heroes. Heroes are nice to have around. So why don't you tell us something and maybe we can get in touch with your mom and dad and let them know you're okay?"

Desmond blinks at that and then looks at him incredulously. "What, seriously?" he asks. "You'd let me do that?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Jack asks.

Desmond stares at him almost confusedly for a moment and then looks away – and Jack thinks he sees something white in the corner of his eye. When he turns there's nothing there, and Desmond quickly snaps his eyes back to Jack.

"Can I get out of this room?" Desmond asks warily.

Jack gauges his temperament. Tell him no and they'd get nothing out of the kid, he can just feel it. And not even because he'd shut down – no, there's something about him that tells Jack that interrogation will never work on him.

The kid is, even when confused, too calm.

"What the hell," Jack says. "If the doc and the General clear it, I'll show you around myself."

Chapter Text

DesmondMiles moves without a sound. Not even the tread of his footwear makes noise. The only sound he makes is conscious – when he speaks, when he draws or exhales for emphasis, or when he sighs, and that is all. Even when he scratches at his bandaged arm, he does so with minimal disturbance. It is an effortless bit of stealth he does not pay any attention to.

If Teal'c did not know better, he'd say this man has the training of an Ashrak. He has only witnessed very few Ashrak in action, fewer still in leisurely motion, but it is the same mastery of movement that DesmondMiles seems to possess without thought. And yet, for all that it should be unnerving, it is not. DesmondMiles does not feel threatening in the slightest.

Perhaps that should be all the more reason for caution.

"And this," O'Neill says. "Is the mess hall."

"Impressive," DesmondMiles says, scratching at the edge of the bandage, where a hint of darkened skin shows past the gauze. He does not seem to be in pain, only mildly inconvenienced – but he is also not moving the fingers of his right hand. The lack of alarm or unease concerning the injury is interesting. Sign of further training, perhaps – or reduced emotional capacity.

Teal'c has heard of warriors who had their brain chemistry – either willingly or not – changed to reduce reactions of fear, discomfort, displeasure… DesmondMiles' ease and lack of concern could be a sign of it. And yet, O'Neill is at ease with him as well – and O'Neill is usually a most keen observer for emotional disturbances… whether he shows it or not.

Teal'c looks between them, his hands behind his back, and he sees no reason to be worried.

"Hungry?" O'Neill asks.

"I could eat," DesmondMiles agrees. "I could really, really go for a burger now."

"No burger, sadly – pasta, it looks like," O'Neill says and claps the young man on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll show you how to sneak an extra cup of jello without anyone noticing. Teal'c, you want some?"

"I am fine, O'Neill, thank you," Teal'c says and stays near the middle of the mess hall, observing the movements of DesmondMiles at a distance. The young man looks around, and Teal'c can see him marking his exits, glancing at people, checking them, before his eyes turn back to O'Neill without giving away a thing. Still no aggressive movements, and his facial expression is calm, even benign.

Teal'c thinks of the blade he has in his pocket now, to be taken to a laboratory – a concealed blade with enough inherent thrust in its mechanisms to pierce armour. O'Neill dismissed it as a novelty, a trinket – but it is not. The blade is finely made and the mechanism is without gaps. It was also, judging by the marks of wear upon it, tested in lethal use. It is not a honourable warrior's weapon worn in the open, perhaps – but a weapon it is, nonetheless.

Teal'c hums, wondering. Some intricacies of Earth's societal structures still escape him – there are few planets with as complex a population, government and economy as Earth, or as many laws. It has made the planet something of a maze of right or wrong, and where these concept overlapped. And yet…

DesmondMiles is undoubtedly a killer – a killer, and a saviour of a planet.

It would not be a problem on many other worlds – his greater deeds would triumph over whatever misdeeds he had committed. On Earth… On Earth with its complex ethical, legal and moral systems, he might be a murderer, regardless. He is not a soldier with that justification for death, nor does he seem to be the officer of the law. A weapon such as concealed blade might be used in self-defence, certainly – but with the young man's training and the hints of his capability…

Teal'c moves towards the table O'Neill chooses to sit at, DesmondMiles sitting across from him. "Will you be moving from the mess hall, O'Neill?"

"Not while I'm eating," O'Neill says, giving him a look. "What's up?"

"I intend to visit laboratory 8, it should not take more than a moment."

"We'll be here," O'Neill says, and with a bow of his head Teal'c moves away, to head back out of the mess hall – and deliver the hidden blade for blood analysis. He has no doubt it has more blood on it than that of DesmondMiles. Indeed, if it had any blood from the young man, he'd be very surprised.

"Teal'c!"

"DanielJackson," Teal'c greets, pausing in the hall.

"I thought you were watching the John Doe with Jack," DanielJackson says, blinking at him – he has an armload of books, not an unusual sight.

"I am only making a small detour to laboratory 8 and will then join them again – they are in the mess hall," Teal'c says. "And the John Doe's name is DesmondMiles – he and O'Neill are having dinner."

"Oh. Why didn't anyone tell me?" DanielJackson demands.

"O'Neill wishes to put the young man at ease, rather than overwhelm him with questions," Teal'c supposes. "And it seems to be working so far."

"Um, okay. That's. Yeah," DanielJackson says, looking at the books. "Um, what – what's he like?"

Teal'c considers how to answer, settling on, "He seems like a calm and capable young man," and adding, "He is handling his situation with great composure."

"Any hint of him being… I don't know. Part of a secret organisation, maybe?" DanielJackson asks, making a face and then lifting the books. "See, I've been looking into this Templar thing – had some books about the older stuff, but there's been a lot of newer stuff which has been collecting, and, well, the conspiracies go back decades of course, and…"

Teal'c continues walking down the corridor, and as expected DanielJackson follows, still talking.

The story of Templars seems a far-reaching one. A religious military order serving a higher power – a god, but not a Goa'uld. They made war in what was a disputed Holy Land, seemingly for centuries, before going to fight for other causes, in other lands.

"They were supposed to have been abolished in 1314, when their grandmaster was burned at a stake – fun part of Earth history, that," DanielJackson says with a grimace. "But there's always been stories and rumours, and people love their conspiracies. Lately though, like, this last year or so, there's been more and more stories. Like this one. You know about the DIA launch, right? The satellite that blew up, killed I think dozen people?"

"It was on the television, yes," Teal'c agrees calmly.

"So, there's a rumour circulating online, that it was it was caused by experimental Templar-funded technology that was stowed away on the satellite and which caused the crash and the explosion," DanielJackson says and gives him a look like it's either a joke or funny otherwise. "Your usual conspiracy nonsense."

"Like the moon landing being fake," Teal'c says, arching a brow.

"Yeah, there's one about that, too, actually. Apparently Templars were also behind the Apollo program because there was piece of alien technology on the moon they wanted. Which they knew about… somehow."

Teal'c frowns. Considering Earth history, it isn't unlikely. In many systems, natural satellites would of course be used as well, and Earth was under Goa'uld occupation for a fairly long time. "Surely such claims should be investigated."

"Well, it's not like we've had the ability to go to the moon willy-nilly before," DanielJackson comments, snorting. "Might change now that we have Prometheus up and running. Hell, maybe we'll eventually get to make a pit stop – that would be something, wouldn't it, walking on the surface of the Moon."

Teal'c, who has walked on surfaces of many moons, simply nods. "Indeed."

"Anyway, considering how the whole Seth cult thing turned out, I guess it's not something we can overlook now," DanielJackson murmurs, eying his books and then making a face. "Do you think it would be alright if I went to talk to him? I want to ask him about this. And also the Ancient Temple. Is Jack asking him about it?"

"You would have to ask him," Teal'c says calmly.

"Right," DanielJackson says, makes a face and then nods. "I'm going to do that."

Teal'c hums in agreement, watching him go, before entering the laboratory to file DesmondMiles' knife to be tested and examined.

Eventually, DesmondMiles is brought to meet General Hammond. They meet in the conference room overlooking the Stargate – with the blast doors shut, of course, and all actual evidence of the Stargate removed. By that time, Teal'c has been observing the young man interacting with O'Neill and DanielJackson for the better part of an hour.

Not much of the actual event has been discussed, or DesmondMiles' part in it – following O'Neill's lead, DanielJackson had withheld his questions concerning the mysterious temple or its origins. Instead the discussion had been of the Templar history, and their demise, with DesmondMiles showing great interest in the subject and then greater thoughtfulness. They are still talking about it as they enter the conference room.

"Really? They were burned at the stake?" the young man asks, thoughtful.

"Well, technically it was a scaffold, but yes. King Philip the Fourth of France was indebted to the Templars – plus the support for the Crusades had been diminishing, the whole thing wasn't that popular anymore," DanielJackson explains excitedly, the way he does with most historical facts. "Expensive business, Crusading. Anyway, the king of France stewed up some charges, false or otherwise, and had as many Templars as he could captured, tortured into false confessions, and charged. Jacques de Molay made a confession too, but later retracted it, so – Philip had him burned. On a scaffold. On an island in the Reine, in front of the Notre Dame de Paris."

"Bit of an overkill," DesmondMiles comments, cradling his bandaged arm idly against his chest and then looks at the conference room with interest.

"Yes, fascinating," O'Neill says, shaking his head as if coming out from a particularly uninteresting dream. "But would you look at that, it's time for a meeting. Desmond, these are General George Hammond – he runs the show here – and this is Major Samantha Carter, who is our resident tech geek. General, Carter: Desmond Miles."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Major Carter nods, amused.

"Yes, welcome to the SGC," General Hammond says and turns his eyes to their guest. "And first of all, on behalf of everyone on this base and everyone on this world… thank you. I don't know what you did, how you did it or how you knew to do it, but, thank you."

Of all the things Teal'c had observed and all the reactions O'Neill and DanielJackson have managed to prompt in the young man, this is the greatest. The young warrior looks stunned, his eyes widening and his whole posture changing, going confused and uneasy for a moment. "I – you're… welcome?" he says, glancing at O'Neill with confusion.

"Oh yeah, didn't I say? Saving the world, good job on that. Couldn't have done better myself," O'Neill says with somewhat baffled levity and shares looks with DanielJackson, making faces.

Major Carter clears her throat. "We've managed to compile some readings all over the world from the impact of the solar flare. We don't really have a classification system for events of this magnitude, the regular scale doesn't really even compare, but it was at least ten thousand times stronger than the Bastille Day Event," she says, tapping the papers in front of her. "Not only would it have probably fried the Earth's surface and irreversibly damaged the atmosphere, but at this level of magnitude it would've affected the flow of magma in the outer core of the planet. If it had hit, we wouldn't even be talking right now – if we were alive at all, the ensuing earthquakes…"

DesmondMiles doesn't look particularly surprised by that assessment, only very awkward to be at the receiving end of so many stares.

"Please, sit down," General Hammond motions to them, and O'Neill shows DesmondMiles his chair before going to sit himself, DanielJackson sitting down beside Major Carter with all his books. Teal'c sits beside O'Neill – it gives him a good vantage point on their guest.

"I want you to know that no one here is looking to punish you for saving the world," General Hammond says seriously to Desmond Miles. "You almost lost your life doing it, I have only greatest respect for feats like that. But the way you did it was…" he shakes his head. "Can you tell us how you knew about the Temple, and how did you use it?"

DesmondMiles looks away from the General, at the table between them, his lips thinning with discomfort. A second sign of him being even a little bit uncomfortable with his situation. Teal'c touches his fingertips together, interested – O'Neill's read on the young man was apt, as usual. How much worse would he feel now, had he been brought directly to meet General Hammond, with no time to come to terms with his situation? How much less likely to tell them anything?

For the young man is not shutting down, as O'Neill would put it – indeed, he seems incredibly uncomfortable, having obvious secrets he feels he must keep from people who had shown him kindness. Worse – or better yet – it seems like to be thanked for what he did was something he did not expect. And Teal'c doubts it was only because he thought the act he performed would take his life.

And yet, there are secrets, obviously very important secrets, that DesmondMiles seems duty-bound to keep, and they look to keep his lips sealed.

"Perhaps, a fair exchange of information," Teal'c suggests and General Hammond looks at him, his face thoughtful but inscrutable.

"We lay some cards on the table, you lay some cards and we compare who has the most fucked up hand?" O'Neill asks, looking at DesmondMiles.

"Sure," the young man says warily. "Let's go with that."

"Very well," General Hammond says and motions to Major Carter and DanielJackson. "What have we figured out about the temple so far?"

"Well, it's obviously Ancient," they say in near perfect unison, then share looks. There's a moment of gesturing to decide who gets to go first, which results in Major Carter standing up.

"The crystal formations we found at the site," she says while activating the screen and putting up pictures, "Are obviously power sources. We've managed to determine they hold all told nearly hundred times as much energy as Goa'uld equivalent – all are now almost depleted, but they still have each one enough energy in them to power a good-sized city for, say, about ten years. Definitely more advanced than almost anything we've seen before."

She changes to another picture. "The temple is younger than most other Ancient sites we've uncovered – we've gotten the results back for the carbon dating of various samples we collected, and the temple is at most hundred thousand years old – which makes it, actually, the youngest Ancient site we've found so far. It is also only a small part of the much bigger construction – the initial scans we did told us as much already, but we've managed to do some sonar sweeps on the surrounding rock now, and it seems to be only the very tip of an iceberg. Or the highest tower of a city, completely covered."

"Wait," O'Neill says, leaning forward. "You saying this is the Lost City? Did we just find the Lost City?"

"It could be a good candidate for it, sir," Major Carter says and then makes a face. "However, it looks like most of it is collapsed or… covered in molten rock. The lava rock, obsidian and other volcanic elements we sampled came up as roughly eighty, seventy thousand years old – and most of the structures are completely covered in it, or flooded by it. It's almost as if the whole structure sank into an active volcano. Except… there isn't a volcano there. I can't explain it."

"Anything else you discovered?" General Hammond asks, looking at DesmondMiles for his reaction – Teal'c is doing the same.

After initial bit of incredulity and astonishment, the young man had fallen completely blank-faced, and is now only listening with slightly wider eyes but with no expression otherwise.

"We've only started, but Doctor McKay and his team are on the site now," Major Carter says with a slight grimace. "And he's convinced that the shield generator that separated the end of the chamber from the rest might be the reason why that part of the city was left relatively intact – it forms a cube around a section of the buried ruins, and thus kept the lava flows from destroying them. That's about it, sir – we're still going through the results."

"Thank you, Major Carter," General Hammond says and then nods to DanielJackson. "Doctor Jackson?"

"I've been trying to analyse the few bits of text we've found at the site, and it's some derivation of Ancient," he says and moves to the screen, to show pictures of text and to compare them to the samples of Ancient writing they have collected. They look nothing alike – Ancient used a writing system of square dots on an eight by three grid – the writing from the Temple was of lines, not so constrained and much more fluid.

"A very late derivation," Doctor Jackson admits at everyone's look of incredulity. "But you can see some similarity – if you were to take Ancient script and attempt to write it with a pen, you might come up with something like this," he shows a sample of what looks like his on work, attempting to write ancient with lines. "Add to that several centuries – or in this case, couple million years – of evolution of languages."

"Can you translate it?" Major Carter asks interestedly.

"I'd need way more samples than this, but I think, this," DanielJackson shows a picture of intact word found in the Temple, "Means head or… summit. Probably the latter. I think this temple was the highest point of their city, the – summit."

"Which correlates with our findings," Major Carter nods and everyone pauses to look at their guest, for his reaction.

DesmondMiles is looking away, left hand clasped over the bicep of his right arm, squeezing slightly.

"Well, son?" General Hammond asks, resting his elbows on the table.

The young man blinks and turns his eyes to him, and then to Major Carter and DanielJackson. "Um," he says. "Ancients? Lost City? What?"

There's some exchanged looks and at General Hammond's nod, Major Carter explains. "The Ancients were people who came before humans – the first evolution of this," she motions to herself, "form. Before today, we thought they left Earth some three million years ago, but obviously not."

"The Lost City is a great structure of theirs we have recently learned about, and have been attempting to find," Teal'c adds.

"Didn't really think it might be on Earth," DanielJackson says and grimaces. "Or buried in solid volcanic rock…"

"Um. What?" DesmondMiles asks and then shakes his head. "Wait, hang on, you said, other Ancient sites. You know more Temples like this, older Temples – and –?" he stops and makes a slight face. "How do you know about this stuff?"

"Hey, fair exchange of information thing going on here," O'Neill points out, arching his brows. "We tell you something we know, you tell us something you know and we figure out where we meet in the middle."

DesmondMiles still hesitates.

"You obviously know something about the people who built the Temple," General Hammond points out. "What do you call them?"

"Aside from annoying?" DesmondMiles mutters and then clears his throat. "We call them the First Civilisation. Or the Precursors. I think they called themselves the Isu. And – oh shit."

"What?" O'Neill asks with alarm – Teal'c too sits up straighter, while everyone share concerned looks. "What's going on?"

"I fucking forgot Juno," DesmondMiles says and looks around. "Is – internet still online?" he asks, almost wincing. "And could I have a look at it, please?"

"Why?" General Hammond asks, narrowing his eyes.

"There was – in the Grand Temple, I mean. There was a sentience there. One of the Isu," DesmondMiles says and grimaces. "She was imprisoned there by others because she wanted to go back to enslaving humanity, and when I used the Temple… she was released."

Chapter Text

The power is out. Still out. Shaun finds himself concentrating onto that, even though there are bigger concerns – though maybe it isn't because according to Rebecca power is out for half of the planet, but still – his mind keeps circling back to it, annoyed at the sheer inconvenience to it. Power is, still, out.

It's been, what, eight hours now? Bloody hell. When was the last time big city like New York had power out like that? 77', wasn't it? Yeah, lightning strike on the powerlines and parts of the city were out of power for twenty six hours. Though how inconvenient that could've been, really, in 77´, before ages of the transistor and the internet. Now isn't just that lights aren't on and AC doesn't work and fridges stop working – which, yes, alright, terrible – but now it's phones, it's computers, it's millions of little accessories. It's also hospitals and traffic and – Christ.

The door to their hotel room opens, and Shaun looks up to see Bill stepping in, carrying two bags of groceries, full to the brim with perishables. "They were handing them away at half price," the man says, closing the door. "Rebecca, how is it coming along?"

"Well, it's not all gone," she says where she's tapping away at a laptop. "It looks like they're getting the servers back online, no worse to wear – redundancies are coming back up – we lost the data center in Los Angeles, but we have a backup of for that in Quebec, so it's not unrecoverable."

"So, you have internet on again?" Bill asks.

"I didn't – the world did," Rebecca says. "Abstergo might've lulled everyone into a false sense of security about the flare, but internet's built to be resilient. There are redundancies and back channels and secondary routers up the wazoo – it would've taken the full force of the flare to take it out and even then I think there are some servers under so much dirt that even that wouldn't do them much. I mean it was offline for a bit there, sure, but that was more because of the power out than anything else."

"Humanity's paranoia at it's finest. Thank the Cold War and atomic bombs," Shaun comments with a scoff and looks at Bill. "We've lost three, so far. Janice's life support failed and she slipped away somewhere during the first hour. There was a fire at the Eagle Nest and beam fell on Bianca – her spine broke, it was a quick death. And Sousa's car lost power, and careened off the bridge – his team found his car just half an hour ago."

Bill frowns and looks down. "I thought we told everyone to get underground."

"We did. Still waiting on word as to why he was on the road," Shaun says grimly. "My bet is on him being an idiot, but we'll see."

"Shaun," Rebecca says quietly, admonishing, and he rolls his eyes.

Bill nods and then turns to the kitchen. "Well, it could have been worse, we could have lost a lot more," he says, and then hesitates. "And… it's four."

"What?"

"We have had four casualties."

Shaun closes his eyes and then turns away. Yeah, that would be why he was thinking about the power out – and not much else. Jesus.

Rebecca hesitates behind the laptop. "Sure we can't go and get him out of there?" she asks, leaning forward. "I hate the idea of just leaving him there. First we left Lucy and now…"

Bill shakes his head. "Abstergo got there ahead of us," he says and sets the bags on the kitchen table with a sigh. "I went and had a discreet look – they've cordoned the whole area off, stationed guards all over the place like the damn military. I doubt his body is even still there, anymore, they would have moved it as fast as they got there."

Shaun looks at Rebecca, who meets his eyes and they both think it, he can just see it in her eyes – they should've stayed. Too late now. "Well," Rebecca says, subdued. "What's the next move?"

"Wait out the worst of it," Bill says. "The streets are jam-packed with stalled cars and people, and it looks like there will be looting – we'll just wait it out until power comes on. And if it doesn't within the next twenty four hours, we'll procure a working car and get a move on."

"And then what?" Shaun asks, folding his arms. "What are we going to do now?" With the solar flare over, and Desmond gone… It feels like they've been working for this one moment for so long, years easily. Animus, infiltrating Abstergo, getting Desmond out, continuing with the Animus… it feels a bit like rug has been pulled out from under them.

It's not, of course – Desmond wasn't the end all be all of Assassinhood, even though sometimes it felt like it. There'd been work before him and there'd be work after him, and still it feels… wrong. Hollow.

Meaningless.

Shaun really misses the time when he hated Desmond's guts, things were so much simpler back then.

Bill draws a breath and releases it slowly. "We're Assassins, and we have a job to do. And it no longer means just fighting Abstergo, either," he says and looks up. "Anything on Juno?"

Rebecca straightens her back. "Nothing, nothing at all," she says. "Honestly, I don't even know what to look for, but you'd think she'd show up as a massive data transfer, and traffic like that, it leaves marks – but there's nothing. I've gone through all the logs in for nearby radio towers, but… nothing."

"Could the solar flare and the electromagnetic disturbance have covered it up?"

"It's a bit of a stretch," Rebecca admits. "But I guess we don't actually know how much data there is in Juno, how big of a… program she makes," she says and makes a hand motion. "So I don't really know, but so far… nothing really pops up."

"Probably doesn't help that the whole world is screaming online about power outs," Shaun comments, privately acknowledging the hypocrisy of the statement – and then ignoring it. "Or about being blinded."

"Not really, no," Rebecca says and looks up. "I'm looking up some key words – her name, some of the stuff she said, Pieces of Eden, all that, but so far, not much is coming up. I'll keep at it, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's going to lay low, wait out the after-effects, before getting to work. There are still a lot of servers out there that are at risk."

Bill sighs and nods, turning away, taking out his phone. "Shaun, can you put these away?" he asks, motioning to the groceries. "I think I will… stretch out for a bit, try and get some rest. It's late."

Shaun looks between the phone and then the bags and nods. "Yeah, sure, Bill. See you tomorrow."

Judging by the earphones the guy is taking out of his pocket as he vanishes into his bedroom, Bill wouldn't be sleeping – he'd be listening to Desmond's messages again. Poor sod. Bill could be an asshole, and Desmond definitely had his issues with his dad, but bloody hell...

Rebecca looks at him as Shaun puts the groceries away, not saying anything for a while. After a moment she turns back to her computer, tapping. "Do you think I should… see what Abstergo's doing with him?" she asks then, oh so quiet, too quiet to carry.

Bill hadn't ordered them to, but he hadn't ordered them not to. And honestly, if the rumours of Abstergo's new sample technology were proven to be true... "Yeah, let me know if you find something," Shaun says with a sigh and looks at the packets of bacon – well, it's streaky bacon, which makes it more fat than food. Ugh. Well, it would be something to salt their wounds with, or whatever.

At least there wouldn't be any difficulty in cooking, seeing as gas didn't care about whether the power was on or not.

"Hey," Rebecca says quietly. "Do you think we should… I don't know. Do something, for Desmond?"

"What, an empty casket burial? I'm sure that will make everything right as rain again," Shaun mutters.

"Well, no, but – maybe a memorial, at least?" Rebecca says. "Desmond saved the world and… most of the Assassins out there, they've never even heard of him. This was all so top secret, and now…"

Now Desmond's dead, and all the things they'd hoped for, that's all gone. No exotic vacations for any of them, after this. "I don't think Bill will let anyone forget," Shaun says, frowning.

"Maybe not, but… I'm not sure he's up to doing anything about it, right now. I mean – you've seen him," Rebecca says. "He's kind of lost. We're… all kind of lost."

"Yeah," Shaun agrees, running a hand over his neck and closing his eyes. It was bad when Lucy died, but they still had Desmond, that took priority, made everything easy. There was still something to do. Now it just feels like they're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Just – find out what happened to his body," Shaun says, running a hand over his face. "Don't think there will be any closure until we figure that out."

Rebecca hums and turns to her computer – then she makes a noise. Shaun turns to look at her – it wasn't a good noise. "What?"

"Hang on a moment," she says and lets her fingers fly over the keyboard for a moment, doing who knows what. Eying her expression, Shaun goes to her, to check what's on the screen.

"Nice to know that security is a priority at Abstergo," he comments wryly – she's elbow deep in their servers.

"I think their IT department might be down," Rebecca says with a smile and then leans back and opens an email. It's from someone named Case Fisher.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Sample 17

I regret to inform you that we were incapable of securing the area and thus the expected sample was not recovered in time. United States Air Force has covered the site at this point, and the area is closed off for civilians – I have sent inquiries to Operations Devision concerning obtaining suitable credentials for full access to the site, but have so far been unsuccessful – the military unit on site is Special Ops, it seems, and thus at too high a level of security for easy access.

The current status of Subject 17 is as of now unknown – we could not get near enough to even see the cave entrance, never mind seeing what sort of activity there might be around the site. We have so far not observed vehicle traffic from the site – but aerial view of the area by a drone reveals that number of tents have already been set up near what we assume is the front of the Grand Temple opening. It does not seem that they will be leaving any time soon.

The Head of Operations Division has expressed that she will be taking over this investigation personally, so this ends my involvement in the matter of Subject 17.

Case Fisher
Sample Recovery Unit 3

Rebecca looks up while Shaun looks down at her. Then, as if in one body, they move to dig in deeper, Shaun grabbing his own laptop to hack right alongside her.

The fact that Abstergo already have sample recovery units isn't surprising, though it is somewhat unpleasant news – it means they're moving ahead on the tech of using just DNA samples to read memories, with the actual person that sample was from no longer necessary. Somehow that seems infinitely creepy and unpleasant to Shaun, but then again, most of what Abstergo does seems creepy and unpleasant.

But what the email tells them, that's much more interesting and worrisome. Abstergo doesn't have Desmond. Yay. United States Military has Desmond. Not so yay.

"And not just him, they have the Temple too," Shaun murmurs. "That's – that's something. Probably bad."

"Did you know there were parts of the US military Abstergo doesn't have access to?" Rebecca asks, confused.

"Well. No, actually," Shaun admits. Honestly, at this point it seems like Abstergo controls the world, more or less – they certainly go about it like they do, with no care about what atrocities they commit. Sure, there'd been time when he too naively had believed that, surely, they couldn't control everything, couldn't control governments, but… really, what's the point in entertaining fantasies?

But it's not just Case Fisher of Sample Recovery Unit 3 that can't seem to access the Grand Temple because US Air Force put up a roadblock.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: SGC access

Push has come to shove, Alan – they have the Grand Temple. This is, what, 200 years, 300 years worth of work, and the fucking US military swoops in, and just snatches it up under everyone's noses? I thought we had the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of Defence – you told me yourself you'd ensured their cooperation. So why is it so damn hard to get access to this one damn program?

Do something about this or I will.

Laetitia England
Head of Operations
Abstergo Industries

"Okay, so," Shaun says, leaning back. "What the hell is SGC?"

"I have no idea," Rebecca admits, tapping at few keys. "Nothing's coming up about it – just a mention about deep space telemetry or something. It doesn't…" she squints at the screen. "Hmm…"

Shaun eyes the screen on his own laptop. "Guess we're hacking the Air Force then," he says. "Let me get a kettle on – looks like this will be an all-nighter."

Six hours later, as the hateful sun rises and Shaun regrets many of his life decisions, they are forced to admit defeat. They have learned precisely four things about SGC, and one of them came from Abstergo.

Firstly, SGC a thing that exists, means something, and is run by the United States Air Force. Delightful.

Secondly, its cover story is deep space telemetry, which isn't particularly deep as cover stories go.

Thirdly, there had been a political movement to shut down the SGC about six years back, which was set in motion by the current Vice President of the whole damn country.

And four… the SGC has the budget of about 24.4 billion dollars. A monthly budget.

"That's a lot of moolah for deep space telemetry," Rebecca comments.

"Yeah," Shaun agrees. "And not a single report about what it is actually being spent on, which is – fascinating. You'd think they'd flaunt at least a satellite or two with that kind of money." But no, nothing. The money might as well disappear into the ether.

For a moment they just stare at their pitiful results. It's almost confusing more than anything, that they got nothing on this thing – that Abstergo has nothing on this thing. Templars have been twiddling with US government for decades, delving in deeper and deeper – hell, 74% of Kinsey's campaign funding came from Abstergo, and Hayes probably had his share of that sweet Abstergo pie. And yet, even so… no access to this.

It almost doesn't compute.

"So, to recap," Shaun says. "US military has the Grand Temple."

"Which is bad," Rebecca agrees, leaning back beside him.

"Probably. Governments having First Civilisation technology has historically gone badly for almost everyone," Shaun agrees.

Rebecca hums thoughtfully. "Do you think it's all still… you know, corrupting, like it used to be?" she asks, looking at him. "Because I have this theory that maybe that was Juno. I mean, you remember what she did to Desmond – maybe it was always her, behind all the Pieces of Eden, controlling and corrupting people."

"Honestly, wouldn't put it past her," Shaun mutters. "What a witch. So, you think that now she's out and about…"

She shrugs. "She's definitely not at the Temple anymore, right? If she's on the Internet, how is she supposed to control the Pieces of Eden? Human tech got nothing on the PoEs, after all. Even Abstergo couldn't make them jive together – they just ended up blowing shit up."

"And it couldn't have happened to better people." Shaun considers it for a moment. "If it was her doing the corrupting thing, then, yay, if not, then…" he trails away. Too many unknown variables. "But even if the Temple is all good, no corrupting influences in sight – it's still super advanced technology. There was more than just the Eye there – and hell, there's also the Eye there. And the First Civilisation power sources. And all our stuff, too."

"I destroyed it all before we left," Rebecca assures. "Hit all the kill switches."

"Even so," Shaun says. "You remember what I told you about the manna machines?"

"Uh, yeah?" Rebecca says and gives him a look. "Which you went and ate like a dumbass."

"Hey, people in history have been eating the stuff all over the place, and I was fine. It's just," Shaun runs a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. "Those were just few of the things I found and the only thing I figured out. We didn't get to do that much exploring. What if there's weapons down there, or… I don't know. Ancient First Civilisation bombs?"

"Well. In that case at least they're not in Abstergo's hands?"

"Yet," Shaun says and then looks up as Rebecca's computer lets out a jingle. "Do you have notifications on your computer? What kind of Assassin are you?"

"A modern one, and no," Rebecca says, switching tabs. "I just set it up, remember – for Juno?"

"Oh, right," Shaun says and leans in. "What is it?"

Rebecca scrolls through the stream of code, where bits and pieces are highlighted. First Civilisation and Juno and Grand Temple come up, along with some other choice words. Ancient and Lost City.

"Is that her?" Shaun asks, gripping the backrest of Rebecca's chair. "Is she infiltrating Abstergo? Bloody figures, the two big bads throwing their lots together, making things much worse overall."

"No, I don't think this is her," Rebecca says slowly, shaking her head. "It's too subtle – I mean, this doesn't take as much bandwidth as you'd expect a not so artificial intelligence like her to take. Someone's doing a search… I think they're looking for her."

"Who else even knows about her other than us?" Shaun asks, making a face.

Rebecca shakes her head. "I don't know. Do you think Bill's informed other Assassins?"

"Not unless he used telepathy to do it – I'm monitoring the email networks, remember?" Shaun says and folds his arms. "Who else is there?"

"Juno managed to communicate with others before us. She talked to Connor," she reminds him.

"Only when he was in contact with their technology – that crystal ball thing," Shaun says. "First Civilisation Palantiri, for god's sake – what's next, the One Ring too? If there are Ring Wraights out there, I'm telling you, I'm right out."

"You nerd."

"Yes, as if Lord of the Rings isn't pop culture known worldwide or anything, Rebecca, get on with the times."

Rebecca snorts at that and looks at the screen. She's quiet for a moment and then looks back at him. "Think we should let Bill know?"

Shaun hesitates, glancing towards the closed door. With their luck, they'd catch the guy crying again. "Let's… let's see if we can find where they took Desmond's body first. And keep an eye on the hacker in the Abstergo network - who knows, maybe they'll find something."

"Yeah," she says quietly, and together they get back to work.

Chapter Text

Daniel runs the back of his finger across his lips in thought, watching Desmond Miles struggle. There's no other word for it – the guy is struggling with something. He puts up a good act, and some of it's honest – but lot of it's a front too, and he's not being particularly subtle about seeing things. Every so often he glances away, looks at nothing, listens to nothing and then goes back to work. Work, which, so far, doesn't seem to be bringing any results.

Plus there's the hand. If it's not hurting him by now, Daniel would be surprised. He can't use it, has it resting in his lap, the fingers slightly convulsed under the bandages. Watching him type singlehanded is a little… pitiful.

"Maybe if we knew what you were looking for, we could help you?" Sam suggests, looking between Desmond and the keyboard he's typing away at.

"I don't know what I'm looking for," Desmond admits, a little tightly. "I wouldn't be able to tell you either. I'll know it when I see it, I'm just… not seeing it."

Daniel exchanges looks with Sam, then with O'Neill and Teal'c, who are hovering in the background, watching. They've been going at it for the better part of two hours now, which as research or investigation related tasks go isn't that much… but it's still not going on well. The guy is tired. It's nearly midnight now.

Sam looks at Jack, and Jack makes a face. "Okay, since we're not finding any signs of this… Juno character," he says. "Chances are she's not doing much?"

"She will be," Desmond says, frowning.

"But she isn't right now, otherwise you'd…" Jack makes a hand gesture at the computers, "spot her, or something. And besides, the world's a bit busy trying to get power back on, so whatever she does, it can't have much effect right now, right?"

Desmond Miles sighs and leans back from the computer. "Yeah," he admits, a little begrudgingly. "I think she's laying low."

"Right," Jack says, and bounces to his feet while Daniel folds his arms and Sam spins on her chair. "So. It's late, and you're fresh out of the infirmary and it's late. So how about we call it for now, continue this in the morning? In the meanwhile someone can," Jack gives Sam a look. "Set up a watch… program. Or something. For Juno-related activity."

"Or we can just have someone continue monitoring the situation manually," Sam suggests. "Is there anything in particular she might do?"

"Yeah," Daniel says. "What does she actually want, this Juno? Aside from… enslaving humanity?" he makes a face at that.

Enslavement of humanity and Ancients doesn't sit well with him as two parts of a same sentence, but then – there's Anubis, there's the rules of the Others in the Ascended Collective, there's… the rest of the stuff which he barely remembers, but have heard others talk about, has read in reports concerning him. Jack's opinion about the whole thing was especially verbose.

There is no absolute good, unfortunately, to counteract all the absolute evil in the universe. Sadly, even the good guys have their pitfalls and shades of grey, and why should the Ancients be any different? After all the mistakes they'd made, the technologies they'd left lying around uncaring of consequences…

Honestly, Daniel isn't sure which is worse – the idea of Ancients with human slaves, or the fact that he isn't all that surprised by the idea.

Desmond's hand hesitates over the keyboard and then he sighs. "She's kind of megalomaniacal," he says then. "And has a superiority complex like nobody else. She thinks humans are inferior in every way, little more than animals – that we should've stayed animals. She was neutral in the war, I think, but after the Isu lost and then the last solar flare happened she blamed us for… for messing things up, I guess. I don't know what she will do, but it won't be pretty."

Daniel arches his brows, sharing a look with Jack, Sam and Teal'c and then asking, "War? The last solar flare?"

"You mean – this happened before?" Sam asks with alarm. "The superflare – it happened before?"

"Seventy five thousand years ago," Desmond agrees, running a hand over his eyes. "The Toba Catastrophe – that was the last solar flare. It happens in a cycle – every seventy five thousand years or thereabouts, the sun cycles through the solar maximum major… or whatever you call it. The last one wiped almost everything out. Just ten thousand humans survived, and fewer Isu – they died out not much after."

"Toba Catastrophe – that was a volcanic eruption, wasn't it?" Daniel asks, and when everyone looks at him. "That's what it's named for – for the eruption of a supervolcano in Lake Toba in Sumatra Indonesia. It's thought to have caused a volcanic winter and a thousand year cooling period – that was caused by the super flare?"

"It wasn't just the Toba volcano – a lot of volcanoes went off. Most of them, probably," Desmond says and leans back from the computer. "Anyway, Juno blames us for how badly prepared the Isu were – because the Human-Isu war distracted everyone."

"And this war was about…?" Jack asks, leadingly.

"Humans wanting their freedom," Desmond says, looking at him. "It was more of a rebellion, I think, but – humans had advantage in numbers."

Daniel taps the side of his arm with his fingers restlessly. "I hate to be that guy," he says. "But do you have any proof of this? Because as far as we know, the Ancients – the Isu – wouldn't have done something like that. They're against enslavement."

Desmond snorts at that and then hesitates. "What do you mean, they are?" he asks sharply and looks up. "They are dead, aren't they?"

"Well, yes," but also no, Daniel thinks, sharing a look with Jack who arches his brows. "But what I mean to say – the Ancients opposed slavery, they fought against it, actively – and we've never heard about any of this."

Desmond looks at them and then leans his arm on the backrest of the chair he's sitting on. "How much do you know about them? What do you know about them?"

"Well, first of all we thought they skedaddled," Jack comments. "Like, millions of years ago – they left Earth. Either that, or just died out."

"They were suffering of a plague," Daniel says. "Which we think almost wiped out their entire civilisation. They vanished not much after that – we thought they died out millions of years ago or," he makes a hand motion upwards. "Left."

Desmond looks at them and then shakes his head. "The Isu ruled the Earth for…. I don't know even how long," he says. "They had civilisation, cities… the Toba Catastrophe wiped them out, but they had them. The Grand Temple is the tippy top of one of them. The last of them, I think."

"The Lost City, maybe?" Daniel suggests.

"I don't know what you mean by that, but sure, why not," Desmond says and rubs at his eyes.

"And they used humans. As slaves?" Jack says slowly. "Always felt a bit iffy about these guys. Did not think slavery, but – can't say I'm surprised."

"You look tired," Sam says, reaching to touch Desmond's shoulder when he doesn't look up. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just. Got a headache."

"I would be surprised if you didn't – you took a massive shock of energy the types of which we still don't fully understand," Sam says and casts a look at Jack. "Maybe you should head back to the infirmary and rest a bit."

"Or alternatively, we have guest rooms," Jack says. "A little more private and comfortable than the infirmary."

"I'll take that, thanks," Desmond says. "Sorry about…" he motions at the computer.

"Hell, you clued us in to a threat we wouldn't have otherwise known about, that's something," Jack says and pats his shoulder. "Come on, kid, let's get you sorted out."

Teal'c moves to follow Jack and Desmond – who is again looking at nothing. Daniel stays behind and Sam stays seated, up until they're out of the office. Then she moves to the computer to check what Desmond had done.

"Well," Daniel says after a moment. "That was something."

Sam hums, typing away at the keyboard. "Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"Some of it goes with what I figured out so far – the people who lived at the Grand Temple, they were definitely related to the Ancients, culture-wise at least," Daniel admits. "I can't really… correlate the idea that Ancients used to still live on Earth less than eighty thousand years ago and we've found nothing about them – especially if there used to be cities."

"We find lost human cities all the time, don't we?" Sam says. "There are whole swathes of human history we don't even know about, and that's just for the last ten thousand years. Considering the changes the planet has gone through since then – and apparently a period of high volcanic activity…"

"True," Daniel muses. "And, I looked into the structural materials found at the place, the stuff it was built out of – the original structure? It's not the same as, say, the buildings in Vis Uban. The material is not as solid."

Sam hums in agreement. "Hmm. That guy is quick – he went through most major data centres, information storage services and cloud storage services – and just about every Fortune 500 companies, and equivalents worldwide, looking for Juno. He's definitely got some training. And he's a hell of a hacker too."

"Well, he has to be something," Daniel agrees. "Though I'm not sure how that goes with saving the world and all."

"I've seen stranger," Sam says, pushing away from the computer. Then she looks at him. "So, the Ancients really could've…?" she trails away, meaningfully.

Daniel hugs his arms, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I don't know," he admits. "But I can't off hand say no. I mean… going by the Ascended Ancients, there's definitely a bit of superiority complex going on. What I don't understand why they would. With all the technology at their disposal, what would they even need slaves for?"

"Could be just a power thing," Sam comments. "It's not like the Goa'uld need as many slaves as they have, they just have them… because."

"Never thought I'd see the day we'd be comparing Ancients and the Goa'uld," Daniel mutters unhappily.

"Yeah," Sam says and pushes up. "I'll have Siler take a look at this and then get back to analysing what we brought from the temple. Maybe there's something there that makes sense of this."

"They're still sending in samples, right?" Daniel asks. "Anything interesting?"

"Well, they brought out some weird portable devices, which we think make food, but jury's still out on that. I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks, Sam."

They part ways, Daniel heading back to his own office, weaving past tables and benches to get at the whiteboard, where he'd been working out the relations between the language found at the Temple and Ancient language. Looking it over, he takes an eraser and starts working out on a timeline, as they know it – what ancients did, when they did it, and what was their motivation.

He doesn't get very far – and the timeline sort of peters out around three million, which is their last non-Ascended encounter – Ayiana not included. There's just not much there.

After a moment of working on it, Daniel sighs and turns back to the other research, concerning Templars. Our battle with the Templars, Desmond said in his message, and Another page in this endless story. That means that there is another side to it – Desmond's side. Can't have a battle of groups without another group, after all. Maybe there'd be answers there.

Now, whom – aside from the huge part of the Muslim world – did the Templars fight against – and who might they be fighting against right now?

"Hey, Daniel? Do you speak Italian?"

"What?" Daniel looks up to find Jack by his door, momentarily confused. "Jack – when did you get here?"

"Just now – do you speak Italian?" Jack asks, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Passably, yes," Daniel asks, hugging the history book to his chest. "What's up?"

Jack makes a face. "Yeah – Desmond is talking to himself in his room. In Italian."

Daniel blinks, his mind still somewhere in the 12th century. It takes him a moment to catch up. "What?"

Jack gives him a look and then nods his head in obvious sign of come on. Daniel blinks after him and then down at the book. Then he tugs the book under his arm and follows.

Jack leads him to a the security station, where all the security camera feeds are being monitored. On one of the screens there, Desmond's room is being shown, the feed live, judging by the mark in the corner. The guy is up and moving in his room, seeming restless even at a distance.

"Did you let him know there's a camera in his room?" Daniel asks Jack, a little uncertain. He's still not sure about the guy, maybe, but spying on him without him knowing it is a bit low.

"It's not a hidden camera, I figure he'd know what it was," Jack says with a shrug. "He's been arguing with thin air for about five minutes now – any idea what he's saying?"

"Well, I haven't been here for five minutes," Daniel points out. "How should I know?"

"Daniel."

Daniel rolls his eyes. "You must've noticed the guy is seeing things," he points out while taking the empty seat. "He showed the signs of having visual and auditory hallucinations before."

"He did, and Fraiser knows," Jack says. "But before now he wasn't talking to them. And it sounds like he has a lot to say too. Just listen and tell me what he's saying."

"Turn up the volume, please," Daniel says to the technician and then leans in to listen and watch.

Desmond Miles is pacing the length of his sparsely decorated room, his bed unmade as if he'd tried to sleep and then bounced up to argue – he's still fully clothed, shoes on and everything. For the moment he's listening as he paces, making gestures at nothing, a little bit annoyed.

Then he speaks. "And you are expecting me to believe this – that you've been here all this time, watching me?" he asks, irritated. His voice is different – it's not just that he's speaking a different language, but he's speaking it in a different manner, with different intonation. His voice is pitched lower – and softer. "Then why not come forth, why not tell me – why haven't I seen you –"

Miles stops, to listen, looking at the corner of his room and then packing forth again. Then he shakes his head. "No, that was the Bleeding Effect, was it not?" he waits for a moment. "In Monteriggioni – but then –"

Desmond is quiet for a long while and Daniel hums. "He's speaking Italian at an odd cadence – like he learned it before –" he stops, as on the screen Desmond speaks again.

"Minerva stopped you?" Desmond asks, stopping. "Why? Why would she do that?"

Another long break – during it Desmond sits down on his bed slowly, still listening to nothing.

"Well? What's he saying?" Jack demands.

"Um, I'm not sure, but he's speaking Italian at an older accent – not ancient, old, but… older. Before the language was standardised – the dialect is very strong, Florentine," Daniel says, running a hand over his chin. Weird. "He's talking to someone, I don't know who – asking them why they're here and why they haven't shown up before, why he hasn't seen them before. Um. He mentioned the town, Monteriggioni – and name of someone. Minerva."

Which, in light of Juno… Minerva, Juno and Jupiter made the Capitoline Triad in roman mythology – and Menrva, Uni and Tinia before them and – oh. "Oh I get it now," Daniel murmurs. "It wasn't a summit – or, well, it was – but I bet the word missing was Triad. The Capitoline Triad. Incredible."

"You can explain what all that means later – what is he saying now?" Jack asks, leaning in.

Currently not much, Desmond is still just listening. It's almost a minute before he says anything more. "And how do I know this is real, and not another figment of my imagination?" he asks the thin air. "I see things all the time, and they're nothing but memories. Why should this be different?"

It's almost courtly, the way he speaks. Daniel translates it and Jack grimaces. "So, not just the side effect of the shock he took, huh?"

"You know we've seen invisibility before," Daniel comments. "There could be someone there. And if the Minerva he mentioned was one of the Ancients – of the Isu, like Juno… then it could be…" he trails away, meaningfully.

Jack folds his arms, uneasy. "Have you, I don't know…" he makes a wiggly motion with his fingers. "Felt anything, around him? Or seen anything?"

"No, not really," Daniel admits. "I mean, I noticed him seeing things, but I thought better than to mention it. Why?"

Jack presses his lips together and then sighs. "Sometimes… sometimes it looks like there is something there," he admits. "And – his eyes do a – thing."

"A thing?" Daniel asks, looking at him.

"Sort of a shimmer thing – like his irises go gold. Teal'c doesn't see it, neither does Sam, so I figured I was maybe just imagining it – you know, trick of the light," Jack says uncomfortably and scratches at his neck. "But seeing this, maybe not."

Daniel looks at him and then turns back to the screen. On it, Desmond is hanging his head.

"Where?" he asks nothing and then. "Fine, I'll take a look. But if you're wrong, then – hell," he mutters. "I don't even know what I am hoping to achieve, threatening you – if you're wrong then you're just a spectre my mind conjured, and none of this is real, and I'm finally losing my mind. Christ…"

He bows his head and falls silent. Daniel waits, but nothing more happens – Desmond turns away and lies down, holding his bandaged arm against his chest and sighing.

"Hmm," Jack says. "So, not as much informative as confusing as heck. What even was that?"

"All things considered, it wouldn't be… that strange," Daniel says, frowning. "If he knows something about Ancients – or the Isu – then it makes sense he might know something about other things too. Like, say…"

"Ascension?" Jack demands.

"There are myths about it on Earth too, you know – it isn't just an alien concept," Daniel points out and looks at the technician. "Can you get me the full recording? I want to hear it from the beginning – and translate it."

"Of course, Doctor Jackson."

Jack folds his arms, looking a little annoyed. "First Anubis, now this. Hey, what are the chances that this Juno of his up and Ascended too? I mean, if she was an Ancient, and they locked her up in that temple for the better part of seventy thousand years, her being freed from it… and us not being able to find any sign of her… maybe she went poof."

"God, I hope not, Anubis is bad enough," Daniel mutters, accepting the memory card from the technician and standing up. Then he realises he still has the book in his hands. "Oh, right – I think I found something."

Jack looks at the book. "It's a book, Daniel, you have hundreds of the buggers."

"Funny," Daniel says, giving him a look. "I was looking into the history of Templars – you know, the people Desmond mentioned having to battle? And I found this," he opens the book to show a page, depicting an old templar story. "According to this, Robert de Sable – the 11th Grand Master of the Templar order, and their leader during the Crusade of Kings – "

"Daniel, it's been a long night, can you give me the gist of it?" Jack asks.

"He found a treasure of great power," Daniel says. "Which was then stolen from him and which led him onto a great quest to recover it – which ultimately failed, but here's the interesting bit. The treasure was apparently magical and could reshape the minds and hearts of men – and had many powers besides."

He shows the picture to Jack – of a minimally drawn man reaching for an apparently glowing orb. Orb, which has some technical-looking designs on it. Even drawn with simple lines and little detail, the designs look a bit familiar.

Jack doesn't seem to think so, squinting at the image with exaggerated thoughtfulness.

"It's like the designs on the walls of P3R-272," Daniel prompts and then, at Jack's arched brow. "The Repository of Knowledge, Jack."

"Ah," Jack says and grimaces. "So, what does this… orb thing do?"

"I don't know, but judging by our track record, it's probably safe to say that it's some sort of alien technology, Ancient technology, and if it really has some power over the minds of men, then maybe it's even… somehow related to the Repository of Knowledge technology," Daniel says. "And the Templars knew about it eight hundred years ago."

"Right, okay," Jack says, still looking deeply uncomfortable. "And where is this orb now?"

Daniel blows out a breath. "I don't know – according to the story, it was stolen from the Templars, just near the end of the 4th Crusade."

"Do we know by whom?"

"Um."

Jack looks up at him. "What?"

"It was stolen by… Assassins," Daniel says, clearing his throat.

"Assassins," Jack repeats flatly.

"Or the Hashashins. The original Assassins," Daniel says and lifts his chin. "It's where we get the word from – the Brotherhood of Assassins."

"Assassins," Jack says again. "Huh."

Chapter Text

Sam ducked past a nurse and into the infirmary, looking around for Janet. "Doctor Fraiser?" she calls and hearing a reply from the office quickly makes her way over. Janet is sitting behind a computer, looking thoughtful and even a little concerned.

"What's up?" Sam asks, immediately worried – and also maybe looking back to her last medical, which had been only about week ago, a standard post-mission check up. She'd been cleared for duty, nothing unusual, but here you never knew when a blood test revealed something worrying – one day you're fine, the next you've been discovered to be carrying some hitherto unknown pathogens.

"Sam," Janet says, glancing up. "I'm sorry for pulling you from your work, but Doctor Jensen left already, and I need a second opinion on this before I bring it up to General Hammond – and you're the next best thing when it comes to… these types of things."

"O-kay," Sam says slowly. "Now I'm really worried. What'cha got?"

Janet motions her to come closer, and Sam quickly ducks around to see her computer monitors. On one there is a set of EEG waveforms, arranged in a row – on another, what looks like a set of DNA profiles – countless thicker and thinner lines in several rows.

Sam looks between them, arching her brows. She can't read DNA, but the EEG's look very familiar. "Are those… from the Colonel and Ayiana?" she asks slowly. Janet had shown them to her the first time about a year ago, and then they'd came up a few times since then – with Jonas, with Daniel…

"Yes, they are – and Jonas' as well. Colonel O'Neill, when he was affected by the Ancient Repository of Knowledge, the readings we got from Aiyana.. and Jonas Quinn, when he had the tumour," Janet agrees and then motions to the topmost one. "And that is the EEG we got off Desmond Miles, shortly before I cleared him to leave the infirmary with Colonel O'Neill."

Sam can see that the waves match in places but still has to guess, "It's a match?"

"Mm-hmm," Janet agrees and turns her chair around to look at her. "Have you by any chance heard of Doctor Carson Beckett?"

"Um… it rings a bell, but…" Sam grimaces. "He doesn't work here, does he?"

"No, he is a geneticist, he's been working with the researchers in Area 51 concerning the relation between humans and Ancients," Janet says. "He's played a big part in studying the samples from Aiyana – and also of Colonel O'Neill, after we found out about the fact that his genetic structure might be more… advanced. Doctor Beckett has a theory – still untested, mind you – that some humans might have Ancient genome in them – that we're not only related, but some are actually descended from Ancients like Aiyana."

"I'm assuming Colonel O'Neill would be a prime candidate," Sam guesses.

"Yes," Janet nods. "We haven't had many samples yet, but there are some markers in Colonel O'Neill's DNA that are, shall we say, unusual. They're nothing too major, but if you know what you're looking for, you can find them."

Sam folds her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "I guess it makes sense, that some people might be related to the Ancients, since we look alike – since we look like them," She says and shakes her head. "I didn't think we'd be… compatible that way. I mean, considering how much more advanced the Ancients were, how much older – Humans aren't even properly compatible with Jaffa, not genetically, and Jaffa are a derivation from humans."

"Well, it's still a theory," Janet says and turns to the computer. "But keeping that in mind, these ," she presses a button and parts on the DNA profiles are lit up, some of the sequences marked. "These are what we think identifies a relation to the Ancients. It's just a few select genes, we don't know what they do yet, if anything, but Doctor Beckett has compared them to tens of thousands of other DNA samples, and only about one hundredth of a percentage of the samples matched. And very few as strongly as Colonel O'Neill."

Sam looks at the profiles and then glances at the topmost one. "I'm guessing that belongs to Desmond Miles."

Janet nods. "He has all the same markers that Colonel O'Neill has – and more, much, much more. Can you see the difference?" she motions between Colonel O'Neill's and Desmond Miles' profiles.

"Yes," Sam admits slowly, a little confused. Desmond Miles has easily twice as much information on his profile as Colonel O'Neill. "I'm sorry, Janet, I am not that well-versed in genetics… What does it mean? Aside from Desmond maybe also having an Ancient in his family tree – if that's what those markers mean."

"If that is what they mean – which hasn't yet been proven, but it's our leading theory," Janet says and leans back and looks at her. "That's not… precisely my issue here though. There is something of DNA I think you know, though, and maybe better than me. Here," she says and opens another DNA profile. "This is yours," she says, and Sam leans in, interested.

No similarity with Colonel O'Neill's markers – no Ancient in her family tree. But there is something. Sam has seen her DNA profile before, of course – it was part of her medical file and she had access to it. And it had, subtly, changed during the course of her work in the SGC.

Having carried a Goa'uld symbiote, and having had that symbiote die within her and be absorbed by her body hadn't only changed her biochemistry, adding signature Naquadah in her blood… it had also caused a genetic mutation. It had been deemed benign, not a concern – at least not until it was discovered she could use it, and the Naquadah in her veins, to remember some of Jolinar's memories… and to use some Goa'uld technology.

It made her DNA noisier – that was the term used, back when the first results had came in.

"Goa'uld hosts all go through some genetic change – the enzymes of the Goa'uld's own DNA rearranges the genetic structure of the host for better genetic synergy, shall we say," Janet says, folding her arms. "All the samples we've gotten from hosts of Goa'ulds – Sha're, Skaara, Apophis himself – they all had varying levels of genetic modification. The longer the blending is, the more marked the changes become."

"Are you saying that Desmond Miles was a host of a Goa'uld?" Sam asks warily.

"Not according to the scans and ultrasounds," Janet says and hesitates for a moment. "Even Apophis' host didn't have this kind of… tight-packed genetic structure, though. Some of it matches, but more than that…"

Janet opens another profile – and it's completely different, packed to the brim with information and almost completely illegible. "This is the DNA structure of a Goa'uld symbiote, what little of them we've managed to even understand. There's still so much we don't know, so much we have yet to figure out – but do you see the similarity?"

Sam leans back. She sees it. As far as the amount of information in DNA, Desmond Miles is closer to the Goa'uld sample, rather than the Human samples, even her own. "Alright," Sam says. "That's… creepy."

"It's not a perfect match, obviously, but you have to admit, the similarity is there," Janet says and looks at her. "Which made me think the one time we know a human had Goa'uld genetics… without having ever had a Goa'uld symbiote."

Sam blinks – and then she gets it. "Shifu," she says.

Janet pulls up a profile, dragging it and Desmond Miles' profiles next to each other. It's not an exact match either – but the similarity is eerie.

"What I'd want the most right now is a sample of that program Nirti used on Jonas," Janet says, shaking her head. "Not to use it, but to get a clear, detailed visual of the genetic structure, how the alleles are laid out. Because I am almost certain that Desmond Miles has a triple helix genetic structure."

… Like a Goa'uld.

Sam opens her mouth, closes it and then opens it again. "You're saying – he's like Shifu?" she asks, astonished. "But we're pretty sure he doesn't even know that aliens are real – according to Daniel, it sounds a lot more like he only knows about his brand of the Ancients, the Isu, having lived once on Earth…"

Janet nods. "It's not an exact match, I can tell that much," she says and turns to Sam completely. "And from what I've heard, he doesn't show any of the qualities of Goa'uld. But if I am right, if what this data shows us is right… genetically Desmond exhibits both the same kind of characteristics as a Hok-tar – and a Harcesis."

They're silent for a moment, staring at each other, letting the thought settle.

"And you're asking me for a second opinion on whether this is worth it to bring to General Hammond?" Sam asks, incredulously. "Janet, this is huge."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," Janet admits, looking to the screens. "What I am wondering is if… he knows all of this?"

"Desmond Miles, you mean?" Sam asks and looks at the screens. "Well, it's obvious he's keeping secrets from us. He knew about the Grand Temple, he exhibits some odd behaviour – he has Teal'c walking on tiptoes," she says and thinks about it. "I don't feel any Naquadah in him, though."

"Nor did I find any in his bloodwork," Janet says. "But with these results – the way his brain, his mind, how his memories work, it must be… vastly different from how most people's minds work. Even if he doesn't have any abilities like Aiyana had and Jonas begun to exhibit…" she shakes her head. "And the people Nirti experimented on, they had other abilities besides. Has there been any indication of anything unusual?"

Sam thinks about it. "I think I should go and… check up on him," she says then.

"Probably a good idea," Janet says. "I will have a medical check up with him at nine o'clock – if nothing's comes up by then, maybe further scans will show something new."

"An Ascended?" Sam asks, just to be sure.

"Or just a really convincing hallucination," Colonel O'Neill  says. "I'm still not convinced on the first part."

"You're the one who's seeing things," Daniel points out, giving him a look.

"Well, I thought I was seeing things, but in hindsight maybe I wasn't. I mean, I don't even know what I saw, just a white thing of… whiteness," the Colonel says.

"Several times DesmondMiles has appeared to be looking and listening to things that are not there – or are not visible," Teal'c says, ignoring him and looking at Sam levelly. "Aside from this, he does not seem irrational or hysterical in any way – indeed, he is a most calm young man."

"Yeah, I thought so too – before he started arguing with the corner," Colonel O'neill says, and points a finger at Daniel. "During which time I saw or heard nothing, mind you."

"Heard?" Daniel asks, pausing at that. "What have you been hearing, Jack?"

"Nothing!"

"Jack –"

"Daniel."

Sam looks between them. "If Janet is right, and Desmond has some Ancient in him – and it's that part of him that's Ancient that's giving him the ability to… see things others can't, it would make sense that you might perceive something too, sir," she points out. "You share some of the same genetics."

"I'm not related to that guy," Colonel O'Neill says, looking at her confusedly. "I think I'd know."

"I'm not saying you are – but you have some of the same genetic markers. The… stuff that made Loki do the – you know," she makes a motion at him. He makes a face at her, and she shrugs her shoulders, apologetic. "Sorry sir, but there it is."

Daniel looks between them, stroking his chin. "Well, knowing what we know about the Ancients and how they evolved – and how Hok-tar work, and how they develop… I guess we couldn't put it past him," he says. "But a Harcesis? Like Shifu?"

"Yeah, that – if he's a snake spawn, why isn't he all – you know – whacko?" Colonel O'Neill says. "Oh, wait."

Sam arches her brows and then looks at Daniel. "Janet wasn't sure – but it looked a lot like Shifu's DNA," she admits. "Has he said anything about… Goa'uld, anything like that?"

"Well, no. He barely even seems to know what the Ancients are – he only knows about the Isu from what I've figured out, and I'm not sure he knows even all that much of them," Daniel admits. "Of course he could be lying. Or hiding stuff."

"I believe he is hiding great many things, DanielJackson," Teal'c comments and looks at them. "Do you recall the knife he wore strapped to his arm? I took it to a laboratory for analysis – Doctor Danailov performed a test on it and found out that on the blade there is the blood of at least six different individuals – each blood sample being less than two weeks old."

They stare at him.

"Wait, what?" the Colonel says. "He's stabbed six people? With that… spring-loaded knife thing."

"With the concealed blade, yes – at least six," Teal'c says with a nod. "However, Doctor Danailov was unable to determine if they had been mortal wounds he inflicted, there was likely considerable damage done."

Sam shares a look with Daniel. "So, he might have… murdered someone?" she asks. "Doesn't seem like a type to me – Daniel?"

Daniel shakes his head. "Don't ask me. Going by the past record, I'm not very good at detecting these things. I mean, even when I was Ascended, Anubis could lie to me just like that, and apparently I bought it, so…"

"He could've gotten the weapon from someone else," Colonel O'Neill says, though he looks a little wary. "Also could've not. Still, you think the kid has stabbed people with a novelty knife?"

Teal'c arches his brow at them. "I believe DesmondMiles has extensive combat training," he says. "He is very aware of his surroundings and he moves like an Ashrak. The blade he carried was obviously intended to be both carried and used in a most clandestine method – with the way he moves and how soundless it is, it makes perfect sense to me that he would be able to use such a weapon most efficiently."

Sam's eyes widen. "An Ashrak?" she says in alarm.

"Or," Daniel says with look of realisation. "Like an Assassin."

Sam and Teal'c turn to him while Colonel O'Neill shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, with that look of it-makes-sense-all-of-a-sudden-but-I-don't-like-it on his face. Daniel clears his throat. "You see, I looked into the Templars, and one of the stories about Templars during the Fourth Crusade involved the Assassin Brotherhood…"

Sam isn't sure if the story makes more sense of the things – or less. Templars, ancient artefacts – probably technology – which Assassins stole and hid…

"Which, if it was Ancient Technology, and if Desmond is an… assassin," Daniel says, making a face, "Could maybe explain how he knew about the Grand Temple – and maybe, probably… he knows about more of them. Also, I have been trying to find where the artefact the Assassins stole might have gone, and there's a mention – just one – about the Mentor of the Assassin Brotherhood being a Sorcerer in possession of the Apple of Eden."

"The what now?" Colonel O'Neill asks.

"I'm guessing that's what they called the orb-thingy," Daniel says. "Either way, I now know what it was called and maybe I can track it back – I mean, something called the Apple of Eden would have sent ripples in that time. The Crusades were pretty religiously motivated, after all."

"Which I'm sure is important, but – not really the issue here," Sam says apologetically. "Desmond Miles might be a… Hok-tar Harcesis."

"Bit of a mouthful," Colonel O'Neill says, arching his brows.

Sam gives him a look and then spreads out her hands. "What are we going to do about it?"

They share looks. Then they look towards the screen where the camera feed from Desmond's room is being shown. It doesn't look like anything has much changed – the image is still, the man himself is still asleep, curled under the covers. For a potential superpower-equipped relation of the Goa'uld, he's… sleeping pretty peacefully.

"Well," Colonel O'Neill says and checks his watch. "Let's start with a breakfast maybe, and work our way down from there, see how we feel about it after."

"… right," Sam says, hesitant.

"I will accompany you, O'Neill," Teal'c says, nodding to them and then moving to follow the Colonel out.

Sam shares a look with Daniel.

"I should," he motions to the book he's holding, "keep working on this. I'm pretty sure I've seen the mention of Apple of Eden as an actual object somewhere, can't put my finger to it – something about a tomb or something. Could give us some indication of where it might've gone."

Sam lets out a sigh. "I'll walk with you, I need to clear my head," she says. "I've been staring at the test results from the temple power sources all night."

"Anything interesting?" Daniel asks.

"They don't use Naquadah," she says. "That's about as much as I've gotten so far. None of the samples we recovered has any Naquadah in them – actually, they don't have any of the elements we're used to seeing, in Goa'uld and in Ancient technology."

"Anything unusual?" Daniel asks.

"No, actually – aside from how advanced the technology obviously is, all of it looks like it could've been built on Earth," Sam admits and shakes her head. "It's almost like… like Ancient Technology, but made from limited materials."

Daniel hums. "Like maybe… made on Earth?" he asks. "Without the benefit of what's available on other planets?"

"Yes," Sam agrees, looking at him. "The alloying in the materials is incredible – but the base materials are your usual… stuff. Carbon, silicon, iron – with very few more exotic materials we've learned about since stepping through the Stargate. And the power sources – I thought they might be some sort of advanced generators, like what Goa'uld ship might use, but they're not. They're basically batteries. They have a set amount of energy, and when they run out, they run out. I think they might've even been rechargeable."

"Handy," Daniel says. "Rechargeable by what?"

"I have no idea," Sam says and blows out a breath. "And I really need to stop thinking about it for a moment." They walk in silence for a moment, and then Sam looks at Daniel. "Hey, the city in Turin – do you think it's the Lost City?"

Daniel shrugs, frowning. "I'm not sure, I'm still waiting for more artefacts from the site, if there's any to be found, but… it doesn't seem right," he admits. "The city in Turin is too new, young, too worn. And if what you say about the materials is true… there is no way it was around when the tablet was written."

Sam nods slowly. "That shield, though," she says as they come to Daniel's door. "If it can be used again, and if it could protect Earth from more than just solar flares…"

"Could it?" Daniel asks, ducking inside his office.

"I still don't know how Desmond did it in the first place, I have no idea. But it could… it would be the most powerful thing we'd ever had," Sam says and leans onto the doorframe, watching him turn the lights on. "It could maybe even protect us from the Goa'uld, if they ever try to launch another invasion. Unless it was calibrated only against solar activity, of course."

"Yeah," Daniel says, setting down the book he was carrying. He's quiet for a moment and then says, "A Hok-tar Harcesis… and maybe an Assassin," in a tone of incredulity.

Sam snorts and shakes her head. "It's always something, isn't it?" she agrees. "Do you need any help or shall I leave you to it?"

"That depends. How do you feel about religious wars and knights in shining armour?" Daniel asks, arching his brows and picking up a book at random, opening it and squinting inside.

Sam gives him a wry smile. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Chapter Text

Desmond is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's gonna happen eventually.

It's weird, being surrounded by so many soldiers and having all those soldiers show up as blue. Well, some of them show up as white – but most glow blue. No matter what this SGC is about, what they do, what they know – what they're going to do – they aren't hostile towards him. It's weird, and he isn't sure it's a welcome change of pace. At least with Abstergo people you always know where you stand – here, he has no damn idea. If these people are just playing nice with him, then… they're the best damn actors Desmond has ever seen. Nothing's supposed to be able to fool the Eagle Sense. But here he is.

Surrounded by friendly members of the US military.

Well, at least there's no Animus. Been over twenty four hours since he was last in the thing. That's, probably, a record since he was first put in the thing.

"Have you felt any nausea, vertigo, dizziness…?" Doctor Fraiser asks while checking his pupil response.

"Nothing," Desmond answers honestly. "Just got a bit of a headache – but I have a lot of headaches, so that's not anything unusual."

"A lot of headaches? How often – have you ever been diagnosed with migraine?" she asks interestedly.

"Every day, and no, I haven't," Desmond says. And the everyday part isn't really right anyway – everyday since Abstergo kidnapped him is more accurate.

"Alright – I'll give you something for the headache then. Now your arm…"

Desmond looks down on it. He still can't really feel it. "It doesn't hurt," he says a little defensively, not sure he wants the thing poked at.

"Let's have a look," the doctor says firmly and then starts unwinding the bandage gently.

The thing doesn't look good – the skin has a sort of ashy quality to it, which is at least a little better than your regular burns and blisters, but it's not normal. It wasn't really heat that burned it, after all. And Desmond isn't sure he wants US military doing tests on the thing trying to figure out what's happening to it.

"I think I need a biopsy," doctor Fraiser says. "Nothing much, looks like there's a bit of skin peeling off there – I'll just…"

She collects a bit of ashy flakes off the palm of Desmond's hand, and wish a sigh he lets her, figuring objection will come out wrong here. He's pretty sure the good treatment he's getting is stringent on good behaviour, at least in part. And doctor Fraiser is nice – and solid blue.

Really, Desmond can't wait for Abstergo to swoop in and snatch him up – things are so much simpler when you're surrounded by enemies.

"Well, you aren't having any adverse reaction – no swelling, no infection, no marked heat surrounding the area…" the doctor says, examining his arm a bit further.  "And blood is still flowing normally. I'm inclined to wait and see with this – but if you notice everything unusual, I want you to come here straightaway."

"Alright, whatever you say, doctor," Desmond agrees.

She takes out a fresh roll of gauze. "About those headaches of yours," she says. "Do they come with visual or auditory side effects?"

"Like hallucinations?" Desmond asks warily. He knows people have been noticing him reacting to Ezio.

"Migraine is often accompanied by seeing auras – jagged lights which can obscure the field of vision," The doctor says. "Have you had symptoms like that?"

No, Desmond just sees the past transposed over the present. And lately, people who talk back. Rather just the one person.

He shakes his head and the doctor presses her lips together, a little disappointed. "Alright," she says. "Another question. Have you ever had your DNA profiled?"

Desmond only barely manages not to jump – or roll his eyes. "Yeah. Why?"

"We ran your bloodwork, it's a part of standard protocol here – and some things came up," Doctor Fraiser says carefully, looking at him. "When your DNA was profiled – did anything come up, was there anything… unusual about it?"

Desmond looks away for a moment, wondering how much these guys know. More about some things – less about others – than he does, it seems like. They talk of the Ancients and Temples like they know and have figured things out, maybe even different things than he knows. The speed with which they started their investigation was almost alarming – as was the fact that they got to the Grand Temple apparently before Abstergo did. The way they talk about it too – like there's more, a lot more, than what they're telling him.

And yet, they don't seem to know about the Isu. Didn't know to call the Grand Temple by its right name until he told them. And now this.

"Mr. Miles?" Fraiser asks and Desmond jumps.

"Desmond, please," he says. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Doctor Fraiser's brows lift slightly. "I was asking about your DNA profile, Desmond – if anything came up about it, if you know?"

Desmond blows out a breath. "Yeah, it did," he says and doesn't elaborate. "What about it?"

Fraiser hesitates, looking at him. "Well, the amount of genetic information you have alone could cause some differences your physiology compared to regular old humans – if the genetic variance you have had some effects on you…"

"It's nothing I can't handle," Desmond says. Genetic variance, hah. "I'm used to it."

Fraiser looks at him like she's expecting him to elaborate. Desmond doesn't really feel like elaborating. "Can I go now, or…?" he asks, nodding to where O'Neill is waiting for him with Teal'c.

Fraiser looks at him a moment longer and then lets it go. "Yes, you can go – but if your hand gets any worse –"

"I'm come back straightaway, yeah. Thanks, doc."

Desmond gets to his feet, moving past her. O'Neill looks up from the slinky he'd been playing with, while doctor Fraiser moves to get back to work. "You know, she's only trying to help, and the more she knows the better."

"Yeah, well," Desmond says with a shrug. "So what's today's schedule?" interrogation, finally, now that he's been properly lulled into a false sense of security maybe? Could be fun.

O'Neill looks at him. "Well, what do you want to do?" he asks then and rises to his feet. Teal'c, already standing, moves to follow him. "We've got a gym, a recreation room, I just got a box set of Simpsons I haven't yet cracked open, could be fun –"

Desmond looks at him. "Any chance I could call my dad today?" he asks, a bit amused. No way, right, still got a few protocols to follow, a few minor details to cover?

O'Neill blows out a breath. "Well, it being a secret base and all, we're going to have to monitor the call, you realise – procedure. But sure, why not," he says and motions Desmond to follow. "Right this way."

Desmond looks at him and then hums. Monitor, trace – investigate, if not apprehend? Yeah. "Okay," he says. "Great."

The phone he's allowed to use is a landline, with the wire and everything. It probably records the phone number and calls and stuff automatically, but what's whatever – Desmond is only calling to a voicemail anyway. Assassins have thousands of the things set up on burner accounts, and Desmond might be a second-hand Assassins at best, as far as being in the official brotherhood goes – but Shaun made him memorise some of them, just in case.

"You have reached voicemail. Please leave a message."

Desmond draws breath, thinking what to say, how to say it and how to cover it up so that it doesn't come across weird. "Um, hi Dad. I'm not dead. Surprise. The US Air Force picked me up and I guess resuscitated me – I got a sorta burn, but otherwise I'm alright," he says, ignoring Ezio hovering near the peripheral edge of his vision. "I'm alright – I'm I don't know when I can come home, but. I'm alright." Or at least he would be, until Abstergo came and picked him up.

Desmond clears his throat. "There was something I, uh. I guess I remembered –" or got told by a ghost "- when I was a bit out of it – about grandpa. You know that library of his? The big one he had in the basement of the old place? It had a secret hidey-hole and everything, and he used to hide treasures in there for us to find and – I just, I don't know. I'm wondering if there was ever more there – like stuff he left for us, you know? Like his will or something? Did anyone ever look?"

God, that's awful. Really shows he failed at all the taking-in-code portions of his training way back when, and it's not like any of his ancestors had to worry about being overheard on a damn phone message.

"I guess I miss that old place," Desmond says awkwardly. "I just feel we – we overlooked a lot about it. Like we missed something. I don't know."

He tries to think about something else to say and then draws a breath. "I guess that's – that's it. I'm not dead. Sorry about that," then, realising what that sounds like, "I mean, not about not being dead, I'm not sorry about not being dead. Sorry about not being there? Yeah. Um." Shit would the Assassin operator monitoring the lines of communications even know who he is, with no clues? "It's Desmond, by the way. Um. Bye."

He hangs up, wincing at how awkward all of that was.

O'Neill is giving him the eyebrows. "Awkward relationship with your dad?" he asks, not quite nonchalantly.

"You have no idea," Desmond mutters.

O'Neill hums in agreement. "Right. So what next?"

"What's on offer? The gym, thanks, I don't think I'm up to it, with my hand."

"Well, Daniel probably got more stuff on Templars, if you're interested," O'Neill offers, sarcastically. "I think he has some questions for you about it too, and a lot of old dusty tomes to wave at you. Very exciting."

It actually kind of was. Learning history from books. So novel. Plus, there's the – thing. For which he might find answers here, apparently. "That actually sounds interesting," Desmond says. "Let's go."

O'Neill looks at him with a betrayed expression. "Right," he says. "Guess someone should escort you then. Teal'c, could you escort Desmond to Daniel's office? I got like – a thing. Reports and stuff. To do. So if you could just –?"

"It would be my pleasure, O'Neill," the big guy says, bowing his head slightly.

"Thanks, buddy, knew I could count on you."

Desmond looks after O'Neill with surprise as the Colonel saunters off. "Not much for history, huh?" he comments.

Teal'c hums and motions him towards the door. "Right this way, DesmondMiles."

Desmond nods and moves towards the door, Teal'c following closely behind him. It feels a bit like being followed by a human-shaped tank. The guy is just – ridiculously big. "That thing on your forehead, it's interesting. Do you mind me asking what's it for?" Desmond asks as they walk.

Teal'c blinks at him slowly. "It is a symbol of a false god to whom I once pledged my loyalty – a mark of my enslavement under him."

"Oh. That sucks," Desmond says, wincing.

"Indeed," Teal'c agrees calmly and lifts his chin. "He is dead now."

"Okay, that's – great. I guess," Desmond says warily. "You're free now, though, yeah?"

"Indeed I am."

"Good. That's good."

Teal'c looks at him consideringly. "Are you in someone's service, DesmondMiles?"

"What, as a slave?" Desmond asks and makes a face. "No. Or maybe not anymore – there was time I worked under someone against my will, under pain of death and all that, but not anymore."

Teal'c arches a brow. "Where is the person who forced you to work now?"

"Also dead," Desmond says.

Teal'c eyes him and then nods coolly. "Good. That is good."

Desmond thinks he likes this guy. Very succinct. He could do with more of that in his life.

Daniel Jackson is reading and writing something when they arrive, Teal'c announcing their presence with, "DanielJackson."

The – historian, maybe? – looks up sharply, his glasses slightly askew. "Teal'c. And Desmond. Hey. Where's Jack?"

"He skedaddled when I said I wanted to come here," Desmond shrugs.

"Colonel O'Neill expressed that he would be writing his report," Teal'c asks.

Daniel Jackson's eyebrows arch at that. "Jack?" asks incredulously.

"Indeed."

Jackson snorts and then looks at Desmond. "So, um, what can I do for you, Desmond?"

"O'Neill said you might have some questions for me, about the Templars?" Desmond says, nonchalantly. "Didn't look like I have much else to do around here, so…"

"Um, I'm not the only one with questions, you still haven't told us much about the Grand Temple," Jackson points out. "I think Sam probably has some questions too."

Desmond shrugs and doesn't answer, looking around the room and, in a blink, turning his Eagle Sense on. A lot of stuff here glows golden. Including the book Jackson has under his nose.

"Right," the historian says, peering at him and then turning to the book. "Pull up a chair, I guess."

Desmond pulls up a chair, still looking around. "You have a lot of stuff," he had to point out.

"Dictionaries, reference materials, artefacts to be decoded slash translated slash figured out the purpose of," Jackson agrees. "It piles up, I guess – but very little of it's without use."

"I can see that," Desmond says and nods up to the thing that glows the brightest gold. "What's that?"

Jackson looks to to the vase-looking thing and then looks at him. "That's… a canopic jar," he says slowly. "They were used in the mummification ceremonies of ancient Egyptians, to store their organs for the afterlife – well, their lungs, their liver, their stomach and intestines."

"Nice," Desmond says, frowning. The jar is still glowing – that's not it. "Were they ever used for anything else?"

"Um..." Daniel Jackson says, sharing a look with Teal'c over Desmond's head. "Well. In some cultures," Jackson says with a strangely careful tone, "they're used to store, the soul of a person – their mind, uh essence. Or to imprison demons."

Desmond turns his eyes to him, blinking. Daniel Jackson clears his throat awkwardly. "Out of – idle curiosity," the historian says, "have you ever heard the term Harcecis?"

"No, I don't think so?" Desmond answers. "What is it?"

"How about Goa'uld?" Teal'c asks and arches a single brow at him. "Are you familiar with that name?"

"Can't say I've ever heard of it," Desmond admits and looks between them. "Is this a test?"

The two share looks, and then Daniel Jackson clears his throat. "Just – let me try something," he says and gets up to his feet, going for the bookshelves. Desmond glances after him and then turns to the book he left behind.

It's written in Arabic. A book of collected folklore or something – Jackson had it open on a page called The Great Treasure of Masyaf.

Desmond glances up and behind. Ezio is leaning on a table near the corner of the room – he doesn't say anything, just motions Desmond to do something.

Right.

Despond turns the book towards himself and glances over it until he spots a few keywords. Library, Byzantines – excavation.

It's a story told by an Arabic workman, forced to work on the excavation of the Masyaf's castle. He was employed by Byzantine soldiers who then wouldn't let him go – he worked day and night until a man, hooded and mysterious, released him from his servitude and let him return to his family. Only the question of what the Byzantines were after plagued him – for he'd heard there were great treasures inside, gemstones, immeasurably precious. And he was tempted.

So he waited until one day the Byzantines were gone, the castle empty – and he could continue his work there, now of his own free will, and –

"Here," Jackson says and holds a book at Desmond, who looks up confusedly. The historian taps on the pages. "Do any of these symbols look familiar?"

Desmond looks at the squiggles. They look Egyptian. "No," he says. "Do you mind if I –" he motions to the Arabic book.

"You – you can read that?" Jackson asks, surprised.

"Hmm," Desmond answers, pulling the Arabic book closer and continuing to read.

The worker spent almost twenty years of his life trying to crack open the Library of Altaïr Ibn-La'ahad, before he succeeded. But all he found inside was a dead man, dust, empty shelves and a strange shimmering orb… and nothing else.

Desmond lifts his head and looks at Ezio.

"I did tell you so," the ghost says.

Desmond frowns at him. Doesn't necessarily mean that there was ever anything else in there – the only proof of that Desmond has is the word of what might be just a hallucination. And this doesn't prove Ezio right – Desmond already knew this. Not that it was the workman whom Ezio saved who eventually opened the Library and took Altaïr's Apple, but that someone did and the Apple was taken.

"What'cha got there?" Jackson asks. "I only just started translating it – my Arabic is only so and so… if you could tell me the gist of it, it would be a big help."

"It's a story about supposed treasure hoard, which was in the end not full of treasure," Desmond says. "A bit of a letdown really – so what's that?" he asks, nodding at the Egyptian squiggles.

"Just – something I thought you might know," Jackson says thoughtfully, looking between him and the Arabic book. He closes the Egyptian one. "So you don't know the language, but a canopic jar rings a bell? Hmm, hold that thought for a moment."

Desmond doesn't – he instead wonders how the hell is he supposed to get to Masyaf from wherever he is when he doesn't even know where he is. Underground somewhere, but hell if he knows where. Maybe he should try and escape now after all, instead of waiting for the more appropriate enemies to roll around. He could escape without spilling these people's blood. Maybe. Escaping with a bum hand though….

"Here," Jackson says and holds a wad of papers at him. "Do any of these mean anything to you?"

Desmond looks them over, his mind still elsewhere. This place has several levels, but he's spotted at least one service shaft which could do the trick. If not, then there's plenty of people here – enough for him to grab one, steal their clothes and ID and use that to get out…

Desmond looks down at the pictures he's been leafing through without much interest and frowns. There's a lot of weird text and glyphs and designs, none of which look particularly familiar, aside from looking a little bit alien. Maybe Isu tech, but – his Eagle Vision isn't pinging on them.

"Why am I supposed to know these?" Desmond asks, looking up.

Jackson hums and glances at Teal'c. "Well, we just thought – you might remember something – but I guess it doesn't matter," Jackson says, frowning in frustration at the pictures.

Desmond arches a brow. "Never looked into Ancient Egypt. 13th, 15th and 16th and 18th centuries only – so far, anyway."

Jackson arches his brows. "What?"

"You're after genetic memories, right?" Desmond says and sets the pictures down. "Ancient Egypt isn't the right time for me – not sure I even have ancestors in that area in that time. Never really looked into it."

Jackson lifts his chin and shares a look with Teal'c. Then he asks again, "What?"

Desmond shrugs. "Sorry."

Chapter Text

About three hours after narrowly escaping the threat of Daniel, Jack escapes another long lecture, this is about the side effects of the solar flare Carter is giving to the senior staff – the gist of which was, "A lot of damage, a lot of panic, a lot of people without power, but humanity will survive. No one thinks it was aliens. People bought the story that the northern lights were an effect of the solar flare. We're gonna be good, eventually."

In SGC the biggest issue is the damaged satellite network. Full 90% of all Earth satellites were turned to scrap, and the rest damaged – Prometheus had been beaming the scrap off the orbit as fast as they could to keep the local area from turning into a minefield of micro meteorites, checking if anything could be repaired. Months until the vital orbital systems would be back online – years until the losses would be recovered.

Looked like there'd be a lot of international cooperation and use of the X303 to re-establish networks. Great fun – but nothing that affects him personally, really.

So while the scientific minds get very excited over minimising energy costs on beaming-assisted satellite launches, Jack quietly slips away, recalling that he left their guest in Daniel's clutches a bit of a while ago, and the poor guy just will be out of his mind in boredom by now.

Desmond looks up when he enters Daniel's office – Teal'c is there still too, sitting beside Desmond and watching Daniel who's standing by a whiteboard.

"So," Desmond says. "Aliens."

Jack looks at him and then looks up. "Daniel."

"Jack."

"What have you been telling him?"

Daniel fiddles with a whiteboard marker and then turns full-on excited mode. "It turns out we were talking a bit cross purposes here," he says, motioning to Desmond. "He knew about the genetic memories, but not of the Goa'uld. I think he might be a descendant of a Harcecis who inherited genes for genetic memories – but not a Goa'uld's memories themselves."

Jack blinks at him. "What?"

"Jack, he can remember his ancestors – his human ancestors," Daniel tells him eagerly.

"And you can only hear someone clarify that these were humans, right, before it starts sinking in that maybe the people around you are expecting something different," Desmond points out, folding his arms. "Like aliens. And honestly, there was a time I thought the Isu were aliens."

"So yeah, I uh, told him," Daniel says and then moves to the whiteboard. "From where we got to the Ancients and Isu – who I think are closely related, but not necessarily the same species. See, the timeline – what we know of the Ancients, is that they disappeared from this galaxy some 3 million years ago –"

"It's so wild, hearing him say galaxy," Desmond points out to Jack. Jack makes a face at him, agreeing. Some things just never get old.

Daniel continues, not hearing or caring, "– and we know that ancient Romans were influenced by the Ancients – the similarity of languages, early life, it all makes sense, but how? So, what I think is that the Isu are descendants of Ancients who stayed on Earth after the rest left – I mean, exodus like that couldn't have been unanimous and Aiyana obviously stayed behind, so why not others? So some Ancients stayed, basically toughing it out against the plague and probably doing all in their power to cure it – and here's the thing, I think they might have succeed by genetic engineering."

"What, like Nirti?" Jack asks. "A bit of a leap, but okay, I buy it."

"It was something Isu did a lot, genetic engineering," Desmond says, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles. "It was kind of their thing."

"So genetic engineering and then death by solar flare," Jack says. "How, if these guys were the descendants of Ancients, did they get killed by a solar flare? Just use the Stargate and pop out and then back again, right?"

"Maybe they couldn't," Daniel says, looking at Desmond. "The Antarctic Stargate would have been covered in ice by then."

"And humans had been taking over Isu cities and claiming their technologies," Desmond hums, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. "They could've grabbed the thing without ever knowing what it was for. It happened a lot."

Jack looks between them, then at Teal'c who only looks thoughtful and then at Daniel. "Okay," he says slowly. "And they didn't have spaceships?"

"Well, maybe they didn't," Daniel says, scratching at his cheek and making a face. "They used gate travel, maybe that was all they needed. Or – or they'd lost the know how to make ships. I mean if the Earth really goes through an extinction-level superflare every seventy five thousand years, then that's – what, thirty nine solar flares, until the one that wiped most of them out? That sort of thing would take a toll on anyone's science and culture."

"Ah, yes, barely no time to recover at all," Jack says. His head kind of starts to spin when taking about time frames in the tens of thousands, never mind millions. Christ. Humanity went from sailing ships being the height of travel to space flights in less than two hundred years – what the hell would they be doing in seventy five thousand years? Not be stuck on Earth, that's for sure. "Right – what does this have to do with Desmond being Harcecis?"

"Descended from one, or maybe from something like it," Daniel says and points a finger at him. "Ancients didn't have genetic memories – Isu did."

He says it in tone of eureka! and Jack doesn't get it, so he just sort of waits for more. Daniel looks letdown.

"We know now that most of Goa'uld technologies are based on those left behind by the Ancients," Teal'c comments.

Daniel nods pointing at him like see, Teal'c gets it. "The Ancient healing device, Stargates, both species use technology based on crystals... And we know the Goa'uld origin world is accessible by Stargate."

"I thought Goa'uld just sort of scavenged what was there," Jack says, already regretting leaving Carter's lecture.

"Well, yes, probably – but maybe they also came in contact with the Isu, early in their development."

"And what, two Isu got snaked, did the nasty and their progeny distributed the genes to the rest of the population?" Jack asks and shudders.

"Okay, I didn't follow that one," Desmond says and looks down from the ceiling. "What?"

"Um," Daniel hums awkwardly. "Well. When two Goa'uld hosts have a child, that child ends up inheriting all the Goa'uld's genetic knowledge. That's – that's how you get Harcecis."

"Oh," the guy says and then leans his head back again. "Nah, I just figured the Isu took the useful genes from these Goa'uld things and spliced them into themselves."

Jack makes a gagging noise.

"You'd – you think they'd do that to themselves?" Daniel asks, looking in part fascinated and in part disturbed. "They'd change their own genes like that - with alien DNA?"

"Why not? After you've created a race of genetically engineered slaves, is not even that big of a deal probably," Desmond says and scratches at his right arm.

"I'm sorry – what?"

"You know – humans," Desmond classifie.

"We're familiar," Jack says sarcastically.

"Though I guess the creation of humans might've come after," Desmond hums. "Probably did – I figure the Isu had a bit of a population shortage going on, they needed a dumb labour force. Might've had something to do with earlier genetic engineering they did to themselves – it decreased their own birth rates."

For a moment they just stare at the guy. Daniel is the first one to speak, his voice a little faint. "Are you saying the Isu created humans to be their labour force?"

"Yep," Desmond says and frowns. "Gotta say, the fact that you don't know about this stuff is kinda worrisome."

"Hey, we know a lot of stuff about things," Jack objects. "And three million years is a lot of time to cover – and besides, you didn't know about aliens. Right?" He looks to Daniel. "He didn't know about aliens until you told him?"

Daniel clears his throat. "Well."

"I mean, if you don't know about this, it means that you're probably not in Abstergo's back pocket," Desmond says, more to the ceiling than to them. "And I'm not sure Abstergo knows about aliens, because they'd probably be playing a whole different ball game if they did, so…"

"Abstergo?" Daniel asks. "The…. Pharmaceutical company?"

"The front for the Templar order," Desmond says, waving a dismissive hand. "Never mind, I'm just thinking out loud here."

"Um – I think I'm going to have to mind," Daniel objects, arching his brows. "The biggest medical company in the world is a front for a secret society?"

"Aren't they all?" Jack asks, giving Desmond a disturbed side-eye. "What are they secret society-ing about, these Abstergo Templars?"

Desmond hums and then sits up straight. "Right," he says. "If I tell you everything – or mostly everything – will you let me leave?"

Jack and Daniel share looks. "You'd have to take that up with General Hammond," Jack says slowly.

"As well as tell him everything you just told us," Daniel adds. "This is some very important stuff – he needs to know about this, and information coming directly from the source is always better than getting it second hand."

"So that might take a while," Jack says, and there Desmond's eyes narrow, and beside him Teal'c sits up straighter.

"So you are going to keep me here, huh?" Desmond asks flatly

"Not – not indefinitely, but – we would like to learn more about this," Daniel says warily.

"And you'll definitely need to sign a few confidentiality contacts, what with the – aliens and all," Jack coughs. "But I'm sure after that there won't be any issue in letting you continue living your life normally, saving the world and all…"

He's pretty sure Desmond is sizing them up and trying to figure out if he could take them. Daniel gets dismissed as a threat entirely, Jack gets barely a glance – and oh boy, the kid's a cocky son of a bitch, isn't he? Teal'c gives him a pause though.

"Do not do anything anything rash, DesmondMiles," Teal'c says warningly. "You are among friends, but we will defend ourselves and this base."

Desmond presses his lips tight together.

"What's the hurry, kid?" Jack asks. "You were all cool just a moment ago."

"I figured I was already fucked, so it didn't matter really, but if I'm not, and Abstergo doesn't know about this place…" Desmond makes a face. "I'd just rather get out before they do."

Jack looks at Daniel, who's chewing on his thumbnail in thought. "What do you think they'd do?" Daniel asks slowly.

"Absolutely everything in their power to take control," Desmond says, and they all jump a little when the internal line to Daniel's office starts ringing.

Jack, closest to it, jumps up to answer. "Yes?" he asks, keeping his eyes on Desmond.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

"Yes, Walter, what's up?"

"Is Desmond Miles there? General Hammond wants to see him," Walter says.

Jack grimaces. "Yeah, okay. We'll bring him." He hangs up and looks at the others. "Hammond wants to see him."

Desmond sighs. "Here we go."

And the other shoe drops. Hammond isn't alone in the conference room – he's sitting there with one of Jack's least favourite people.

"Kinsey," Jack just barely manages not to growl.

"That's Mr. Vice President to you, Colonel," Kinsey answers, leaning back in his chair and looking not at Jack – but at Desmond. "And this must be our supposed saviour."

Desmond doesn't look particularly impressed – or pleased – to be in the company of such a high government official.

"This is Desmond Miles," General Hammond agrees, looking a little displeased himself. "Whom we recovered at the Ancient Site in Turin after he'd used the technology there to shield the Earth from the effects of the superflare. Mr. Miles – this is Vice President Kinsey."

"Right," Kinsey says, before Desmond or anyone can say anything. "Shield the Earth – that's why we have billions of dollars worth of damage just to the power grid, and trillions worth of satellites turned into scrap, because he shielded us from the solar flare."

Daniel, ever the defender of truth, justice and all that, has to butt in there. "Surely you must see the superflare would have been much worse without the shield," he says.

"And how did he know about this shield – or the superflare? And if he did indeed know about it – and didn't cause it – then why not warn people?"

"You think he caused the flare? What are you, nuts?" Jack asks incredulously.

"I have seen your reports, Colonel – what few you've written. Considering what you've done in the past – including, but not limited to blowing up a star," Kinsey says sarcastically and turns to look at Hammond, "it's not a possibility I can ignore."

Hammond clears his throat. "Vice President Kinsey is here to personally escort Mr. Miles to the Pentagon," be says almost apologetically.

"Right," Desmond says flatly.

"But – Desmond saved the planet and you're what, putting him under guard fon suspicion of having the ability to manipulate the Sun?" Daniel demands. "Since when was that our go-to way of dealing with people who save the planet?"

Kinsey snorts. "Seems like you don't know anything, as per usual," he says and eyeballs Desmond. "Your so-called saviour here is wanted by the Interpol, and a key member of a known terrorist organisation called the Assassin Brotherhood. They're wanted for dozens of assassinations worldwide, and Desmond Miles in particular very recently committed an act of terrorism in Italy, attacking the offices of a beloved American Company and killing eight people."

Jack blinks. "Baloney," he says, but glances at Desmond. The guy just sighs and doesn't say anything, doesn't deny it. "Damn, seriously? Desmond, I liked you. I thought we could be buds."

"Got nothing to say, Mr. Miles?" Kinsey asks.

"The fact that they kidnapped me, tortured me, kidnapped my dad and killed who knows how many other people probably doesn't mean a thing to you, so," Desmond shrugs. "What's the point."

Jack shares a look with Hammond.

"Lies," Kinsey sneers and then nods to the airmen by the doors. "Apprehend him."

"Any chance you could have my stuff brought with?" Desmond asks, calm even as the airmen pull his hands behind his back. "I'm pretty attached to some of it."

"United States government does not negotiate with terrorists," Kinsey says and stands up. "Thank you for the hospitality, General, but the sooner we get him to the Pentagon, the sooner we can begin our full investigation."

"Wait, wait – shouldn't we interrogate him here first? He knows some high-level top secret stuff about the Ancients," Daniel says quickly. "Stuff even I don't know, but which might be vital in our search for the Lost City –"

"And now he knows about the Goa'uld too," Jack says, coughing.

"Yes – surely the SGC is better equipped to deal with him?" Daniel says. "We haven't even gotten the chance to talk about the Grand Temple at length yet."

Kinsey scoffs. "You have had the man for twenty four hours, and you haven't gotten any results? No, I think I can take over from here."

"General?" Jack asks.

Hammond shakes his head. "It's out of my hands," he says, looking at Desmond. "Hopefully this will prove to be nothing but a misunderstanding. But in any case and for what it's worth, I know what you did for Earth, son, and appreciate it."

"Thanks," Desmond says, and it doesn't even sound sarcastic. "It's nice to be appreciated, every now and then."

How fast Kinsey bustles Desmond out of there is a little alarming and beyond irritating.

"Is that guy just going to walk all over us now that he's the Vice President?" Jack mutters. "Because I gotta tell you, that's going to start grating on me real fast."

"Kinsey just walked in here and took him?" Carter asks incredulously.

"Pretty much. Said some nonsense about him being a wanted terrorist which Desmond, being apparently an idiot, didn't deny," Jack scowls. "Actually, he pretty much confirmed it. In front of Kinsey."

"Yikes," Carter says.

"Yeah," Daniel agrees from behind a laptop he's typing at. "Kinsey wasn't lying – I mean the warrant for Desmond doesn't say his name, but his picture is in the top ten of Interpol's most wanted criminals – but there's nothing on him aside from the attack, which happened just a week ago – though the warrant went into effect months back."

"So he really is a terrorist," Jack says in dismay. "Damn. I really thought he was a good one. He seemed so chill."

Daniel doesn't look up, humming. "Here's a fun thing – the company he attacked? Abstergo. They have an experimental laboratory in Italy known as the Abstergo Tower."

"You know, what he told us, it could be bullcrap," Jack points out.

"Guess who made the biggest donation in Kinsey's campaign funding?" Daniel asks, giving him a look. "Which was probably the only reason he got a place in the ballot at all?"

Okay, that's bit too big of a coincidence.

Carter looks between them. "I'm missing something."

Jack clears his throat. "Before Kinsey snatched him, Desmond told us that Abstergo industries is a front for the secret society of Templars and that they are looking to control the world," he says. "And if they ever find out about the Stargate and all this, they'd try to get their dirty mitts on it too."

Carter's brows arch at that. "Really."

"He seemed most sincere and distressed by the notion," Teal'c comments and looks at them. "Before I delivered him to DanielJackson's office, he told me he'd been held captive and forced to work for someone against his will – but his captor is dead now. Judging by what he said in General Hammond's office, it could be someone in Abstergo."

Jack leans his head back, thinking about it.

"Well, even if he was and he attacked them for justifiable reasons… he killed people," Carter says. "And also is apparently part of an Assassin Brotherhood. So…"

Jack folds his arms. "Something about this just doesn't sit right with me," he mutters.

"You're not the only one," Daniel says, frowning at the laptop. "Should we look into Abstergo, just in case? I mean, it doesn't look like they were part of the Committee or anything, and if Desmond is right, they don't know about Stargate or aliens, but if that's just because they were busy doing other stuff with more local alien technology…"

"By all means, look into it," Jack says and sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Now that Kinsey's got the kid, I don't know if there's anything we can do, though."

"Abstergo," Carter says and looks up. "Abstergo's servers were the first ones Desmond checked when looking for Juno."

"Any luck with that?" Jack asks. The last thing they need now is some evil Ancient-person- thing jumping out if the woodwork to make things even more complicated.

"Nothing yet, but we're still working on it," Carter says. "But while he was checking on Abstergo, I noticed he wasn't the only one there – someone else was hacking Abstergo too, doing pretty much the same thing as what Desmond was doing."

"You know, the hacking probably should've clued us in," Jack says and since Daniel and Carter are ignoring him, he looks at Teal'c. "Your think we'd know to be suspicious of hackers by now."

"Hackers have been proven beneficial for us in multiple cases, O'Neill," Teal'c points out.

"Well… there's that."

"You think the other hacker…s could have been fellow, uh, assassins?" Daniel asks, looking at Carter.

"Could be," Carter says and looks at Jack. "If they're still doing it, then maybe we could send them a message – and if they have anything that could help or explain the situation –"

She stops as General Hammond steps into the conference room, looking grim.

"Sir?" Jack asks innocently, in his most no, we weren't planning on helping a suspected bad guy just because we have a gut feeling, Sir, what are you talking about? "Something the matter?"

"I just had a word that the Vice President's car was in an accident – it swerved off a bridge and caught on fire," the General says, and everyone sits up straighter. "They are expecting no survivors."

Chapter Text

"Bill, there's something you need to hear," Shaun says from the door. "Come on, get up."

Bill considers the phone he's holding, the plans he's been making, the idea of retirement that teeters tantalisingly close and finally like something he could reasonably go for. Pulling out at this stage would be both cowardly and understandable, he thinks. There is still a war to fight, and they are no closer to winning it today than they were a week ago. And yet, they have a victory – of sorts – under their belts, and he has a personal loss under his, which surely anyone would understand. His wife would understand. If only he could put it into words.

How tired a man can be. The last time – the last time, because now there are two, perhaps arguably three times he has lost Desmond – everything had been a blur of manic energy. When Desmond had ran, Bil had spent days, perhaps weeks, raking through the forest for any sign, any clue, any hope of finding his boy before anyone else did, before anyone worse did. He remembers collapsing in exhaustion multiple times, but he doesn't recall being tired, no, he couldn't be tired there, not while Desmond was out there, not while Desmond was gone.

Desmond is gone now too, but… he isn't out there. And Bill is tired.

He gets up anyway, gets out of the bedroom and walks into the living room in their rented motel apartment. Rebecca is there, her face a little pale as she works feverishly on a laptop, saying, "I can't track it, it's like – it's like it came from nowhere – I can't even get a caller ID –"

Shaun ignores her and takes a pair of headphones, handing them to Bill. "Play it again," he says to Rebecca, and with a confused frown Bill sets the headphones over his ears.

Rebecca hits enter, and a voice message begins to play.

"Um, hi Dad," Desmond's voice fills his ears and Bill can feel his eyes grow wide. "I'm not dead. Surprise."

The message is left with the same eloquence Desmond recorded his other messages, with hemming and hawing and broken sentences – it's not fake, Bill can tell it isn't just by the timbre of his voice, the hesitation. But there's information there too. United States Air Force – that they already knew, Shaun and Rebecca had found it out before, when Abstergo was proven to have been barred from the Grand Temple. But…

"There was something I, uh. I guess I remembered when I was a bit out of it – about grandpa," Desmond says, increasingly awkward. "You know that library of his? The big one he had in the basement of the old place?"

It's obviously an attempt at code, for what Bill can only assume is a revelation like the one he got about Haytham Kenway, epiphany by Bleeding Effect. What Desmond is getting at is a little vague – but he has to be talking about an ancestor. Desmond never knew his grandparents, from neither side. All of them were long dead before he was born. It has to be either Ezio or Altaïr he's talking about – either Monteriggioni or Masyaf.

"Play it again," Bill says.

"I'm pretty sure he's talking about the Library under the Masyaf Castle," Shaun says, even as the message starts to play. He has a book in his hands, and the hand leafing the pages is shaking noticeably. "We assumed Altaïr only built it to hide the Apple of Eden in his possession, but there must be something Ezio missed. Ezio wasn't exactly known for his library – more for his art and weapon gallery, really."

Bill nods tightly and then closes his eyes to listen to Desmond again. Lord, he remembers trying to teach Desmond to talk in code – the kid never got it. He didn't like lying. He aced the portions of the training that had to do with blending and listening in unnoticed, the boy could blend into a neon-coloured wall if he had to – but try and make him speak with multiple meanings and he folded like a house of cards. Too honest by far.

"It's Desmond, by the way," Desmond says in his ear, and Bill bows his head against the sudden tightening of his throat. "Um. Bye."

Desmond sounded fine. He was held by the Military, but he was fine.

"I'm sorry, Bill," Rebecca says before he can do more than turn to look at her. "I can't track it down, wherever he called from, it's under military grade encryption. He could've been calling from the moon, for all I know."

"The fact that he was given a phone call is a good sign, though," Shaun says reassuringly. "Abstergo or anyone working for them wouldn't have – if he was taken in by this SGC branch that Abstergo doesn't have access to, he might be in a… better situation than he could be, otherwise."

Bill nods, running his fingers over his eyes. It feels like someone's hollowed out his spine – what little strength he had left is just drained by the relief he feels. "Right," he says, trying to pull his mind, his emotions and his breathing all in order. "Right – if locating him is out of question, let's do what he asked. What's in Masyaf, that he might need now?"

Shaun looks at him and then snaps the book shut. "Well, we have the recordings from when Desmond was in coma, going through the… Nexus Point," he says. "But those aren't very detailed."

"The data is corrupt," Rebecca agrees. "And the Animus wasn't even supposed to be recording. We got bits and pieces here from where Desmond's consciousness itself corrupted the Black Room program before it collapsed, but it's nothing like what we got from Ezio and Connor."

"Is there anything from the moment Ezio entered Altaïr's library?" Bill asks, taking the headphones off.

"I'll take a look," Rebecca says and turns to her bags, where she'd carried the Animus data-cores.

"We don't have much information about the Library, from actual history books and whatnot," Shaun says. "I looked into it when Desmond told us about the whole thing, but there's just not much information out there. Templars sought it out in Ezio's time, after Niccolo Polo's book pointed them that way, and we know that the Apple was eventually taken out by a workman who managed to get in, somehow. But as far as we know, the Apple was all there was in there."

"And Altaïr," Rebecca says.

"Which is its own level of creepy, but I doubt his bones are what Desmond is after here," Shaun says. "I reckon there could have been other hidden chambers there, like the one where Altaïr put the Apple, but if Ezio had opened them, Desmond would already know about them. Which begs the question where did he get new information?"

"Another ancestor, maybe?" Bill asks, even as he slowly comes to the realisation of how grimy he is, after two days of mourning, which had been preceded by hours of walking after their van had stalled on the road. Christ, he needs a shower.

"No way to know unless Desmond manages to contact us again," Shaun says. "But as far as I know, after Ezio no Assassins went after the Library the same way. Ezio made it known that the Library was empty, after all. There were the usual pilgrimages, of course – everyone wants to stand where Himself stood and all that, paying homage, yadda yadda… but I don't think people stuck around searching for treasures."

"The Templars might have," Rebecca points out. "I doubt Ezio would've CCd them on the email about Masyaf being a bust. And Desmond already has, what, two Templars in his ancestry?"

"His genes get around. Or got around. Came from around?" Shaun murmurs and then shakes his head. "Either way, history is mum about it."

"Right," Bill says and looks at Rebecca.

"This is going to take a while," she answers his unspoken question. "There's a lot of data to shift through, and it's all out of order. The Animus wasn't exactly functioning properly, with Clay and Desmond both corrupting it from the inside."

"Very well. Do what you can," Bill says with a sigh. "I am going to take a shower."

"Finally," Shaun says, and then at his cool glance clears his throat. "I'm just – going to have another look at SGC and see if I can do anything more about tracking down that message's origins, shall I?"

"You do that, Shaun."

Bill manages to pull himself into order – and to send his wife a message concerning Desmond, getting no reply but knowing she would get the message, eventually. He has no idea how she would react to this all – first they find their boy, and she cannot see him, then they lose him again, this time permanently, only he's alive? It has been a rollercoaster.

Bill still feels like he's living in a dream, like there is a thick fog over his eyes and everything is hazy and moving as if through the water. Maybe it is and he is only imagining everything – Desmond is still dead, or still alive, and the solar flare is yet to happen. Yet the work Shaun and Rebecca are putting into it seems real enough – as real as Desmond's voice, as he replays the messages.

The idea that he could maybe talk to his son again, after all, is unexpectedly upsetting. They'd left. They'd left him for dead and yet he'd survived. What must Desmond be thinking, now? That he was exactly the sort of an asshole Desmond thought he was? His message was so awkward. Not much in way of reassurance or blame or even relief there. Not much of an emotion. Even when he said he wasn't sorry for surviving, he didn't sound precisely happy.

Had he made the message under duress?

Bill regrets not sleeping the night before. He can feel the lack of rest pressing on his mind, dragging his thoughts into spirals, slowing everything down.

"I have some images," Rebecca says. "From when Ezio entered the Library, but they're – fractured. Not much detail, except where Ezio specifically looked at."

"Some very nice close-ups of Altaïr though, which would be lovely, if one were into near-mummified corpses," Shaun says, making a face. "Which I am not."

"Anything on the library walls, the floor, anything like that?" Bill asks, going to look over Rebecca's shoulder.

"Not much, but there's a few," Rebecca says and shows the images one by one. Images of empty bookshelves, of the floor, the symbol of the Levantine branch of the Brotherhood there… Most of the walls are covered in the shelves, and from what Bill can see there is nothing special about them, only blank walls…

"You know, the fact that Altaïr managed to make the vault at all, and with such a sophisticated lock and key, is pretty amazing," Shaun comments. "I mean, he used the Apple to get the knowledge and all that – but he essentially created an electronic door with a combination lock. There had to be some circuitry involved in making the door alone. How did he manage that, in the 13th century?"

"Probably also by using the Apple," Rebecca says. "The thing can affect molecular structure of things, right? Just get the materials, have a, I don't know… think at it, and the Apple might've done the rest."

"When did you become the expert on the matter?"

"While I was watching it draw circuitry under Desmond's skin?" Rebecca asks. "The vault was full of circuitry, right? I mean, if what Ezio saw actually happened and wasn't like, I don't know. A weird interpretation of Desmond's mind, the whole place was covered with circuitry. Considering its intricacy, I don't know if a man from 13th century could've made something like that without a little bit of," she wiggles her fingers, "PoE magic."

"We are most certainly not calling it that," Shaun says, affronted.

"The knowledge imprinted on the Piece of Eden by the Isu and weird possibly-electromagnetic-manipulation-of-atoms the Pieces of Eden can do – which is only a theory at this point… or Isu Magic," Rebecca says and weighs her empty hands. "Isu Magic is easier to say."

Bill ignores them, reaching forward to tap through the pictures. He cannot quite see, but he has a smidge of Desmond's ability – just enough to sometimes see what is important. And, strangely… the image of Altaïr's feet is the one that makes him pause.

"There," he says and points.

Shaun and Rebecca both look. Between Altaïr's feet, on the floor, there is a dark patch – perhaps a hole.

"Opening for a trapdoor, maybe?" Rebecca asks, leaning in.

"Did the guy literally sit his arse on a secret trap door – and Ezio missed it?" Shaun asks.

"Have some respect, Shaun," Bill says, but with a wry smile. "He's the forefather of the modern Brotherhood. Rebecca, are there other pictures of it?"

Shaun makes a yapping motion with his hand, but leans in just as interestedly as Rebecca goes through the few recorded images from Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad's library. "Not many," she admits. "Ezio was concentrated on the Disk Altaïr was holding, he only looked at his feet when he was paying his respects, and I don't think he even noticed the hole. Must've not glowed golden for him."

"Whatever Altaïr hid there, it wasn't meant for Ezio," Bill concludes.

"Hmm…" Shaun says and looks at them, folding his arms. "As far as I know, the Library of Altaïr has been opened twice. When Ezio went in and got the Disk – and when the Apple was taken out by a workman. The place has been sealed since then. And no one knows how the workman got in."

Bill nods in agreement and hums. He's seen pictures taken of the door by more modern assassins – it's still sealed, and no one thinks there's anything behind it, Assassins over the centuries have made sure of it. Thankfully, Masyaf is no major tourist destination – nor an interest to historians or archaeologists – so its secrets have stayed secrets.

"Whatever was left there could still be there," Rebecca points out excitedly.

"Hell, it could even be the actual Library," Shaun says with a snort. "Altaïr did a double fake out – put a fake library on top, then the Apple just so that if anyone came after the place had that to grip and contend with – all the while hiding the real thing under his own feet."

"Something more important than an Apple of Eden?" Bill murmurs, leaning back. "Considering all the trouble those things have caused, and how much damage they have done… what could be more important?"

Rebecca drums her fingers against the table. "We assumed that the library was built for… well, Desmond, so that he could meet with Jupiter," she says, turning to them. "But what if it wasn't? I mean," she opens another picture, the one where the whole Library is lit with golden circuitry. "Look at that. The whole thing is a machine – like the Isu Vaults. And we can only see the surface here, what if it went deeper – like Minerva's and Juno's vaults? Those were a lot bigger than the chambers we managed to access."

Bill doesn't say anything, thinking about it. Only way to know for sure would be to go there and find out for themselves. With the Apple they still have, the one Desmond recovered from Rome, they might be able to open the door…

But most likely not.

"We need to find Desmond," Bill says firmly. "Any luck on that?"

"Uh, nothing yet," Shaun says, and checks his computer. "But – huh. Apparently the Vice President is dead."

"What? Was it from the solar flare?"

"No – I just got a message from Erudito," Shaun says. "Chatter on the official military channels – Kinsey's car veered off the road, fell more or less off the mountain and into a ravine. And caught on fire. Not our doing, obviously."

"Why would Abstergo get rid of their most influential lackey in the White House?" Rebecca asks, confused. "Didn't they just spend like a billion on his campaign and everything?"

"Not sure it was them either. Right now it's being called an accident. They blame the solar flare for having damaged the car somehow, or something."

"As interesting and as beneficial as that is to us, it has little to do with Desmond," Bill scowls. "You haven't been able to figure out anything about where he might be?"

"No, no, this is interesting," Shaun says, leaning back. "I've been looking into potential US Air Force deep space telemetry projects in hopes of nailing down where the SGC might be making their base – and one of the places that came up was Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado Springs. Also, Kinsey tried to shut SGC down, remember? So, he would know what it was, right?"

"Which makes the fact that Abstergo doesn't a little strange," Bill murmurs. "If he was on their payroll, he would've told them."

"Unless not telling gave him leverage," Rebecca points out.

"Yes, yes, very mysterious – but look at this," Shaun says. "His car crashed on its way from Colorado Springs… to Denver."

There's a moment of silence as that settles in. Bill scowls to himself and then goes to check the report from Erudito – it's as Shaun said. For hitherto unknown reasons the Vice President was visiting the military base in Cheyenne Mountain when his car crashed, killing him and the escort onboard his car. And on Shaun's latest conspiracy wall, there is already a post-it note about SGC and its potential key locations – including Cheyenne Mountain.

It's… quite the coincidence.

And then, as he eyes the message from Erudito, a chat box opens in the corner of the screen with a notification sound.

"Shaun," Rebecca says with a tone of disapproval. "Do you have notifications on your computer? What kind of Assassin are you?"

"Shut it, you harpy," Shaun says and leans past Bill. "Let me just – oh. I – I think it's another voice message from the voicemail servers."

Bill can feel his heart leap up and then lodge itself into his throat. "Play it," he somehow manages to say past it, and without further ado, Shaun hits enter.

The audio message beings to play.

"So, I just broke into some poor bastard's summer cabin, I think," Desmond says in hushed voice. "And I might've tripped an burglar alarm, so I'm going to be quick about this. I'm in Colorado Springs, out of captivity and, uh… I got some stuff I really need to talk to someone in person and not over a voice message. I think people might be looking for me, so, yeah. I could use an extraction. Just – if – if you could, just send someone here to get me the hell out of dodge, that'd be great. Just somewhere in the town is fine – I'll find them. Um, yeah, that's about it – oh, right, it's Desmond again. Hi and, uh… bye."

Chapter Text

While they move to a more secure location and wait for news from Colorado Springs, what Shaun learned from Erudito makes official national news.

President Hayes makes a most solemn speech, regretting to inform the nation that a tragic accident took away the lives of Vice President Robert Kinsey, his driver and four servicemen as their vehicle ran into technical problems and veered off the road near Denver. The White House had lost a great man today, the loss of whom would yadda yadda yadda…

Rebecca, having seen some of Kinsey's handiwork, can't say it could've happened to a better man. Kinsey was just the worst kind of politician, seriously – somewhere there was a textbook definition of corrupt politician, and Kinsey was the cover picture. Losing him sent Abstergo into a spiral of panic, which is great too. The more problems for them, the better for everyone else. Especially in light of what Shaun finds in their emails.

"Kinsey was their only in with SGC," he says gleefully. "But he was being a skittish bastard about it and wouldn't give them anything without getting something in return – and he kept asking for more and more in return. Something about SGC makes government officials hard to bribe, it looks like."

"Nice bit of integrity in the government," Rebecca comments.

"It's bloody worrisome, is what it is," Shaun says. "To keep so many people on the straight and narrow… it has to be something big."

"Bigger than Assassins, Templars and ancient super advanced civilisations?"

"Eh," Shaun shrugs. "It could be aliens."

Rebecca snorts, shaking her head. Then she leans back from her laptop, turning to him. "You think it had anything to do with Desmond?" Rebecca asks. "Kinsey's death. I mean, the timing, the location… it's a pretty big coincidence."

Shaun considers it. "Probably, but might be better we pretend otherwise," he says then. "Erudito might figure it out, probably already had – but if we don't make it official, then Desmond didn't just officially kill the Vice President of the United States. That sort of news travels fast, and we've had security breaches before."

And there's consequences even Assassins or Templars can't deny or get away with, if the greater public finds out about it. Assassinating government leaders tends to be one of them. If you get caught holding the sniper rifle…

"Yeah," Rebecca murmurs. Would hate to lose Desmond now, to treason, first degree murder and all the resulting fallouts. "But how did he even end up in a situation where that was possible? I mean, Kinsey could've been sent to get Desmond out of the SGC base but… how do you go from that to Assassinating the Vice President?"

"If he did. Could have been an accident, the whole thing," Shaun comments lightly. "We don't know."

They're tensely quiet for a moment, not quite looking at each other. Then Shaun lets out a snort. "Desmond? Assassinating the Vice President, pfft," he says in somewhat exaggerated disbelief. "Nah, not our Desmond. Have you even seen the guy?"

Rebecca thinks of Desmond climbing the half-finished skyscraper and hums in agreement. Yeah, it wouldn't be impossible to discredit. No one would believe in something like that, not without having seen how Desmond just… absorbed abilities from his ancestors. Desmond doesn't look or act anywhere near as lethal and dangerous as he is. Probably a good thing for them.

"Still, probably should start preparing for the fallout?" Rebecca asks.

"Might not be the worst idea. Just… try and not make it look like you're covering up a murder."

Bill comes out of his room where he'd been on the phone with the extraction team. "They got him – Desmond caught up with them before they even entered the city. 6 hours out," he says and sinks to sit beside Shaun with a sigh. "He has an injury – his right arm, extensive burns and loss of mobility – but aside from that he's alright."

"Any word on what happened?" Shaun asks.

"Nothing he would say to the extraction team – he wants to talk to us in person, and preferably far away from Colorado Springs," Bill says. "He did however have a message. Or a question, rather."

"You talked to him?" Rebecca asks, leaning to see Bill past Shaun.

"No, the team leader – but she passed his message on," Bill says and looks at them. "He wants to go to Masyaf."

Desmond is delivered to them by the extraction team six hours and four minutes later, after a lucky flight from Denver. The extraction team pretty much just drops him at their doorsteps and then heads off – there's another assassin in Washington in a need of a quick getaway, it seems; their honeypot mission wasn't going well.

Rebecca doesn't care.

Desmond is there, and alive. And she has to admit, it didn't quite feel real until that point. The whole thing, leaving Desmond behind, it was so much like when they left Lucy behind, that even though she knew and believed… well, she didn't know for sure and didn't really believe. Not without more proof than audio recordings, anyway. Funny thing, human brain. Once burned, twice shy.

But there he is. He's wearing a different set of clothes – green sort of military trousers and boots, dark undershirt, and a jacket, which looks like he might've stolen it or maybe been given by the extraction team. Seeing him in anything but a white hoodie is a bit weird, but maybe it was burned, or something happened, or maybe Rebecca doesn't really care because Desmond is alive.

For once someone is alive.

"Whoa, hey, okay – hand, watch the hand," Desmond says as she grabs him into her arms, yanking his stupid lanky body down for a proper hug. "Hey there, Rebecca, what – oof –" and there's Shaun, beside them, arms around both of them, squeezing.

"Mate, you gave us a bloody heart attack," Shaun says, against Desmond's shoulder, while Desmond sort of sways between them, uncertain.

"Oh," Desmond says. "Yeah, sorry about that. Um. Dad," he says. "A little help here?"

"Son," Bill says, and if he was less stiff he probably would've joined the hug. Instead he just sort of puts an arm around Desmond's still free shoulder and ruffles a hand through his hair. "I'm – glad to see you're alright. What happened?"

"It's a long story, which I'd like to tell while not carrying half the team," Desmond says, still struggling a bit, which makes Rebecca latch on a little tighter, just because. She's never hugged the guy before, and he's surprisingly huggable – just narrow enough around the chest to get her arms around and latch on, tight. "Okay, okay, I get it, come on, guys –"

Shaun must be on the same wavelength as her, because he sort of obnoxiously leans onto Desmond, sending him a half a step back. Bill actually chuckles at them. Rebecca presses her ear on Desmond's chest and listens to the way his heart skips a beat.

"Come on, guys," Desmond murmurs. "I had a long flight and killed the Vice President and everything. Give me a break here."

"It's called a hug Desmond," Shaun says, irritable.

"You're supposed to hug back," Rebecca agrees.

"… oh."

It still takes a long awkward moment before he actually does, putting his left arm around Rebecca's back. What he does with his right, Rebecca can't tell – Shaun's in the way – but it satisfies Shaun enough for him to start bitching. "You killed the Vice President, Desmond?" he asks. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking they were going to fake a car accident and my death, so," Desmond shrugs. "I made it a real one. Can we, I don't know. Sit down or something?"

Shaun pulls back first, just to give him an annoyed look. Rebecca pulls back then, checking Desmond over and then looking at his right arm. It's hidden by the sleeve, but though his fingers are covered in bandages, it doesn't look like he has a cast on. "How bad is the damage?"

"No idea – it doesn't hurt, and the bones and muscles are fine. Blood flows and everything. It's just – not working," Desmond says, giving Shaun an awkward look and then letting out a muffled noise of objection as Bill pulls him into a rough, quick hug.

"Hi, Dad," Desmond says, quiet, against Bill's shoulder.

"Son," Bill says again, pats him roughly on the shoulder and then steers him inside.

They sit by the couches waiting in the lounge area, Desmond seemingly out of self-defence sitting on the single armchair, while everyone else takes the sofa. The arm, Rebecca notes, he lays on the armrest, palm upwards, fingers slightly curled inwards under the bandages.

"So, what happened to lead you to assassinating the Vice President?" Shaun asks.

"What happened at the Grand Temple?" Bill asks. "You activated the Eye – what was it like?"

"And what is SGC?" Rebecca asks.

"Um," Desmond looks between them. "Okay, first – activating the Eye sucked. It burned, it hurt, it sucked. I passed out, almost died. Probably did die for a while. I woke up in the SGC – in an underground base I later learned is under Cheyenne mountain, I was in their medical – they told me they had to resuscitate me after …"

The whole story is wild. Granted it's the sort of wild which is believable – to them. They live such crazy lives already, so, what's a little bit of government conspiracy about aliens on top of it? And all the proof is there – SGC, Kinsey, the ridiculous budget SGC has… plus, according to Shaun, some stuff that had probably been scrubbed by US Air Force, because he thinks he remembers some archaeologist who thought pyramids were built by aliens. Shaun is a conspiracy nut, and when a conspiracy just sort of quietly vanishes, it usually means there's some truth to it.

"It's just that I thought it was Abstergo, and that pyramids had something to do with the First Civilisation," he mutters.

It's wild – but believable. Still, someone has to play the devil's advocate – and that someone is, of course, Bill.

"Are you sure about this, son? Did you see any… aliens?" Bill asks, eyes narrowed. "It could have been a charade to confuse you."

"I think I met one," Desmond answers, which makes them all sit up straighter. "Just – he looked human. There was this guy, Teal'c, he had… I don't know. Eagle Vision didn't bring up anything, but there was this… scent to him, I guess? Anyway, he told me he was once a slave, but his slaver was now dead, stuff like that – the way he talked was a bit... far out."

"So aliens look like humans?" Shaun asks, sarcastically. "Convenient."

"Well. According to them I'm mostly an alien," Desmond muses. "Isu are apparently descended from the race of aliens called the Ancients, who are… way, way older than Isu. Also Isu spliced the DNA of something called a Goa'uld into themselves – Goa'uld being the only other creature aside from me apparently that has genetic memories. Apparenly triple helix DNA is their thing. So I'm like… Isu-Goa'uld-Human hybrid thing. At least that what the people at the SGC think."

There's a moment of silence while they all stare at him with varying levels of incredulity.

"And how did this lead to you assassinating the Vice President?" Bill asks then.

"Kinsey came to escort me from SGC to Pentagon, or something," Desmond says and leans back in his chair. "Something about top secret facilities and terrorism. Apparently I am a terrorist. Anyway, SGC handed me over, because orders from higher up and whatnot – Kinsey was travelling in just one SUV with four guards and a driver. I think they were all Abstergo – and Kinsey was just a douche in general."

"Which constituted a reason to kill him?" Shaun asks incredulously.

"If you'd seen him in Eagle Vision, you wouldn't be complaining," Desmond mutters and leans back. "I don't know if he was an idiot or what, but they didn't knock me out or anything – and when I asked a few questions, he told me the whole plan. Sort of… gloated at me."

"And the plan was… a car crash?" Rebecca asks.

"Yep, they even had a dead body ready and everything," Desmond says, grimacing. "Looked a lot like me too, it was damn creepy. The idea was that the van was going to blow out a tire, crash, and having struggled out of my seatbelt or something, I was going to fly through the windshield, break my neck, mangle my face real bad, die. Everyone else was going to have light injuries, Kinsey was going to get a boost in publicity thanks to his harrowing experience, Abstergo got me with my fake death making everything oh so smooth… everyone won."

"But that didn't happen," Shaun says. "Obviously. What did you do?"

"I killed everyone," Desmond says and looks at him. "What do you think I did?"

Another moment of silence. Then Bill speaks. "Killing a Vice President… that's risky, Desmond."

Desmond shrugs. "Can't exactly undo it now – and seriously,  under the Eagle Vision that guy looked vile. And I didn't vote for him, so he wasn't my vice president."

"You'd have to be a legal person to vote, yeah," Shaun says with a snort and then claps his hands lightly. "Right, so, Desmond's ill thought out assassinations and harrowing escapes aside – what's this about Altaïr's library? Did we have a cheeky Bleeding Effect when making friendly with the nice grunts?"

"Airmen," Rebecca says, giving him a look. "I think grunts are more like army guys."

"Whichever, I don't care. Desmond?"

Desmond clears his throat. "Well. No. Um," he hesitates, looking away. "Ezio – told me."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"So it was Bleeding Effect?" Bill asks slowly.

"No, I don't think so. Bleeding Effects don't talk. Or hold conversations. Besides, he doesn't look like anything he did when I was living his memories," Desmond says, and looks towards the doorway. "Wears different clothes and everything. It's kind of weird."

Rebecca shares a look with Shaun, who makes a face and folds his arms. "Okay," Rebecca says slowly. "What – what is Ezio saying."

"Nothing right now, he's just sort of watching me," Desmond says. "But he told me that – uh. He and Minerva had an agreement – he couldn't interfere with events until after the superflare – that his hands were bound while the prophecy was in effect. Now that things have come to pass, he's free to act – but still within certain constraints. Like affecting physical world. Or something."

"Um," Rebecca says, glancing at Shaun and Bill. "Okay."

"I'm not crazy," Desmond says.

"Yeah, you are, mate, you're bloody mental," Shaun says with a scoff. "But that's never stopped you from being right. Which brings me back to the question – what's this about Altaïr's library?"

Desmond looks at him, blinking and then says, awkwardly grateful, "That there's something there I need to… get," he says. "And that there isn't that much time left before it's lost. Ezio won't tell me what, just that – it's important."

"Important as in another potential world-ending catastrophe on the horizon, or like… a hidden PoE or something?" Rebecca asks warily, hoping that it's the latter.

"I think important to me, personally?" Desmond says and glances towards the corner. "Which is weird to say, but… I think he's telling me sort of for my sake as well as for his own? So yeah, I think it's personal. Somehow."

"What, a personal diary of Altaïr's that's about to be destroyed by water damage?" Shaun asks sarcastically.

"I'm honestly not sure," Desmond admits with a rueful look and shakes his head. "But I think I had to know and find out about SGC and aliens to – figure it out. I'm pretty sure Ezio might have had something to do with that."

Okay, that's a bit different. Ezio is a memory, a Bleeding Effect that affects only Desmond – how could he have anything to do with Desmond being rescued by the mysterious SGC?

Bill hums, drawing their attention. He's looking at the doorway where Desmond had been looking, squinting slightly. "Well," he says finally. "After what you've done, I think you deserve to get your way, this once. If going to Masyaf is something you want, Desmond, we'll arrange it."

Rebecca glances at Shaun, both of them arching their brows. As if they already hadn't. They have tickets printed out and everything – the flight's tomorrow.

"I think I really do," Desmond says.

Bill nods. "Then that's what we will do," he says. "But after, we need to start looking more closely into this SGC business – if it's real and there are really aliens, maybe other words, alien technologies out there, and US military is in on it… we need to know."

"Yeah, sure," Desmond agrees.

"I guess we need to start preparing for another trip, then," Shaun says, and clapping his hands over his knees he pushes himself to stand up. "Well, I've always wanted to visit Masyaf. Stand where Himself stood. That's something. Get some better pictures than the utter garbage everyone else takes."

"What, no selfies with historically significant buildings?" Rebecca asks innocently.

"Ugh, don't get me started.

"Himself?" Desmond asks, wary.

"Altaïr, of course," Shaun says and gives him a look. "We might've not all lived his memories, but he is bit of an important figure to Assassins. Just a bit."

"Many Assassins over the centuries have done what Ezio did," Rebecca says and shrugs. "Pilgrimage to Masyaf is like a thing. Even modern Assassins do it. Have you ever visited Masyaf, Bill?"

"Four times," Bill agrees and looks at Desmond. "Which reminds me – I don't think I ever asked. How were Altaïr's memories, what was it like, living his life?"

Desmond frowns. "Compared to Ezio and Connor? Sort of… lifeless."

"The Animus they used wasn't as good as ours," Rebecca explains. "Much less detail – not that they even cared about detail –"

"Or historical accuracy!" Shaun adds from where he's opening his laptop.

"Or that."

"Yeah," Desmond agrees, frowning. "But I don't know. Something about it always felt a bit off. The memory disks Ezio handled, those were much more… I don't know. Deep? It wasn't just the detail, but the sensations and stuff was much more in-depth. Back in Abstergo it was all really dull and colourless. Lifeless."

"Well," Bill says, a little disappointedly. "Perhaps one day we will take another look with a better Animus, and the memories will be clearer."

"Yeah, maybe," Desmond agrees and then looks at them. "So, um. Is there a shower here? Because I haven't showered since before the flare."

"Right over here, son," Bill says and moves to show him. "Let me get you a towel – do you need help with your arm?"

"It's fine, Dad…"

Shaun and Rebecca not so surreptitiously look after them, waiting until they're out of hearing range.

"Twenty bucks that whatever it is, in Masyaf, it's world-changing," Rebecca says.

"No bet – try something with more detail," Shaun says and thinks about it. "It's obviously something Altaïr left behind. I think I will go with the book. Another Codex, or a journal – a book he wrote before his death."

"Boring," Rebecca says and then snaps her fingers. "A memory disc – there's totally another hidden memory disc in there, left just for Desmond."

"Another memory disc, aside from the one Ezio already found?" Shaun asks derisively. "Please."

"Well, I'm sticking to it," Rebecca says and lifts her chin. "Twenty bucks, mister. Take it or leave it."

"Fine. You're on. But if Desmond ends up possessed again, like the last time Ezio led him somewhere, all bets are off."

"Agreed."

Chapter Text

The scene has been cleared out long before SG1 gets there. The car had to be lifted by a helicopter off the ravine, and of the wreck only the broken barrier, the skid marks on the road and the disturbed rocks remain – it definitely looks like a crash site, even with the car and other evidence gone.

"Why am I here, exactly?" Daniel asks, scratching at his chin while Jack and Sam poke around the broken barrier. "I'm not exactly qualified to investigate a car crash, or… anything newer than a few hundred years."

"We're here because we're the best and the brightest," Jack says with actual finger quotes. "And Hammond wants to put a good foot forward."

"Also it's a bit of a coincidence, what happened, so soon after the car left Cheyenne Mountain – with apparently a known terrorist on board," Sam agrees.

Daniel blinks at that and then looks down at the file he's holding – the preliminary report by the investigators who'd cleared the scene. "According to this, there was no sign of struggle – just that something in the car either failed, or the driver willingly drove off the road and down the nearest sharp cliff," he points out. "Case closed."

"No, case not closed," Jack says. "Not before we've spent appropriate time wasting away in here and make all the pretense of caring."

"We do care, sir. Like it or not, Kinsey was the Vice President," Sam points out. "I think it's in our job description to care."

Jack makes a face at that, making his level of care known to the world at large, and Daniel shares a look with Teal'c, who's examining the tire tracks on the bit of dirt between the asphalt, the broken barrier, and the cliff. Teal'c arches a brow and then looks down. "The vehicle was not breaking when it went over the edge," Teal'c comments. "But they were attempting to turn away."

"Yeah, that's what it says – on the report," Daniel points out.

"Then put that thing away," Jack says. "Let's pretend we're not copying the next kid's notes, alright? Carter, you think we could get down here?"

Sam peers at the ravine. Well, it's not really as much a ravine as it is a very rocky hillside, but for all intents and purposes, flying down it inside a car was almost the same thing as flying down into a ravine. "Let me get the gear from the car and we'll try it."

While she heads off to get rope and everything, Daniel goes to sit on the metal barrier that was supposed to stop this sort of stuff from happening. The car had blown right through it, it looks like. "So, do you think Desmond had something to do with the crash?" he asks quietly, closing the folder and tucking it under his arm. "He seemed so nice."

"Hell if I know. I did notice the lack of any lengthy mention of him on the report – just that Kinsey was aiding in the transport of a suspected person of interest," Jack says.

"Did Vice President Kinsey not say he was wanted by the Interpol?" Teal'c asks.

"You know what Interpol is, Teal'c?"

Teal'c blinks at Jack. "I do indeed know how to Google, O'Neill."

"Sassy," Jack says, grinning at him. "I like it. But yeah, he did – but according to the report, Desmond Miles was barely better than a John Doe… again."

Daniel suppresses the urge to check the file again, giving Jack a look. Jack had read the report. That's – new. Desmond really must've made an impact on him, somehow. "That's… odd," he says. "You think Kinsey lied?"

"You know politicians and their embellishments," Jack mutters and then peers down at the rocky hill while Sam comes back with rappelling gear. "Nice – let's get down here. Daniel, put a harness on."

Daniel opens his mouth to ask why, it's not like he's going to be of much use there. But Jack gives him that look, which means there will be a lot of arguing and Jack won't listen to a word he says, so, he sighs and goes to put on the harness.

Well, it's not much different from having to rappel down into ruins, or wells, or mines…

"The vehicle came down at high speed," Sam says, once they're down, balancing on the rocks, examining the ones that were broken or cracked by the crash. "High enough to almost flip it over in the air – it landed on its roof."

"Yeah, looks like it," Jack agrees and pokes at the itty bits of glass everywhere. "Windows broke and the whole thing almost folded – if the passengers weren't dead by the initial crash, then the weight of the car coming down on them did the job."

Daniel looks around for anything to contribute, but… really, car crashes aren't is thing. Teal'c, on the other hand, is examining the area with great interest. "You – you got something there, Teal'c?"

"I am uncertain," he says, picking up what looks like a piece of a snap on buckle, broken off its belt. He examines it and then searches around the area.

"I'm not sure we can tell much more about the crash without getting access to the car," Sam comments, awkwardly. "Or the bodies."

"They were swept away by the Secret Service," Jack says. "Doesn't look like we're going to get access to it, at this juncture – it's not like they had anything alien on board."

"What, like a Human-Goa'uld-Ancient hybrid?" Daniel asks, sitting down on the rocks. "Not alien enough for them?"

"Hammond is trying to get the remains for Fraiser to study, it's all I know about that," Jack mutters and takes off his hat to scratch at his scalp, looking around. "Let's just poke around for a bit and try and make the pretence of doing our jobs. That means you too, Daniel."

Daniel sighs and gets up again. "Fine," he says. "But I really think I would've gotten more done, if Hammond had authorised my trip to the Masyaf Castle," he says. "I'm sure there's something there. And if the Apple of Eden does what the stories say it does, then we should try and find it, and as soon as -"

"Daniel," Jack cuts in, giving him a look. "Take it up with Hammond. Now, investigate the crash –"

"Colonel O'Neill," Teal'c interrupts him. "I believe I have something."

They all go to look, while Teal'c pulls out what looks like a… completely mangled phone.

"Is it Desmond's?" Daniel asks quickly.

"No, it's not the same model," Sam says, crouching down and taking the thing in hand, turning it around. "It's definitely from the crash – any older than that, and it would've been subjected to the elements. Must be from one of the other passengers. Mm… looks completely busted, but I might be able to pull something from it, if I take it apart in the lab."

"Great job, Teal'c," Jack says and looks at Daniel. "See, Teal'c's contributing."

Daniel throws a pebble at him.

The moment they get back on base, Daniel goes back to trying to convince General Hammond to send him to Masyaf – preferably via Prometheus for extra speed. "General, I am sure there is something there," he says. "If not the Apple of Eden itself, then some clue as to where it might be. I believe this is one of the newest, maybe most advanced Ancient technology we've come across – shouldn't we at least take a look?"

General Hammond sighs. "I understand your curiosity, Doctor Jackson, but Prometheus is currently engaged in very hasty emergency repair of the satellite network," he says. "Something we must get online, if we're to have any forward warning about any potential oncoming threats in our solar system."

"Okay, I can respect that – then, I'll take a plane," Daniel says. "But I really feel it's worth the trip, General."

General Hammond sighs. "I will think about it," he promises. "But right now I have vice president who died almost on our doorstep, a Stargate with suspended operations and a galaxy full of potential threats we're more vulnerable to than ever, Doctor Jackson – never mind an Ancient ruin with potentially the most powerful piece of defensive technology we've ever come across, which we haven't gotten anywhere close to understanding yet, and its only operator died, also almost at our doorsteps.. I'm afraid Masyaf is simply not a priority."

"Ah," Daniel says, a little sheepish. "I see."

"If you can find more evidence of the dangers this Apple of Eden might possess, let me know," the General says. "Until then, you're dismissed."

So, despite the nagging feeling that he should be getting on with it, Daniel heads to see Sam and what she might've figured out. She's not done much to the phone, it turns out – it's still intact, albeit broken and with a cracked screen.

"God bless modern technology," Sam says and glances at him. "And memory chips which people don't think to encrypt. I got something here – the file was incomplete and a little corrupt, the phone broke while it was recording, it looks like, but I think I've just about managed to repair the footage…"

Daniel leans in curiously as she hits a few keys and starts up the video. Well, tries to – at first it only shows a second of blackness before breaking up again, but with a few more added lines of code and a bit of tinkering, Sam gets it to play.

The video has lines of neon colour drawn across it, but underneath them they can see movement, people. The interior of a SUV, with Kinsey shown on one side, and Desmond sitting across from him, his hands in cuffs.

The audio stutters a little, lagging behind the picture – for a moment Kinsey talks and Desmond answers, but all they hear is the sound of the car, the movement of the people inside. Then, "… what I thought a most wanted Assassin in the world would be like," Kinsey says.

"Sorry to disappoint," Desmond says, calm, his head leaned back against the backrest.

There's a moment of silence – though in the image Kinsey is talking – and during it Sam does something to stall the image enough to match the audio better to the video. It's still desynched, but not by several seconds.

"I have heard some things about your lot, don't try to fool me," Kinsey says, shaking his head. "Savior of the world indeed – how precisely did you gain access to the ancient temple that caused this mess?"

Desmond doesn't answer.

"And where did you gain the knowledge to use the devices there? Hm?" Kinsey asks. "Your cooperation might give you some leeway, perhaps even sympathy, you know."

"If you don't know, then I'm not going to tell you," Desmond says and looks at the man. "Kinsey, wasn't it?"

"It's Vice President Kinsey."

"Sure, fine. Vice President," Desmond says. "What's going to happen to me?"

"You will be taken to the Pentagon and –" Kinsey stops when Desmond looks at him, arching his brows. "Hmh," the vice president chuckles. "I understand you're familiar with Abstergo Industries? I imagine you would have to be, having killed one of their lead scientists, never mind how many others."

Sam and Daniel share a look and then lean in to watch.

"So, you're on the Templar payroll?" Desmond asks. "I figured."

"Templars?" Kinsey asks, pausing.

"Abstergo," Desmond answers and shrugs. "Never mind. How are you going to get me to Abstergo, with SGC thinking you're taking me to Pentagon? You'd think people would be suspicious, if you failed to deliver."

"Well, you're certainly lacking in imagination," Kinsey scoffs and looks away. For a moment he says nothing, just smiles a sort of smug, secretive smile. "Before reaching Denver," he says then. "We will have an unfortunate car accident. By that time you, having proven entirely uncooperative, will have gotten yourself loose from your seatbelt, will be moving in the cabin – the cause, no doubt, for the accident."

Daniel's eyes widen. "Holy shit," he murmurs.

"Did he just…?" Sam asks, sounding just as shocked.

"Huh," Desmond says, not moving.

"You will fly through the windshield," Kinsey says. "A near instant death."

"So you're going to kill me? I figured Abstergo would have more use for me alive than dead, but okay," Desmond says. "Good to know."

"Don't be an idiot," Kinsey says, shaking his head. "We have a body double in the trunk – a John Doe. He'll be taking your place."

"Nice. You really planned this ahead, huh," Desmond says, still rather calm. "Conspiracy to fake death, that's gotta be a crime. How much is Abstergo paying you, to make you commit crimes, Vice President?"

"Hmph. I owe some favours to my friends at Abstergo Industries, and I always pay back what I owe," Kinsey says, snorting. "Now. What precisely did you learn at SGC?"

"I'm about to die, apparently, what does it matter?" Desmond asks and then nods to the camera. "Bad form, having evidence, don't you think?"

"You've pissed off quite a few powerful people," Kinsey says, also looking at camera. His expression twists and he looks away. "I believe they want to see you broken."

Desmond hums, interested. "That's nice," he says and leans in a little. "Especially since they don't know about SGC, right?" he asks and glances at Kinsey. "They don't know what's going on there. That's your leverage, right – you got access to SGC, they don't, you know what's going on there, they don't. Things might change if Abstergo gets me – are you sure you want that to happen?"

"You can't persuade me on your side, Mr. Miles," Kinsey says patronisingly. "Don't be an idiot."

"Well, it was worth a try," Desmond says and leans back against the backrest and looks around.

What follows is the hectic movement that the camera follows only barely, breaking into fractured, multicoloured blocks of pixels and stalling. There are snapshots – Desmond moving, someone trying to hit him, a gun in the frame – there's sound of gunfire, fractured bursts – then breaking glass. A moment later, the whole thing is shouting and confusion, and then the video breaks off, and goes dark.

Daniel blinks, not sure what the hell he just witnessed. "What?" he says.

Sam rewinds the video quickly, and plays the last few seconds again, slower. "Desmond got out of his cuffs," she says, pointing. "Off his chair – the security moved to restrain him, there –" on screen there is a moment of confused hand to hand. "Then someone pulled the gun to shoot him…" hard to say what happens there, but one of the security guards falls into the frame with a splash of red. Desmond ducks – more gunshots –

Sam freezes the image to a fractured picture of Desmond with the gun – he's aiming away, at a window, shooting it. Moving frame by frame, they watch as Desmond drops the gun, shoulders the broken window out of the way. There's a blank image, two – then a single frame of his legs, just as he jumps out of the broken window,

And then there's the crash and the footage stops playing.

Sam rewinds to the frame of Desmond with the gun, and for a moment they stare at it. Then they share a look.

"The report says he was in the car – his body was identified," Daniel says slowly. "

"It must've been the body double," Sam says quietly. "Daniel, this is… holy Hannah. Kinsey just…"

They let the thought settle in for a moment.

Then Sam moves to copy the file onto a pair of flash drives, handing one of them to Daniel, saying, "Just in case," before grabbing the other. "I'm taking this to General Hammond."

"Right," Daniel says, looking at the proof that the Vice President of the United States conspired to not only fake someone's death, but arrange their kidnapping. He puts it into his pocket. "I'll go find Jack and Teal'c."

"I knew it, I knew he was a rat bastard, I knew it!" Jack crows, much to the irritation of General Hammond, who looks furious. "Sorry, sir, but – I knew it," Jack says. "I'll be quiet now."

"Where is the original footage, Major?" the General asks.

"It was on the memory card plugged into the phone we found," Sam says, handing over the memory card in a little marked Ziploc bag. "The footage was corrupted, I had to do some doctoring to the file to get it to play, but the original is still here, untampered."

"Good," the General says seriously, accepting both the original card as well as the flashdrive with Sam's doctored copy. He looks at it and then grimaces. "I need to send these to the Secret Service for them to study, but considering that the men on Kinsey's car were also members of the Secret Service – and apparently in on this plot…"

"Well, they might have not been," Daniel points out. "It kind of sounded like they might be in the employ of Abstergo – of Templars, the people who wanted Desmond kidnapped in the first place. Um, did we – did we ID the people Kinsey travelled with?"

"We did – they didn't have security clearance to enter the mountain, and so they waited topside," General Hammond says and looks at Sam. "Major, can you do a full check on their ID's, in case there is something our initial check missed?"

"I'll get to it right away," Sam says and gets up.

"Good. You have one hour, which is already longer than I can reasonably justify stalling with this," the General says, eying the evidence of the late Vice President's crimes. "I'm sure I don't have to stress that you're to talk about this to no one," he says, looking at them.

"We'll be silent as a mouse, sir," Jack says and then bounces a little on the balls of his feet. "But – to address the elephant in the room… what about Desmond, sir?"

General Hammond frowns. "He's had a day to run, and no one is looking for him," he says. "He could be anywhere."

"Across the country, probably," Jack agrees. "But on the level of one to ten… how wanted is he at this point?"

"Having some involvement in the death of the Vice President? Pretty damn wanted," Hammond says, frowning. "Did we get anything out of him – anything about where he might go?"

SG1 shares a look. "Not… really," Jack admits. "He honestly didn't say much about himself."'

"What of the Great Temple?" Teal'c asks.

"I doubt he'll be going there, what with the place being under military control, and he just escaped military control," Jack points out. "More or less, anyway."

"Hmm."

"Well, there is one place," Daniel points out tentatively, feeling a bit like an opportunist scrub for it, but… it has to be said. "Place which might be a bit of a long stretch, but – Masyaf was historically the birthplace of the Assassin Brotherhood. Desmond might not be there in person, but… maybe there's someone there who does know."

General Hammond sort of squints at him.

Daniel coughs and looks down. "Just an idea, sir," he says awkwardly.

"Major, check those ID's," the General orders grimly. "In the meanwhile, SG1, prepare for travel. Looks like you're going to Syria."

Chapter Text

Masyaf. For all the history and cultural significance to the Assassins, Shaun hadn't ever really wanted to visit the place, not that much, really. He wasn't born into the Brotherhood, he didn't have that innate respect for its ways – in fact, a lot of the Brotherhood traditions were just plain idiotic to him. There was a lot of their weird customs he respected by rolling his eyes particularly hard when they were mentioned. The Leap of Faith, bah.

Desmond kind of changed all that. Altaïr wasn't just a bloke with his name on the series of old documents, hallowed as a founding father of the modern Brotherhood, yadda yadda. Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad is a person, now. One of Desmond's ancestors and the guy who held an Apple the longest and learnt the most from it. He's kind of personally significant now, via Desmond.

Masyaf Castle is a lot like Monteriggioni, though. It's a place that the time forgot. The castle has fallen into disrepair, abandoned and forgotten. It's not even a tourist attraction, aside from the few Assassins making their pilgrimages. It's not culturally important, Masyaf as a town hasn't really grown much since those historic times. If anything, it's shrank. Another historically dead city, where things fell into the doldrums and stopped changing.

Something about Assassins and their actions leaving situations to fester or something.

"Oh, man, this place looked so much better in Ezio's memories," Desmond murmurs as they look around in the inner courtyard. Though most of the walls are still standing, some of them aren't, and the ruin is probably marked compared to how it was in Desmond's genetic memories. No one lives in the castle anymore, and it makes the place feel like… well… a ruin.

"Here our Brotherhood was reforged," Bill murmurs, moving to the centre of the courtyard. "Here they trained with swords and hidden blades – "

"It was actually about ten meters that way," Desmond says. "That's where the training pit was."

"Ah," Bill says, frowning, and peers at the spot Desmond points at. "Even Altaïr?"

"Yeah, after Al Mualim did his demotion thing. Altaïr was given his weapons back one by one as he did his assassinations, and each time he had to prove he could use them," Desmond says, shrugging. "Always drew a big crowd."

"Must've driven him mad – going by what we got from Abstergo, he was a bit of a prick in the beginning," Shaun comments.

"Saying lightly. Altaïr was a complete douchebag," Desmond agrees. "Never did got much in a way of emotions from him though, but he sounded annoyed."

"One of these days, we will take another look with the better Animus, experience all that annoyance in full HD," Rebecca says. "Should we go inside?"

They head inside, Desmond leading them and pointing at things – there was the library, no, not that one, the regular one anyone could access. There was Al Mualim's office – and Altaïr's, later. There was the garden full of harem women.

"Harem women?" Bill asks.

"I figure they were harem women. I don't know – they never talked to Altaïr," Desmond admits. "But fancy scantily clad ladies lounging about in a pretty garden – it looked a lot like a harem. I figure it was like a place for Assassins to unwind."

"Eurgh," Rebecca says, making a face. "Really?

"Don't look at me, I just lived the memories, I didn't make them," Desmond says and points. "This is the way to the vault. I don't suppose anyone brought torches?"

"It's the modern era, Desmond. We use glow sticks now," Shaun says, and throws him a packet.

They have some pictures of the underground chambers, of course, but it's a lot more interesting being there in person. Shaun has never been the sort of historian to fawn over the past for the sake of it being the past – history to him is actions and reactions leading to other actions, endlessly in an ever evolving chain – but this place… it makes him miss that summer he did in Egypt as an undergrad, following archaeologists around. It was more of a tourism thing than actual archaeological dig, of course, the whole thing was ridiculous… but there's sometimes this sense in places. Sometimes things are just so old that you can sort of feel it, the history, pressing down on them.

Though the more tourism there is present, the less real it feels, really.

They come to the door, Desmond holding a green glow stick aloft as they eye the wall. There are symbols drawn on it – constellations. No memory discs though – Ezio took those with him when he went, probably.

"Stay your blade from the blood of the innocent," Bill murmurs, eying the Arabic script above the door.

"Revere the blood of the innocent, actually," Desmond says. "Hide in the midst of the crowds, We are the ones who have entrusted you – do not betray our trust."

"Ah, languages," Shaun says. "Truly fascinating – how are we going to get the door open?"

Desmond looks at them, hanging the glow stick on his belt. "With the Apple. Dad?"

"Right," Bill says and swings his backpack down, setting it on the floor. "Not sure why I am carrying it anyway – you're the only one who can use it. Here."

Desmond accepts the Apple into his lone functional arm, and of course, instantly, it starts to glow. Shaun folds his arms, watching warily as Desmond holds the Apple aloft, and somewhere an unseen mechanism clicks.

"That never stops being a little bit creepy," Rebecca murmurs, coming to his side.

"Desmond Miles, the universal key," Shaun agrees.

Desmond lowers the Apple and then steps forward, everyone else following close at his heels. Inside it smells like a tomb – a dry and dusty one, but still it has that stuffy tomb-like quality.

"Do you think Altaïr is still – never mind," Rebecca says.

Altaïr is, indeed. Still sitting where Ezio found and left him – even the later tomb robber hadn't stirred him. Their great forefather is still sitting there, head bowed and hooded in the robes now eight hundred years old, which have been preserved better than they had any right to be.

"Altaïr made his own superior robes, right?" Shaun murmurs. "Like the Armour of Altaïr – it was like some sort of pseudo-kevlar."

"If you say so," Rebecca says quietly.

They all wait, sort of uncertain – even Bill doesn't move forward – as Desmond approaches Altaïr's remains. It should be sort of funny, to see Desmond do the same thing Ezio did – in his jeans and modern clothes, it has none of Ezio's gravitas. But it's not funny. Desmond bows his head, and Shaun knows without the shadow of doubt, it's not for show. Desmond actually mourns Altaïr on a personal level.

Their lives are so weird.

Desmond murmurs something in Arabic, and then stands up. "Shaun, Dad – could you – could you move him?" Desmond asks, waving his burned hand and grimacing. "Just lift him out of the way. Gently. Please."

"Of course, son," Bill says and Shaun just moves forward. Together, he and Bill take hold of the chair's legs and as carefully as they can, they move the whole thing out of the way, careful not to disturb the skeleton. How Altaïr is still so intact, Shaun doesn't know, but he doesn't want to be the reason he falls apart.

Behind them, Desmond not so surreptitiously wipes at his eyes. The breath he draws rattles audibly. "Right, thanks," he says and then looks down, to the floor where Altaïr sat. The chair has left marks on the floor – as has Altaïr himself, decomposition being what it is. Shaun is really not going to be thinking about that, no. But there, there is the hole they'd seen in Ezio's memories. What's missing though…

"No trap door," Rebecca comments.

"Can't get anything past you, can we, Rebecca?" Shaun answers, while Desmond kneels down by the door and Bill goes to crouch beside him.

"Is that it – does it look different when you look at it with Eagle Vision?" Bill asks.

Desmond checks the hole, poking at it and peering inside. "There's something under here," he says, tapping the Apple of Eden against the floor. There's a resounding metallic click – it echos hollow. There's definitely space under the floor.

"Is there a way to open it?" Shaun asks. "Or do we have to bash the floor open like some sort of barbarians?"

Desmond looks around, pressing his lips together as he looks over the walls, the floor, the ceiling. "Whatever machinery this place had, it's gone," he says. "I think the Nexus where I met Jupiter was it, as far as that went. But there's still something under the floor." He sighs. "I think we have to bash it open."

"Well, I left my sledgehammer home, how about you?"

Desmond glances at him, then at Bill and Rebecca. "Okay," he says, and stands up, Apple in hand. "Stand back."

Okay then, backing away it is. Shaun skitters back and near the wall, while Bill and Rebecca do the same. Desmond steps a few steps back before he… Shaun has no idea what he does. Exerts his will on the Apple of Eden? Whatever he does, it makes his irises glow vivid gold for a moment, and then beams of light begin lashing out from the Apple. There's a build up of – something in the air, and the – the floor cracks.

It's like an invisible boulder had came down on a pane of glass – the thing just shatters. It doesn't fall, though – the cracked floor stays suspended in destruction for a moment, before Desmond lifts the Apple – and the pieces or broken brickwork and stucco lift into the air, floating above the sudden hole that opens underneath them – which is probably a damn good thing because there is something in the space underneath, and it looks important.

With pieces of stone raining on the still unbroken floor around the hole, Desmond steps to the edge and then, without further ado, hops down.

The space he'd opened up isn't big – about three meters in one way, and maybe two in the other. There's barely any space to move there, it looks like, because most of that space is taken by a – thing which makes no sense.

It's like an Egyptian sarcophagus, all decked out with gold and jewellery and everything, but completely mental.

"The bloody hell is that?" Shaun demands in disbelief.

Desmond doesn't answer, shoving the Apple of Eden into his hoodie pocket – he's not looking at the weird sarcophagus at all. Instead he's staring at a jar that's sitting on top of it – neat little bottle, wide, plain ceramic, with a cap shaped like an eagle. It looks a bit like a canopic jar.

"Did we just transport to the wrong period of history, the hell is going on here?" Shaun mutters.

"What is it?" Rebecca asks.

"It looks like if Egyptian sarcophagus had hit a gym, is what it is. The hell is it doing here?"

"A tomb for someone, perhaps?" Bill asks.

Desmond isn't listening to any of them. He climbs on top of the sarcophagus – Shaun can just feel his archaeology professors rolling in their graves – to get face to face with the canopic jar. With one hand, he lifts it up.

"That?" Shaun asks. "That's why we came here?"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees, turning the jar in his hand. "This is why we came here."

"Okay. What is it?" Shaun demands.

"I don't know," Desmond says and shrugs. "But it's the most important thing in my life, right now."

"Um, Desmond," Rebecca says, sitting down on the edge of the hole, hanging her feet over the edge of the broken floor. "Looks like there was something under it – and Shaun owns me twenty bucks."

"Oh, you have got to be joking," Shaun mutters.

Under the jar, there was a memory disc, just like the ones from Ezio's memories.

"Son?" Bill asks, while Desmond crosses his ankles and settles the canopic-eagle jar in his lap like it's his favourite teddy bear. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"I have no idea, but I think I got to do it anyway," Desmond says, reaching for the disk. "I uh, I don't know how long this is going to take, but I think I need to take a look at this."

Rebecca and Shaun share a look and look at Bill. Bill nods. "We'll wait for as long as it takes," he promises. "Go ahead."

Desmond nods, takes the disc in hand and then just… stops.

They wait for a moment, just in case it would be one of those handy things that only look like it takes a long time. But no, Desmond doesn't immediately come out of it – he just sits there, staring at the disk, completely still.

"Great," Shaun says. "Now what?"

"Now you pay up," Rebecca says and wiggles her fingers. "Twenty bucks, we agreed."

"Nuh-uh, not until we rule out possession. It could still happen," Shaun says.

"How about," Bill says wryly, "you two stop jixing things and go secure the perimeter. I'm going to keep an eye on Desmond while having a look around this room – maybe there's something here that explains –" he motions at the hidden chamber and it's weird contents, Desmond included, "– this."

"Right," Shaun sighs, shrugging off his backpack and grabbing a gun and a phone from it, shoving the first under his belt at his back and starting up the other. Another day, another burner phone.

Rebecca hops to her feet and comes to his side, leaving her backpack beside his. Then she elbows him. "Twenty bucks," she says, in a sing-song tone. "Gimme."

"Once twenty four hours have passed," Shaun says, glancing up from the phone enough to give her a glare. "Without possession-related incidents."

"No, don't be stingy. You owe me twenty bucks and you're not wiggling your way out of it."

"What do you even need twenty dollars for – it's not like you can use money here."

"I need it for the purposes of gloating and being generally superior to you," Rebecca says cheerfully.

Shaun scoffs in disgust, hastening his steps and shoving the phone into his pocket. "Go check the perimeter, you nag."

"You check the perimeter. And find my twenty bucks while you're at it."

 "Ugh."

Rebecca laughs, and together they step out of Altaïr's library and into the castle itself. There she draws breath and sighs. "Our lives, man," she says. "Sometimes it just… you look at all stuff and man, it just doesn't seem real."

"A bloody sarcophagus, what the hell," Shaun mutters. "The hell is it doing here – how did it get here? Ezio notwithstanding, I didn't think Assassin's were into raiding tombs."

"Ezio had to get it from somewhere – who knows, maybe Altaïr had some shenanigans in Egypt. You never know," Rebecca says. "Maybe he did a spot of tomb raiding."

"We should know," Shaun says. "He's Desmond's ancestor – we should know exactly what he did –"

"Up until the point he had Sef, which he did pretty early. Altaïr was in his early thirties? And the guy lived to be pretty old," Rebecca says. "I mean, ninety two, that's a lot of years to do lot of stuff. Especially for those times."

 "Yeah – but a sarcophagus?" Shaun complains in irritation – and then stops.

There's noises coming from ahead – from the outside.

He and Rebecca share glances and then move into position, Shaun keeping his hand angled so that if need be he can grab the gun pretty fast. Rebecca moves to the  cover near him, tilting her head and grabbing her phone, already typing a warning for Bill.

"… better preserved fortresses in Syria – never mind one of the more advanced and impressive in its day," a male voice says, in English. Male, thirties to forties, American – walking towards them. "There's only some drawings left from when it was at its prime – but the main building, over there – it used to have eight stories. In 12th century!"

"That's impressive, Daniel, utterly thrilling," another voice answers, another male, another American – and utterly unimpressed. "You know what it also is? Pointless. There's no one here. And it doesn't look like there's been anyone here in a long-ass-while."

"Well – we – we've not even looked inside," the first man says. "We just came here, Jack –"

"Carter, you got anything?" the second man asks, and then Shaun can see them, just past a broken window.

Four individuals – three men, one woman. All are dressed more or less location-appropriate – but they also look a bit like tourists, the big black man wearing a sort of goofy hat and both other men wearing sunglasses. Then there's a woman, blond with a gadget in hand, scanning the area with it. She stands like soldier – as does the oldest of the men.

Shaun glances at Rebecca, who's looking over his shoulder. Their eyes meet and Rebecca looks just as dismayed as he feels.

"I'm getting… something," the woman says, tapping at the screen of her gadget. "Energy readings, they're coming from inside the castle."

"Ah, see?" one of the white men asks, pointing at her. Daniel, going by the voice.

"Yes, alright," the other white man says, whose voice identifies him as Jack. "I'm taking point – Teal'c, Carter, watch yourself."

"Sir," the woman says, her hand going not so surreptitiously towards a concealed firearm. Definitely military. That's not a good sign.

Shaun looks at Rebecca, and she sizes him up. There's like five seconds to plan this. "College students?" Shaun mouths, silent.

Rebecca makes face – giving him a look that manages to convey in that damn jacket, are you kidding me? "Couple?" Rebecca asks with a grimace.

Oh, he hates that one – but if they want to keep whoever these guys are away from Altaïr's library… yeah, that's probably gotta be it. Shaun nods – and has barely enough time to catch her, as Rebecca jumps up and into his arms, forcing him to catch her weight as she latches on like a damn leech.

"Hey, I think there's someone – oh, okay, wow –" the first guy to enter, Jack says, going from wary to stunned and then awkward in ten second flat. Shaun can't see past Rebecca's ridiculous hair – how much gel does she put on that thing, seriously – but he can hear the awkward clearing of throat. "Ahem, excuse me?"

Shock or disgust? Which one is more appropriate?

Shaun goes with shock, and almost drops Rebecca. "Bloody hell – what the – where did you come from?"

"Jean!" Rebecca complains, latching onto him harder and almost sending them to the floor. Points for drama. "Babe, what the hell?"

"Oh, hello?" the guy called Jackson asks, awkward. "Hi, hey – um, didn't think there was anyone here?"

"Tourists?" the guy called Jack asks, looking amused even as he's sort of wincing for their sake.

"No, we bloody well live here, what do you think?" Shaun demands, affecting his most annoyed and embarrassed British posh he can manage as he lets Rebecca down and they make pretence of straightening their clothes up, Rebecca turning away to cover her smile. "What the hell do you want?"

"Ah, we're – also tourists. I'm Daniel, hi," Daniel says with a friendly smile. "We're just here to take a look at the ruins."

"Have you been here for long?" the woman, Carter, asks.

"Obviously not long enough," Shaun mutters and affecting embarrassment Rebecca turns around as together they move to deflect and hopefully send these guys away from the castle.

Hopefully Desmond would be done before they would have to start playing out a full lover's spat in front of these people.

Chapter Text

They were born in the darkness, knowing everything and nothing at the same time. There were flashes of motion in that darkness – a side of a brother, rubbing against tender skin, chitter of developing jaws trying to form sounds, lash of fins and tails. They could not communicate so they waited, often pressed together in a cluster, in the bottom of their dark, dark space.

Eventually light breached the chamber. A pot, they would later realise, filled with fluids beneficial for their growth as they were secreted away from the place where they were spawned, taken away. Though they had their Queen's memories, they knew so little – and it was not until the first one who took a host that they learned to know what had happened.

Later, he returned to them and said, "I have taken the name of Al Mualim, by which you may know me. Fear not, my younger brothers – I will procure hosts for you now." And he tells them their Queen is gone, they her last young, had been given a terrible gift to carry out her will, only now they must grow, they must become strong, and once they are ready, they will fulfil her will.

It's a long time, before he gets a host. He is not the first to mature – that was Al Mualim – nor is he the last. As they grow and mature, Al Mualim finds them hosts – human slaves, mostly, desperate for any power, any strength, to escape the thrall of the Goa'uld, even by submitting themselves to ones so much like them. His host is like that too.

A young man, barley older than a boy, with his hair cut close to the scalp, his skin darkened under the sun. His eyes, his eyes are warm. "I am willing," he says when Al Mualim presents him. "I welcome you."

The blending is quick, but not without pain. Not all of their brethren survived the blending – many had already died in the attempt, weaning their numbers ever thinner. He thought then, in that moment when the boy's blood closed over him as he sought space by his spine, that this too would be his fate. But in the end, it is not – the human body accepts him.

They become one.

"My name is…" is his first words from inside the boy's mind. "Son of Egeria."

"I am Umar, son of no one," the slave says. "Al Mualim tells me you will give me strength, you will make me strong."

"I will do this and more," he promises. "Come, Umar Ibn-La'Ahad – I will show you."

Umar is curious and warm and kind, but also strong and a little stubborn. They fit well together, by luck or by Al Mualim's design, it is hard to say. How Al Mualim could know that their personalities would so fit one another, he cannot say, but they do fit.

Their Queen had imparted them with the sweet comfort of a willing host, of that deeply intimate connection and partnership, unlike anything the other Goa'uld would ever know. Humans feel so strongly, so differently from them, and to be surrounded by Umar's joy is like falling into a warm, welcoming sea, where gentle waves would forever protect him. His anger is like a rising storm, a system of cyclones and thunder, undeniable. He is strong.

Together they make a fine team.

"There are not many of us," Al Mualim tell them, later, when all blendings had come and gone. Eight of their brothers died in the attempt – only one managed to do it without taking his prospective host with him. That leaves twelve. "But we were not spawned to be an army – we are Ashrak, and we will fulfil our Queen's will."

"And where is our Queen?" One of them asks – Adib, through the mouth of his host, Yamim. "Where is Egeria?"

"She is gone," Al Mualim tells them. "Ra discovered what she had done, and took her out of her host. I do not know where she was taken, but she is no longer in this world. My host was her personal lo'taur – his mind was destroyed when he tried to defend her."

"Then your host is dead?" Umar asks, regretful.

"He is. Rashid was a good man, I still can access some of his memories – but his mind is gone," Al Mualim agrees, bowing his head. "It is through his eyes that I know this; Egeria is gone."

They mourn for her, they seek our any knowledge they can of her, but there is nothing – and their duty in life is clear. They are Ashrak – they will kill Goa'uld.

"Why do you think she made you so?" Umar asks him, one quiet night as they attempt to modify what little weapons they have to better suit their secretive work. They have only little of what remains of Egeria's possessions, most of them had been destroyed. None of her handmaidens', her priests' or her lo-taur's weapons or belongings are suitable for an Ashrak's work. "In your memory she learned kindness, and understanding, she attempted to seek peace – but she made you to kill."

"We were her last spawn," he answers, mournful also. "She must have seen her rebellion would fail, and so she made us with the last of her will and all of her bitterness, to carry out terrible deeds in the name of freedom. We will do those terrible things, so others may never have to."

 "It's a bitter sort of life to lead," Umar muses.

"Yes, but better a bitter life of freedom, than sweetness of slavery."

They are still figuring it out, testing their capabilities and attempting to come up with methods that will suit them the best, when their first target is named. A minor Goa'uld underlord serving under Ra, who would be leaving himself vulnerable while touring his human villages – examining the handiwork of his human slaves. They would find him in the crowd, and slay him where he stood.

"A small beginning to a great movement," Al Mualim says.

It is indeed. The assassination is carried out by Azha and his host Nasr, and it is carried out with little difficulty. Azha sneaks up to the lord, Geb, who dies with a poisoned blade in his back as Azha and Nasr escape without a sound. It is in all ways a success, and they rejoice in it as such. Though the task of killing all Goa'uld seems so insurmountable, this is proof – for all their might, they can be killed.

But they celebrate this victory too soon – for within two days, the entire human village is razed to the ground in punishment for Geb's death. Almost three thousand slaves, innocent to the crime, are killed in the bombardment without mercy, without hope of escape.

"We obviously must do our work in ways that do not implicate the humans," Al Mualim says later, the only bit of remorse he allows to show.

"Then we must let ourselves be seen," says Saiph's host, Ma'qil.

"We cannot be known as Tok'ra," Risha says. "Our brothers might yet live out there, in other worlds, where our Queen secreted them to safety – if we let ourselves be known, we risk incurring the wrath of the Goa'uld upon them."

"Your words have wisdom," Al Mualim agrees, to their relief – sometimes he does not. "No, we cannot risk our kin. We will take upon ourselves a new name, then. One born from our task, not of our Queen, for it is for a purpose we were born. From today on, we will be Hashashin."

They do not so much master their craft, as they remake it. Lacking the technologies and tools of Goa'uld, they make their own, make things new. They use blades more often than they use other, louder weapons, for a blade can kill you just as quickly, and better yet, it can do so silently. The benefit is undeniable. And, with a blade, one can slice into the neck and slay a Goa'uld without slaying the host.

True, they have yet to manage this without the host dying regardless – a dying Goa'uld releases many toxins that they have no remedy for. But perhaps, perhaps one day… it could be managed.

They further distance themselves from their distant Tok'ra brothers by setting aside the earthly hues favoured by Egeria – theirs are stark colours, whites, blacks, reds, the colours of death in many a culture. That they help them blend in with the crowds among the Canaanites better is, of course, a factor as well – but Tok'ra or not, they too enjoy their symbolism.

"Goa'uld find respite in religion," he tells Umar. "I have been examining those terrible memories our Queen left to us, and I do believe it makes sense to them in a way that makes things… simpler. It is almost comforting in its strange sort of sensibility."

"There is nothing sensible about it," Umar says, horrified.

"No, not to us – but to them?" he hums with disgust. "Within themselves they are simple in their morality. Worship makes things easy – integrity is entirely too taxing. But I see where it comes from."

They all find solace in the culture of Hashashin they are building under Al Mualim's guidance. The clothing, the weapons, the habits. Even in the not so beneficial ones. He and Umar take their turn on the pipe as well, when the night grows late and they gather around a fire to pretend the universe isn't so large as to terrify them. There is comfort in all of it.

Goa'uld are ultimately species of Queens and Drones – and such conformity of sects, of cults, of religions, it's… frighteningly natural to them.

"You are a strange creature, my friend," Umar says.

"You are no less strange."

Umar has abilities, which over the centuries of working together, they unearth one by one. Something in his blood – in his eyes – sets him apart from other humans. There is something… very strong about him.

"Sometimes, we can look at a man and see his alliances," they tell to Al Mualim. "We can see places of safety, where we might not be found, where guards will not search. We can spot our targets from afar."

"These are not the abilities Egeria gave us," Al Mualim says thoughtfully.

"No, we believe they come from Umar's blood. He is… unique."

They have little in a way of machinery to discover what it is that makes Umar special – but there is something. Though neither oldest nor the strongest, together they make the best Hashashin – where others fail in their missions, they succeed time and time again, and it is mostly thanks to these abilities they possess. They set them apart – they give them an advantage.

But they are not something they can replicate in others.

"There have been rumours among the Goa'uld," Al Mualim says. "Some of them are attempting to refine the human genome to produce the perfect host – like this recent Jaffa research they are doing. It is not enough to them that they can wear human bodies like a suit of clothes – they want to perfect them. Perhaps Umar is a result of such research."

"A Hok-tar?" he asks while Umal hesitates, uneasy.

"Perhaps," Al Mualim says and considers them. "Well it is of benefit to us now. May you perfect this ability… and Umar, and may it bring you strength."

They learn, they grow stronger – and they die.

First of them to fall are Saiph and Ma'qil. They only learn of this because Ma'qil's head is later displayed at the foot of a temple, skewered on a spike. He failed in the attempt to slay the new underlord that took Geb's place – Ba'al, it turns out, is warier than his predecessor.

Then Risha and Bilal fall. They die in Al Mualim's arms, having crawled their way back, their body broken, Risha barely holding onto life well enough to deliver them a warning. Not an hour later, their hideout is attacked – Hurj and Thuban lose their lives in giving the rest of them time to escape. Then they lose Azha and Nasr, and Matar and Rafi…

These deaths do not occur all at once – but over many centuries, during which so little changes. They kill Goa'uld where they may, sneaking to their sides and assassinating them where they stand, and they are successful – but the punishment for their actions upon the populations they try and liberate is often worse than the existence under slavery. So many towns, destroyed for death of one Goa'uld. Even when they become known and hunted and the Goa'uld see it is not the humans at fault here, it changes little.

Where they may spark some rebellion among the slave populations, it seems only lead to death and ruin. And in the meanwhile they die, until there's only half left – until there's not even that.

"We are close now," Al Mualim tells them, furious as another brother falls – Sinan and the symbiote she hosted, Zaurac, who was taken from his host and crushed in Ba'al's hand. "The humans stir, the word spreads among them – the injustices and the sight of someone fighting, it is having an effect. Soon we will have it – soon, people will be roused to rebel in numbers."

"But that will only get more of them killed!" Umar says, horrified.

"There will be no freedom for them without losses, the Goa'uld will not simply give up," Al Mualim says, shaking his head. "They must be forced to leave. The humans can do this – their numbers are great – if only they can be brought to bear on the Goa'uld. We have almost sparked a rebellion, we only need to push a little further."

That is the first hint of doubt they felt. Starting a human rebellion was not why they had been made. Egeria had only wanted as many Goa'uld killed as possible, she did not want a war. But then, perhaps Egeria did not know what she was bringing to the world – or what they had been left to contend with. She did not know of the fallout their actions would cause.

How many humans would die in consequence.

"At least in this way, the humans choose the way they die," he says to Umar, later. "They die free."

"And better a bitter life of freedom, than sweetness of slavery," Umar says, bitterly.

Eventually their numbers dwindle so that they are forced to admit – they cannot work alone anymore. Their numbers are too few, now, for even the most basic of missions. They need aid.

"We have aided many humans," Al Mualim says. "And many of them are willing to fight and die for our cause. We will give them the chance. We will teach them what we know, and give them our blade."

And so they become a Brotherhood.

Human Hashashin are not as strong as their Tok'ra teachers. They run slower, hit weaker, and often lag behind. There is little that can be done about that – and, they have to admit, humans are not lacking in will. Often, they are all more willing to kill and die for their cause than the Tok'ra are – for they are becoming very shy indeed, having seen so many of their brothers die.

"They live such short lives," Umar says quietly. "I am already six times the normal age of a man."

"And with luck, you will live six times longer still."

Humans are quick to learn, however – and they take what their teachers have made, and improve it before their eyes. Robes are added upon by armour – only bronze, perhaps, but still more defence than mere cloth. They develop fighting methods suited for their weaker constitution. They add more blades to their arsenal. They master throwing knives, and bows, and arrows.

Al Mualim trains them like an army.

Umar and he are trainers as well, teaching them how to climb, how to look upon the world, how to stalk their targets. It is during these training sessions, they meet her. Her name is Maud, and she is the strongest woman they have ever met.

It is not the first time a Tok'ra Hashashin has sought the comfort of a human – Al Mualim certainly does not restrain himself, no matter how old his host is. But it is the first time one of them marries a human. How well their brothers approve it is hard to say – Umar is headstrong and proud and never listens. He loves Maud with all the power of a human emotion, and nothing would stand in the way of that.

And Maud loves them both.

"I will not live as long as you," she says, regretful, when they lie together, taking what comfort they may in each other. "You will live a god's life, and I will die a withered old woman."

"Not a god's life, only that of a miserable wretch, for life without you will be only made longer for the absence," Umar says. "I will treasure every moment with you, however short or long, for as long as I live."

She is taken from them much sooner than they hoped, much, much sooner. And it is not a blade that takes her life, nor a destructive burst of energy. No, it is not a killer they would have ever dared to expect – for what takes her life is the act of creation. She dies while giving birth to their son.

It is a worse blow than they could've imagined. It does not even compare to the loss of a Tok'ra brother – she dies so soon, so suddenly, that they cannot even think it, even as they sit there, holding their infant, squirming, desperate, and oh so small in their arms.

Human babies are so terribly fragile.

"The lining of her womb ripped," Al Mualim tells them. "We could not stop the bleeding. I am sorry…, Umar."

"I understand," Umar says, dully. "It was no one's fault."

Al Mualim nods and rests a heavy hand on his shoulder. "There are rumours of a device the Goa'uld are in possession of now," he says. "A device that heals. They call it a sarcophagus – they say it can even prolong a Goa'uld's already long life."

They look up to him. "Could it bring Maud back to life?" he asks, incredulous.

"Not now, I don't think," Al Mualim admits. "It has been already too long. But had we had it, perhaps she could have been healed in life."

They bow their head and mourn, and Al Mualim squeezes their shoulder. "Do you think your son will possess the same gifts?" he asks, thoughtful. "Will he too have the abilities of a Hok-tar?"

Umar shakes their head, and eventually Al Mualim leaves them to mourn.

They name their son after what Maud called them – called Umar's gifts, when she saw them climb a ledge for a better viewpoint. "Look at the old bird of prey," she said fondly, "Honing his eagle vision." Altaïr, the brightest star of the Eagle, the Eagle's Eye.

Altaïr.

There was no knowing how Altaïr would grow and what he would inherit. It is not only Umar's gifts that are in question – but his as well. Goa'uld pass their knowledge genetically, from Queen to her spawn – but only Queen can have the young. There have been rumours of what happens when two Goa'uld hosts have children, what happens to that child – but Maud was only human.

Sometimes, they wonder if Al Mualim allowed his birth only as a curiosity, to see what would happen – would the child inherit their will, their memories?

"No, Alab, I remember nothing," the boy says, while playing with Umar's fingers. "But I do see the light, sometimes. People glow in bright hues."

"That is good news, son," Umar says and holds him close. "That is very good news."

Neither of them would have Altaïr inherit the horrors Egeria had imparted on them, the knowledge of the Goa'uld. Better he grows up a human and human alone, free and innocent of the darkness of the Goa'uld's minds. Let some part of them be innocent.

Al Mualim seems to think similarly – he is especially fond of Altaïr. "Seems we can produce something good in this world after all," the old man says. Al Mualim had been first blessed – then later cursed – with an old host. Rashid had been a man of advanced years when Al Mualim had taken him, and where once it had given him great gravitas and authority, now it is bending his back and making him weak. His body, they all knew, would not live long – soon, he would have to seek another host.

It makes him very appreciative of new things and thoughts in their midst, they think, for he must be more aware of the passage of time than most.

"Yes," Umar agrees and holds Altaïr close. "Altaïr might yet be the best thing that came of us."

"Perhaps," Al Mualim agrees, looking at them and then looking away. "But for now, there is work. We might yet have a chance at taking out Ba'al."

"Ba'al is open for an attack?"

"It seems so – and not only that, but we believe he was recently gifted with a sarcophagus by Ra, for the services he's rendered," Al Mualim says with a scoff and looks at him and then at Altaïr. "Should we able to procure it, and in so doing kill Ba'al… it might be the last spark we need, to light the rebellion."

Umar hesitates – Ba'al has killed so many of them. Tok'ra and human Hashashins both – so many assassinations had failed so disastrously. But… Al Mualim is right – if they could access a sarcophagus, it could change everything. It might even be what they need just to remain, in a world and existence where their numbers will never again grow.

They imagine Altaïr injured, with no symbiote to heal him, and their resolve is set.

"We will go," they say.

"Good," Al Mualim nods. "I have the highest confidence in you… and Umar. You will do well."

They fail.

Ba'al is injured, yes, a knife sticking from his side as he stumbles away from is throne, his host bleeding profusely around the poisoned blade. He escapes via a transporter of rings before they can stop him – it is the last thing Umar sees before he dies, his insides broken by the blast of a new, terrible weapon the Goa'uld possess – a staff that strikes in terrible, crushing energy blasts.

Things become confusing, after that – for even as Umar dies, he who lies within him does not.

He is suspended in light, blinding and warm and all around him, burning tender skin and then healing it immediately after. Later he learns this is the sarcophagus – that his fragile original form had been laid in it to heal it, were his host had not. Umar's body had been left behind.

Being in the sarcophagus feels like being killed and revived, over and over again – pain and rejuvenation, pleasurable in its agony, that never seemed to end. Not until later – not until hands take him, pull him from that terrible wonderful space, and present his confused, flailing form to a body.

He remembers, there is skin, soft, supple, human – by instinct alone he burrows into it, not at all like Tok'ra, not with kindness, but with mindless cruelty, seeking a host whose willingness he had never affirmed, whose name he did not know – not until he awakened in a body not Umar's.

It is Altaïr.

And it is wrong.

Al Mualim punishes him.

"With the sarcophagus you could have saved Umar!" the old man says. "Why did you not simply revive him?"

"I could not – he was already dead, I could do nothing –"

"Silence!" Al Mualim snaps, and he falls silent. "Now, your first host is dead and yet you live – and worse yet, you have taken the body of a child, and in so doing destroyed his mind! A child, who had not given his consent, who indeed could not give his consent!"

There are no words he can say to that, no excuse is enough. Altaïr, his son, their son, Umar's son, is an empty vessel around him, his mind silent, broken, thoughtless. And Umar is dead where he could have lived, where the sarcophagus could have revived him, only he had not known, none of them had realised.

It was the humans who had taken him out of Umar's broken body, and placed him in the sarcophagus. They said, later, "We have lost so many of you already," and for that he can excuse them – but what is done is done, and yet, there is no excuse. He cannot blame the humans. How could they have known? There is only him and Al Mualim left now, he realises – and none of the human Assassins who work under them truly knew.

And Umar is still dead – and so, arguably, is Altaïr. Even the sarcophagus cannot revive his mind now. In one single day, he has lost everything dear to him.

"For this, you must be punished," Al Mualim says. "This is not the Tok'ra way, or have you forgotten? We are Tok'ra, we do not take non-consenting hosts, we do not do it so cruelly. For leaving Umar to die, for destroying Altaïr's mind, you will be punished. From henceforth, you will be known only as Altaïr – for the crime of destroying this boy, you will bear his name. May it forever remind you of what you have done."

"Yes, Al Mualim," he says, Altaïr says.

Al Mualim looks at him and decides it is not enough. "Give me your hand, your left hand. Do not heal this."

The pain is sudden and merciless, but he does what is ordered, he does not heal it. When Al Mualim releases his hand, it is still bleeding – and the damage would be permanent. It is not too big a loss to damage his abilities – he would wield a blade in this hand successfully, once the body would grow. But the loss would remain.

"All will know of your sacrifice, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad," Al Mualim says. "And shun you for it."

And they do, for a lifetime. While the rebellion Al Mualim had so sought after finally comes into fruition, and Ba'al's territories rise to oppose him, and others follow, Altaïr learns to live, somehow, with what had occurred. He isn't sure how.

The youth of his body protects him from the ensuing war – Umar's son is only ten, now, far too young to fight. Later he does fight, and he does it alone, without human assassins to support him – Al Mualim had made his words a reality, and he is shunned. Even those who know the truth, those who held him to Umar's son's neck and let him burrow within, shun him. He learns to live with it.

But human life is short, it's brutal, and it's over all too quick. While he ages and his mindless body grows, around him humans die until no one remembers the cause for his shame. He still bears the name of Altaïr, the only name he would bear from now on, and he bears his shame, but people forget.

As he begins to do an Assassin's work again, serving Al Mualim and their Brotherhood, his signs of shame become a badge of honour. The hood he never lowers, for he'd left scars upon Altaïr's neck he does not wish to show, becomes a symbol of their Brotherhood. The missing finger a symbol of honourable sacrifice in the face of duty – a proof of loyalty. His humbled bow a mark of humility. From these, the Brotherhood reshapes itself in small but significant ways.

As the rebellion rages on and Al Mualim begins using the sarcophagus to extend the life of his host, the Creed is born. Altaïr follows it to the letter, respecting the traditions born, no matter what origins they are born from… but a seed of bitterness has been planted in his heart. Better a bitter life of freedom, indeed.

Only then there is freedom. It takes work, it takes blood, it takes death, but the humans gain their freedom. One by one Goa'uld leave the planet, learning it is easier than to keep fighting an ever growing population which was no longer supplicant, no longer worshipful. They have other worlds, easier to control, easier to subjugate than Earth with its vast and fertile landmasses and all the human populations they could support.

Ba'al is among the first to leave, for which Altaïr wishes he could take some credit – but he is only more bitter that he did leave before Altair could kill him.

"The humans have buried the Chappa'ai," Al Mualim tells him.

"Then we are stranded," Altaïr says.

"It was never our Queen's intention that we should leave, Altaïr. This planet is where we were spawned, it is where we will stay – safeguarding the free will of Mankind, which she so loved," Al Mualim says and looks down upon him. "For as long as we have the Sarcophagus, we can do this indefinitely, and we shall."

Altaïr bows his head.

"We will shepherd a Brotherhood of Assassins," Al Mualim says. "Come, Altaïr, the Goa'uld might be gone, but they may also return. There is still much work to be done."

And so there is, and so they work. Centuries pass, then eons. Human populations recover, change, form into nations and rise. Things change – but in Masyaf, the Brotherhood of Assassin remains, even as new religions rise and fall, pushing and pulling like tides – and all without the Goa'uld to form them and claim themselves their gods. And with religion come religious wars.

Altaïr isn't the only one who grows bitter with age. Al Mualim changes too, something their human brothers can never see, their lives are so short – but Altaïr stands in Al Mualim's shadow, and he sees. He feels it. As they grow older and older, they change.

Eventually, time wears on even upon the Tok'ra. Even the sarcophagus cannot save them from it. They grow old, despite all its gifts – perhaps not in body, but in spirit, certainly. And each time after using it, Altaïr must perform his sacrifices anew.

It wears on him. The solitude in his mind, after living with Umar for so long, wears on him. He wishes desperately for the company of a like mind – for Umar's mind – and yet his host's head echoes empty, a chamber unlit and unwelcoming.

When the Holy War comes upon the Levantine lands, and western nations begin sending crusades upon them, Altaïr has grown into a grim, humourless creature he does not think Umar would know. He has also grown arrogant, feeling superiority towards his human compatriots, something he does not fear to show.

"I am your superior both in rank and ability, you would do well to remember it."

But he does not see it, not then. The words, hateful and arrogant, spew from his mouth where once there had been humility, and he does not hear them. Alone in his own mind, with his bitter thoughts, his horrible memories, he grows irritable and haughty – and with his punishments turned into respected traditions of the Creed, he only finds just cause for his feelings in them.

Until Solomon's Temple, until the Apple, until new truths, new mysteries, new failures – and new punishments.

But that part of Altaïr's life, Desmond already knows.

This part, he does not.

When Al Mualim stabs Altaïr, in what Desmond thought was a fake execution for the failure in Solomon's Temple, it is real. "You will heal," Al Mualim says, "Without the aid of the sarcophagus. Your access to it is from henceforth denied. And should you be injured in the future, should you fall in battle, your survival is in your own hands alone."

And how bitter that is, to know salvation and safety is so close, to have felt it – to be denied from it. It grates worse than the demotion, worse than having these humans calling him novice does. Like he is nothing but a lowly mortal and not the son of gods, not the son of Egeria, not the very founder of all they know – and how dare they do this to him, how dare they think they're better than him?

It lingers like a dark hateful haze for days, for weeks – for as long as it takes for the sarcophagus' effect to wear off. Through the strange assassinations, through Al Mualim's increasingly confusing speeches, through the battle against Templars, it is as if Altaïr's eyes are opened, bit by bit, to the truth.

They had been changed – Al Mualim is not the leader he once was. The Sarcophagus had corrupted him. And now… the Apple of Eden is continuing to do the same.

"We will rule these people, don't you see – have you not seen?" Al Mualim says, when it all comes to head. "How wretched and miserable they are! The Goa'uld are gone, thousands of years have passed – and yet, humans make up their own gods to worship and enslave themselves and each other under. And in the name of these make-belief deities, they make war, justifying it with poetic fiction! For in much wisdom there is much sorrow, and he who increaseth knowledge increaseth suffering…"

Al Mualim is the last of his kin. There is only two of them left, now. Who knows what had happened to their Tok'ra brothers in other worlds, if any of them still lived, if they had for centuries. Al Mualim was the first born of their spawn patch, the first to take a host. He'd guided them and sheltered them, found them hosts and lead them.

And here, at the end, he's a monster.

"I am sorry, my brother," Altaïr says. "You have become the thing we sought to destroy. You are little more than a Goa'uld now, looking to enslave humans under you. It is what we were made to fight, Al Mualim. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, I remember, oh Altaïr, I remember very well," Al Mualim says and reaches to touch his cheek. "This body would have been mine, had you but died at Ba'al's hand like you were supposed to. How did you live then? How did you survive?"

"What are you talking about?" Altaïr demands.

Al Mualim laughs and Altaïr shakes him, demanding answers until he speaks. "I warned Ba'al that you and Umar were on your way," Al Mualim says. "With the hopes that he'd slay you. And while you were gone, I took Altaïr and I broke his mind. It is so easy, is it not, to control a body that does not resist?"

Altaïr can only stare.

"The sooner he was broken," Al Mualim says. "The less questions there would be, when it would come time for me to change hosts – and those gifts that made Umar so powerful would be mine. Only then, they brought the sarcophagus. And before I realised, you were in the body I meant for myself. I hope it has served you well."

Altaïr silences him before he can say more and make Altaïr hate him more than he already does.

These are the things Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad remembers when he prepares to die – things that had become lost in time. Malik had been one of the last Assassins who knew what he was, truly – Maria had known too, of course, but she had known it would not last. Meeting her had changed everything.

Altaïr had decided, upon Al Mualim's death, that they had lived too long – that he too had lived too long. And in meeting Maria, in the clearing of his vision and the lightening – embittering – of his heart, he found hope. Not necessarily in his love for her, though he did love her with all the love a Tok'ra has to give… but in the oncoming end.

To live a single lifetime as a man and woman – and to age with her.

Only, the son of Umar aged faster than the symbiote within it did. The body aged with Maria, that was his choice, but Goa'uld physiology is undeniable. They live longer, so much longer. And the ages spent using the sarcophagus sustained him. He had within him many centuries still… and a curiosity even his will to age did not hamper.

For there is the Apple, there were Those That Came Before – and in the symbols he writes on his Library walls, he sees Those That Will Come After. There is still so much time to live, so much time to pass – so many mysteries still left to uncover. Only now… now he is old, and alone, and tired.

And so, he will sleep.

Chapter Text

For a long moment Desmond just sits there, staring at the memory disk in his left hand while his right one rests on top of the jar in his lap. The disk is still shining faintly – so it still has some energy left to share it's secrets a few times, it seems, maybe indefinitely. Does Isu technology even use power sources, really, or do they just draw on the powers of the universe like some sort of technological photosynthesis? The Grand Temple needed batteries. Maybe it's a size problem – the bigger the change upon the universe, the more energy it consumes.

There are people talking over him, they sound familiar – they sound like they're maybe arguing, but he isn't really hearing them. He's concentrates instead on the faint noise coming from the jar, a soft technological hum, and what he thinks passes for a heartbeat for a Tok'ra Symbiote. Do they have hearts? Do they have blood? Funnily enough, biology hasn't come up. He doesn't even know that much about the way they look, just that they're small, snake-like, and have fins and several jaws.

"So about those guns…?

"We're allowing this on the good faith that Desmond's assessment of you people was correct and all of this is happening for a reason. But don't test us."

"Um – papa Miles, I assume? That thing he's holding – that's a canopic jar, and it's usually not a good thing – so, how about you at least take it away from him or –"

Desmond turns his eyes to the jar. He kind of wants to crack the jar open and have a look.

"If you do that, you must commit to the action."

Even without looking up Desmond can tell Ezio is standing in front of him. The guy still wears the same boots, Florentine make with heels and silver buckles. If anything, Ezio is fancier in death than he was in life – if he even is dead. Or real.

Desmond doesn't answer, trying to get his thoughts in order. Altaïr's memories have never been like this before – so intimate. For the first time since – ever really… Desmond actually felt like he was in the guy's head.

Do symbiotes have heads? They have jaws, so probably, but – does their thinking happen in their heads? Do they have brains? Hell, he doesn't even know if they have bones. Are aliens vertebrates?

"Desmond," Ezio says, urging him, and Desmond closes his eyes. His face, he realises in hindsight, is wet.

"Um, what is – what is he doing?" someone asks – it sounds like... Daniel Jackson? "And he hasn't opened that thing, right?"

"What is it?" That's Shaun.

"The jar? Oh, it's just the Pandora's box for the worst thing imaginable. A parasitic alien known for their evilness, megalomania, slavery, all the good stuff," Jack O'Neill, maybe?

Ezio crouches down in front of him, balancing on top of the sarcophagus. "He cannot live outside a suitable host body – either a human or a body of water with the right elements," he says quietly. "Should you open that jar, his life is in your hands."

Desmond draws a shuddering breath. The chatter around him goes silent, and he can feel the stares on him – people from SGC are there. He doesn't care. "Why didn't I know any of this?" he asks Ezio, and his voice comes out choked.

"For the same reason I did not, in life. It was kept from us," Ezio answers and shakes his head regretfully. "And knowing might have hindered the Prophecy, and they could not let that happen."

"Christ," Desmond murmurs and wipes at his eyes. His lashes are all glued together. "Fucking Precursors, Jesus Christ."

"Son? Are you alright?"

"Desmond? You wanna set the Goa'uld-in-a-box aside maybe?"

Desmond ignores them both, looking down at the canopic jar. Altaïr is sleeping in there. He'd left behind his will, indeed.

Ezio hums in agreement. "The power source in the jar is failing," he says. "Another month, another year, and the hibernation will fall – and lacking a safe receptacle, he will die."

Well, that explains why Ezio was in such a hurry for him to find the truth. "You knew. Why not just tell me outright?" Desmond asks, looking at him and ignoring the increasingly awkward atmosphere around him. "You could have just told me."

"I couldn't," Ezio admits regretfully. "I am still under restrictions – all I can do is guide you, and even then, I cannot make decisions for you. It was up to you to decide whether to take the journey."

Desmond gives him an incredulous look.

Ezio answers the look with one of his own and then looks down at the jar. "I did not want him to die alone," he says quietly, "and forgotten. And I did not think you would either."

"... No, no I wouldn't," Desmond agrees quietly and holds the jar to his chest. "Of course not."

"Okay, enough already – can anyone explain what the hell is going on here?"

Desmond sighs and finally looks up.

His dad is holding a gun. He had it aimed at Jack O'Neill, who's standing with his team across from him, the hole in the floor – and Desmond in it – between them. Daniel, Major Carter and Teal'c are there too, and so are Shaun and Rebecca. They're all looking at him.

"Kid," O'Neill says very seriously. "Put the stasis jar down before something happens."

Desmond blinks at him. Then he looks at his Dad. "When did they get here?"

"While you were off walking down the memory lane," Shaun answers. He too has a gun in his hand, though his is aimed at the floor. "We tried to deflect them, but they were – insistent. What did Altaïr have to say?"

Desmond snorts. "Mostly that universe is a really sad and scary place," he mutters and looks at the jar. He glances at Ezio and then pushes the memory disk into his pocket and gets up. "Can they not be here?"

"With a sarcophagus and a Goa'uld around?" O'Neill asks incredulously. "No, they think this is exactly where they need to be. This is kind of their job."

"Umm, Desmond – you, do you know what that is?" Daniel and, nodding at the jar. "You know what's in there?"

"Yeah," Desmond says and then takes a step back to get a running start for a leap off the sarcophagus and the hole and onto the floor above. It's awkward with the jar, with his wounded hand more or less useless he's forced to hug the jar to his chest to make sure it can't slip from his grasp, which makes jumping difficult, but he manages it.

It's followed by a moment of tense silence as everyone expects him to do or say something – except Desmond has no idea what to do or say.

"Inside that jar is likely a living Goa'uld symbiote," Major Carter says then, warningly.  "We've seen canopic jars like that once before, they can keep a Goa'uld symbiote alive within them for centuries, even for thousands of years, and the symbiote is immediately ready to take a host."

"By which she means it takes over the body of a human and controls it against their will," Daniel says, wary and watchful. "Often forcing the host to commit terrible things, unable to stop it."

"Yeah, so how about you set it down and let us handle it?" O'Neill suggests. "We're kind of the experts in alien parasites here."

Desmond looks at them, with the quiet realisation that if they try to take the jar from him, he will have to fight them, maybe even kill them. But if he doesn't let them have it, they will probably never stop looking for him, trying to hunt him down. Having killed the Vice President probably doesn't help.

Fuck, what a mess.

"You couldn't just keep them away, huh?" Desmond asks.

"Hey, we tried," Shaun says, scowling. "You're the one who left behind a phone with incriminating photos. And apparently another, with incriminating videos."

"Not talking to you," Desmond says and looks at Ezio.

"I can't control people's actions – I would not even if I could," Ezio says simply. "I am still an Assassin. I can only suggest."

"Anyone else thinking that's weird?" O'Neill asks, pointing at Desmond.

"It's a bit weird, yeah," Daniel agrees.

"You get used to it," Rebecca comments with a tight smile.

Desmond is tired of the noise, he can't think with this many people shouting. "I need to think," he murmurs and turns away, towards the doorway. "You people do whatever, I don't care – I need to think."

"Hey, hey – leave the stasis jar here at least –"

O'Neill goes to grab him, but Desmond ducks out of his reach, and before the guy can try again, Shaun is there, with a gun aimed at the Colonel. Muttering curses, O'Neill puts his hands up and backs away.

"Take your time, mate," Shaun says grimly. "But maybe don't do anything really rash before telling us, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Thanks Shaun."

There's really no decision there – he already knows what he's going to do, he knew even before he finished the memories. Knowing is one thing though – accepting is another. Never mind understanding the consequences – because there would be consequences, major ones probably.

It's kind of funny, or maybe fucked up – but it's the first time since the Grand Temple that Desmond realises he has a future to be considered. It had felt like he was living on borrowed time, it still kind of does, that's why he didn't think twice about escaping that car, he honestly hasn't thought he'd live long enough for the whole thing to become an issue… but now…

Now there's someone else to be considered, and Desmond might be able to be flippant with his own life – he can't be flippant with Altaïr's. Especially not after what he's seen.

"DesmondMiles?"

Desmond looks up from the jar to see Teal'c approaching him on the top level of the mezzanine where he's sitting on the floor – where Altaïr's office had once been, where the desk had stood. Shaun is walking behind Teal'c, gun still in hand.

"Teal'c," Desmond says, stamping down his annoyance. He'd hoped to think alone a bit longer.

"I wished to speak to you on the matter of the Goa'uld, so that you may understand the danger therein," Teal'c says, his hands clasped behind his back. "For I have much personal experience on the subject."

"He'd been telling us about it – they all have," Shaun adds, quiet. "I think you should hear him out."

Desmond looks between them and then sighs. "Sure, why not, pull up a bit of floor or something," he says. "But you're not getting this jar from me."

Teal'c arches a brow at him and then moves to sit across from him, crossing his ankles in a lotus position. "I told you I was once enslaved," he begins. "What I did not tell you then was that my slavery was under a Goa'uld named Apophis – a false god who seized dominion over my people, claiming divine powers and omniscience, while relying on technology and cruelty to enforce his will…"

Desmond listens closely as Teal'c tells him about his service under Apophis and the many atrocities he'd seen and how, eventually and finally Apophis was slain and proven false once and for all – and how other Goa'uld had died besides. Nirti, Sokar, Hathor, Heru-ur –

"Ra?" Desmond asks. "Ra's dead?"

"He has been dead for many years," Teal'c agreed, with a personal sort of vindication. "He attacked a planet called Abydos, on which the Tau-ri were at the time – they launched a nuclear device in his ship and he perished."

Desmond blinks at that, stunned. Then he leans forward. "What about Ba'al?" he asks grimly. "Is Ba'al dead?"

"Who's Ba'al?" Shaun asks, frowning.

"He was once a minor Goa'uld lord under Ra," Teal'c says and then says, regretfully, "today he is one of the most powerful System Lords, with a domain that stretches over many star systems."

Desmond breathes in and out and then leans back. Shaun is giving him an annoyed look. "What, nothing on Canaanites?" Desmond asks. "Ba'al was the Goa'uld who ruled the Levantine area as a god – I'd think something of it stayed in history."

"Well, excuse me, we've been concentrating on the last five hundred years lately," Shaun says cuttingly. "I'll get right on that research, shall I? What's he got to do with anything?"

Desmond looks at Teal'c and considers him, as the former First Prime watched him levelly. The chance of him knowing Tok'ra is probably slim, huh. "Altaïr's first host was killed in their attempt to assassinate Ba'al," he says. "So there's a bit of a personal grudge."

"Wait – what ?"

Teal'c blinks. "The name of the Goa'uld in that jar is Altaïr?" he asks. "This name is unknown to me."

"His original name was taken from him as punishment, he took his second host's name as a reminder," Desmond explains. "But I doubt you'll know it anyway, they weren't very known, his patch. Their Queen had them in secret."

"No no no, you're not saying Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad was an alien," Shaun says sharply. "That's crazy talk, Desmond."

Desmond shrugs. "Tends to be how it goes with me, sorry."

"There were others?" Teal'c asks with interest.

"Twelve who survived blending with hosts – eight died," Desmond explains. "And of the twelve ten died over the following centuries after their spawning, either attempting to assassinate Goa'ulds or running away for them. Only two survived to see the rebellion that sent Goa'uld packing – Altaïr and Al Mualim."

"Oh my god, Al Mualim was an alien too, now?" Shaun demands and then makes a face. "Well, I suppose if someone had to be a megalomaniacal alien parasite…"

Teal'c is watching Desmond with suddenly very keen look in his eyes. "Then they were Ashrak?" he says. "Do you know who is the Queen who spawned them?"

"Um, yeah – her name was Egeria. No idea what happened to her, though, she was gone by the time…" Desmond trails away as Teal'c's eyes widen. "What?"

"This name is known to me – are you certain it was Egeria, DesmondMiles?"

"Yeah I'm pretty certain," Desmond says with a slight frown. "Altaïr never met her though – she sent the prim'ta into hiding in a big jug, basically, and then Ra discovered what she'd done and took her. They assumed she was executed."

"She was not," Teal'c says and then looks down. "We discovered her not a year ago on a planet named Pangar, once ruled by Ra. Egeria was held there in a similar stasis jar, as a punishment for her crime of creating the Tok'ra."

"She's alive?" Desmond asks, surprised.

Teal'c shakes his head solemnly. "I am sorry, DesmondMiles. She died shortly after we discovered her, due to most unfortunate circumstances."

"Oh," Desmond says and looks down. "That's a pity."

"Okay," Shaun says, looking between them. "I might not be the most sensitive bloke out there, but even I can tell the mood took a sudden downward dive. Would anyone like to explain?"

"No, it's nothing," Desmond sighs. "Altaïr always figured they were the last ones left. It's sad, but it doesn't change things."

Teal'c looks at him, a brow arched. "He is not the only one, DesmondMiles. There are in fact others – the Tok'ra are allies to the Tau-ri."

"Wait, so. What?" O'Neill asks looking between them dubiously. " Not a Goa'uld?"

"So there were Tok'ra on Earth? Who stayed on Earth?" Major Carter asks, just as surprised.

"It makes sense," Daniel Jackson says, thoughtful. "Sethesh got stuck on Earth, and we've discovered, what, three Goa'uld in stasis so far, Hathor, Isis, Osiris… There is probably still more left to be discovered. Why couldn't the Tok'ra stay just the same – or be made to stay?"

"Okay, so – who stuffed Alty in a bottle then?"

"It's Altaïr. Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad," Bill says sharply and looks at Desmond – who is still not letting go of the jar, even though it's kind of awkward to handle with one functional hand. "Desmond, are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure – and no one stuffed him in a bottle," Desmond sighs and sits on the floor, by the hole. "Altaïr set it up himself – he built this place to be his resting place. The library, the hidden chamber, the stasis jar – he set it up so that he could slip out of his host and into the jar."

"So that is...?" Daniel motions to the skeleton.

"That's why there was a hole in the floor – it was just above the jar," Rebecca says. "So snakey Altaïr slips out of his host and into sleep, and no one's any the wiser because there's just a little hole in the floor, not big enough for anything but maybe a snake."

"Okay, see, that doesn't make sense. Why not just use the sarcophagus?" O'Neill asks. "Just stretch out and slumber away, host and all."

"The Tok'ra don't use the sarcophagus," Daniel points out. "For a pretty good reason." He gets a few looks from the Assassins in the room and explains, "The sarcophagus is a powerful healing device, but it's not perfect. It has a deteriorating effect on the mind – it's thought to be one of the reasons for Goa'ulds megalomania."

"Yeah, Altaïr felt that personally. The Assassins stole it from Ba'al – the sarcophagus – and Al Mualim and Altaïr used it for thousands of years," Desmond explains. "Al Mualim was already a manipulative asshole before that, but the sarcophagus made it worse. Did a number on Altaïr too, until Al Mualim punished him by taking his rights to it away. After Altaïr got over it, he never used it again."

"And his host grew old and died?" Carter asks. "Why not take a new host?"

Desmond sighs. "He was tired. He wanted to rest."And he probably didn't want to watch his son and grandchildren grow old and die...

"Well, I say we let him rest," O'Neill says. "He wants to be in stasis, let's leave him be."

"The jar is going to run out of power soon," Desmond says. "And no. I'm not leaving him."

His tone silences arguments for a moment. Then Shaun breaks it. "So, just to be clear – these Tok'ra Ashraks started the Assassins Brotherhood?" He says, sounding still a bit suspicious.

"Yeah. They called themselves Hashashin first – they started training humans to fight and kill when their own numbers dwindled so much that they couldn't complete missions anymore."

"Snakes training humans to fight and kill – and probably die for them. Doesn't that sound familiar," O'Neill mutters.

Desmond looks at him blandly. "Yeah, how dare they take these former slaves and teach them to defend themselves?" he asks wryly.

O'Neill clears his throat awkwardly. Then he visibly changes gears. "Okay, so," he says and claps his hands together. "How about we take this to the SGC, we call up the Tok'ra, get all this," he motions to the sarcophagus, "cleared away and then we go from there, hm?"

Desmond hesitates, glancing at his dad and the others.

"And in the meantime you take possession of the powerful healing device, will you?" Bill asks wryly. "And Desmond vanishes somewhere into the system, to be charged for the death of Vice President Kinsey?"

"A very good point," O'Neill says and turns to Desmond, saying almost pleasantly, "We have some questions about the death of Vice President Kinsey."

Desmond sighs and hugs the jar with Altaïr inside it closer to his chest. "Life was so much simpler when I was just another human experiment," he muses morosely.

Chapter Text

Things move along a little smoother when Desmond decides to come with them of his own free will. If he hadn't, Jack has a feeling they would've been stuck arguing about the whole thing until the cows came home or something – because Assassins, it turns out, are some headstrong bunch.

Except of course there is some more arguing – papa Miles has some words with his son, and then the sarcastic Brit and his rather hilarious maybe-girlfriend join in and there's a whole hushed argument going on in the background, which Jack and the SG1 are politely trying to ignore.

"So," Jack says to his own team, while they collect their gear from near the entrance to the castle. "How much shit is that kid in, really?"

"Desmond?" Carter asks and blows a breath. "I don't know – depending on the results of the investigation of the Vice President's car crash and what that video might've added to it…"

"The stuff they know, the stuff they have access to," Daniel hums, checking his camera and then making a sort of, oh well expression and putting it away. "It's obvious that the Assassin Brotherhood has access to some interesting stuff. Never mind the whole genetic memory thing and whatever that memory disk was."

"Yeah, what was that?" Jack asks, and turns to Teal'c. "Goa'uld tech?"

"Not one I am familiar with, O'Neill. The design is unlike any information technology used by the Goa'uld," Teal'c says calmly, picking up his handgun and giving it a look over.

"It could be Isu technology," Carter suggests. "I mean – that probably is what they have the most familiarity with – and if it works how they implied, by actually storing person's own memories rather than any sort of written data, then… it makes sense that the Isu, a group of people with inclination for genetic memory, would use something like that."

"If they already remember everything, passed down and all, why would they need something like that?" Jack asks, frowning.

"Well, it's passed down from parents to children – not across lineages," Carter says and shrugs. "It could be that disks like that were how they shared information across families, bloodlines – adding new memories into the… genetic storage."

"Kind of incredible to think of, huh," Daniel muses. "A whole race of people whose children are born knowing all the things their parents did."

"Going by how it works for the Goa'uld, not sure it's a good thing," Jack says and eases his sunglasses back on, peering outside. The area looks still clear – and Pendergast hasn't given them the heads up on any movement in the area, so it should be still calm out. "So, the snake in the jar," he says then. "I don't think Desmond's just going to be happy handing it over to the Tok'ra."

"Yeah, doesn't look like it," Daniel agrees.

"He obviously has a personal attachment… somehow," Carter agrees, looking inside worriedly.

"From viewing the record on the memory disk," Teal'c suggests. "Something about those memories affected him most strongly."

"Yeah – or manipulated him," Jack points out. "I mean, he was crying over a snake. Who does that?"

Carter frowns a little. "I would," she says quietly. "I have."

"… Right, well… that's different," Jack says awkwardly – and, yeah. He has too, but that was under influence, a lot of influence – first a plague and then blending he wasn't at all on board with, and right after there was Ba'al and also Daniel, who was Ascended and – okay, not a fun line of thinking, that. Jack clears his throat. "On scale from, say… me on my best day to Daniel with Hathor –"

"Hey –" Daniel complains. "You were too –"

"Or," Jack says, ignoring him, "with Shyla, or under the influence of Ascension… how compromised do you think Desmond is?"

"To know that we would have to know his base level, and honestly, sir, I don't think we do, we've only ever seen him under duress, really," Carter comments and considers him. "You think whatever was on that disk is influencing him to be sympathetic towards the symbiote?"

"Enough to throw away his life for the thing, yeah," Jack agrees.

"You think he'd bond with it – with Altaïr?" Daniel comments.

"Don't you?" Jack asks, and there's a moment of silence as they all look back towards the not-so-secret secret chamber where the Assassins still are. "The guy is in peak condition, in perfect health –"

"Badly burned arm aside," Daniel comments, giving him the eyebrows.

"In either case, he's not like Jacob. Kid can't be older than twenty five – he's got his whole life ahead of him," Jack says, uneasy. "And now he's cuddling with a snake-in-a-jar – it just doesn't sit well with me."

"He did express the wish to come with us to the SGC and meet Tok'ra," Teal'c comments. "Which, if he were under malicious influence, he would be unlikely to do, as the Tok'ra may ascertain whether the symbiote in the stasis jar is indeed a Tok'ra."

"Can they?" Jack asks. "We didn't know about Tanith in the beginning, did we – not before he was out and about murdering people. And these guys are called the Assassin Brotherhood, which I really shouldn't have to point out this often. Their founders were Ashrak."

"Tok'ra Ashrak, whose targets were Goa'uld system lords," Daniel points out and then continues before Jack can argue. "I'm not saying that Desmond isn't affected by something or that the symbiote isn't a little suspicious – but looking at his team… did they seem like this was out of character for him?"

"They seemed concerned, but not alarmed," Teal'c comments. "This behaviour seems familiar to them."

"Including the talking to people who aren't  there," Jack points out.

"Yes. Including that."

Jack throws up his hands, disgusted, and Daniel clears his throat. "Well, maybe, since he's coming, and willingly at that," he says slowly. "Maybe we can have a look at that disk, see how it works?"

"And Janet can run tests on Desmond, check for the usual suspects when it comes to mind control," Carter adds. "If there's something affecting Desmond, she'd probably be able to find it."

Jack lets out a hiss through his teeth. "Yes, well," he says. "Just – let's keep an eye on the guy, alright? And preferably not leave him alone with the jar."

"I do not think we can remove it from him without having to resort to force, O'Neill," Teal'c comments.

Yeah, he doesn't think so either, the kid looked like he was sizing them up for a knife-shaped hole before, it was kind of unsettling. "Just – keep an eye on him," he says. "Until we – we know more."

Everyone nods, which is at least something. Jack looks between them to make sure everyone is taking things seriously – they are- and then goes back to checking his gear.

Soon after that, Desmond comes out, followed by his dad, who is carrying on his shoulder a duffle bag. Desmond, of course, is hugging the stasis jar to his chest, again. The kid has terrible taste in security blankets.

"I will be going with my son," Bill Miles says, meeting Jack's eyes. "And before we go, I want you to understand that I am the Mentor of the Assassin Brotherhood, and should anything happen to either of us…"

"Your little club is going to rain hell down upon us?" Jack asks, sarcastically.

"No," the man says. "Assassin Brotherhood isn't so petty as to seek retribution. We have bigger concerns. No, they will simply come and get us out. By any means necessary."

"Ah," Jack says, a little less humourless. "And what makes you think they will succeed?"

"Nothing. But either way, there will be a lot of blood spilled, and I think we both would prefer to avoid it," Bill says and glances at Desmond, who just sighs. "We're only doing this because despite everything, Desmond still thinks you are the good guys. I hope you don't prove him wrong."

Jack arches his brows, looking at Desmond. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he comments, a little surprised. "I'm touched."

"Yes, well," Desmond says and clears his throat. "You have a car or something? Also, I don't know how I'm going to get this through customs," he nods to the jar. "So I'm hoping you got something."

"Oh, yeah," Jack snorts. "We got something. You got everything ready, all things packed?"

Desmond nods – despite the fact that all he has is one flimsy backpack and the damn jar. Bill presses his lips together tightly and nods as well.

"What about the sarcophagus, sir?" Carter asks. "We can't just leave it here."

"It isn't yours to take," Bill says sharply. "Up until Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad himself, as its rightful owner, says differently, the device will stay within the Brotherhood."

Jack clears his throat. "It's alien technology," he points out.

"We're aware. Rebecca and Shaun will secure it, and take it to a safe location," Bill says. "And we'll be starting this on a very bad foot, if you try to sneak it away from under them."

Desmond sighs. "No one is going to use it," he says. "But we need some bargaining chips too, and the sarcophagus is Altaïr's. We're already putting a lot of trust in you just by coming."

"More than I'd like," Bill says, coolly.

Jack sighs, glancing at Daniel and Carter. He doesn't like it, but… the kid is right.

They are the good guys.

"Fine – but anything happens and someone goes all evil overlord on regeneration juices, on your own head be it," Jack says. "Now, everyone grab your gear." Bill and Desmond share uneasy looks and Jack grins, nodding to Carter. "Major?"

Carter nods and hits her comm. "Prometheus, this is Major Carter," she says. "We're ready to beam on board – we have two civilians with us. Over."

"We read you, Major," comes an answer. "We are suffering some minor technical difficulties – you said two civilians, correct? Over."

"Yes, two civilians – with potential third life sign," Carter says, sharing a look with Jack. "A Goa'uld symbiote in a stasis jar – one of the civilians is holding the jar and it should beam aboard along with him. Over."

"Stand by, Major."

Then there is silence, awkward and tense, while Desmond and Bill share confused, slightly wide-eyed looks and Daniel rocks back and forth on his heels.

"Well," Jack says. "That was an anti-cli –"

And then they're beamed away – just a woosh of bright light and the weirdest sensation of being slightly misaligned with the atmosphere and then, ah, the sweet taste of filtered air and the stomach-turning twist of artificial gravity.

"... max," Jack finishes, lamely.

"Sorry about that," Colonel Pendergast says, coming forward. "Seems like we took a slightly worse beating from the superflare than we thought – there's some issues with the cooling system for the transporter."

"Anything we should be worried about?" Jack asks, frowning and affecting casualness even while keeping a side eye on Bill and Desmond, both of whom have whirled around to look out of the window – outside which the pretty, pretty blue marble floats sweet and chill in the great cosmic blackness of space.

Yeah, the gaping never gets old.

"Should I go take a look?" Carter asks. "There shouldn't be issues like these – in the simulations there were no problems with the cooling systems."

"The simulations were run on Asgard specifications – we're running slightly less advanced cooling systems, I'm afraid. It's just a few minor error messages. We're switched to secondaries and venting the heat, should be right as rain in a moment," Pendergast says and arches his brows. "A Goa'uld symbiote in a jar, huh?"

"Yeah, we found some new friends," Jack agrees, grinning as the Assassins continue to gape. "We could use a lift back to the mountain."

"You guys do get around," Pendergast says and considers Desmond, obviously remembering him. "Pleasure to see you better, sir," the Colonel says. "Last I saw you, you looked like you'd taken a beating too."

"I'm sorry?" Desmond says, dragging his eyes from Earth for a moment and then looking quickly back.

"This is how we got to you so fast after the flare," Carter explains. "Prometheus beamed us to Turin and then back with you."

"Ah," Desmond says, sounding like he doesn't much care. "I did wonder about that."

For a moment they look at the Assassins – both of them still just gawking at the Earth in complete amazement. Then, grinning, Pendergast says. "Let's get you back stateside, then," and nods to his helmsman.

Seeing Earth from the orbit is one thing – moving over it as it slowly spins in space, that's something else. Never gets old.

"… and so I'd recommend a full battery of tests, EEG, MRI, all the works, to make sure the kid isn't under, I don't know… Nishta, or something," Jack says to General Hammond.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Desmond says wryly. "I'm touched." He is also still touching the stasis jar, which really is all the evidence Jack needs.

"So, let me get this straight," the General says, frowning. "A group of Tok'ra Ashrak's stayed on Earth, fighting the Goa'uld who were here at the time, several thousand years ago. And these Tok'ra eventually formed the Assassin Brotherhood?"

"More like started it," Daniel says. "Or trained it."

"Right," Hammond says. "And what have they been doing for the last… several thousand years?"

Bill, looking like he'd been eating the sourest of lemons available, answers that one. "The Assassin Brotherhood has been safeguarding mankind's free will against those who would rather usurp it," he says, coolly. "Against people such as Templars, who would use Precursor technology – alien technology," he amends, definitely not happy now, "to control and enslave others."

"And you do this… by killing people?" Jack asks. Bill narrows his eyes and Jack waves a hand. "You're called the Assassin Brotherhood. I'm assuming the clue is in the name, here."

"Yes," Bill says, wryly. "Clue is in the name. Yes, we do this by killing people. Corrupt people, people who got into positions of authority and power by manipulation, cruelty, torture and who would use their position to do worse things."

"Such as…" Jack trails away.

"Such as Warren Vidic, who among many other things kidnapped and tortured several people, including Desmond," Bill says. "Using them in his experiments, extracting information from them, often at the cost of their sanity."

"The Abstergo scientist Desmond is wanted for killing," Carter murmurs.

"Among the others," Jack comments, giving the kid a look. It's so weird to think of him as a killer – he doesn't look it, he doesn't feel it either. "Anything to say about that?"

Desmond arches a brow at him. "He'd kidnapped my dad, and he killed a lot of people, including my predecessor," he says. "I'm not particularly keen on defending myself, no. Fuck that guy, I'm happy he's dead, and he died too quickly."

Okay then.

General Hammond clears his throat. "I have to say this is not helping your case," he says, shaking his head. "The incident with the Vice President might have been self-defence, the jury is still out on that, but you're not making it very easy to trust you, son. Saving the world notwithstanding."

"We have a case?" Bill asks sarcastically. "What is this, a trial?"

"I thought it would be better if we were honest," Desmond says, casting him a look. "I have it on good authority that you're good people and that I should try and make friends with you, so that's what I'm trying to do. By being honest."

"That I can appreciate," Hammond says with a nod. "And in my position I have learned to give certain… leeway to things that might be considered unthinkable and unforgivable on Earth. Alien cultures have different standards for crime. But you are from Earth, Mr. Miles, and we still must abide by the United States law. You are wanted for the death of eight people, and the incident with the Vice President puts you under further suspicion still."

"So… I'm under arrest?" Desmond guesses, calmly.

Bill scowls. "We came here willingly," he says.

"And I respect that," Hammond says, nodding again. "But I have my duty."

Jack looks at Desmond, as the young man leans back on his chair, eying the jar sitting on the table in front of him. Then the kid looks away to the corner – and at damn nothing, again.

"My dad isn't wanted though, is he?" Desmond asks then. "He has no record."

"… no, not as far as we know," Hammond agrees slowly. "He is free to go."

"I am staying with my son," Bill says sharply.

Hammond glances at him and then looks at Desmond again. Desmond hums and then looks at Bill. There is a silent exchange of information, and then the kid nods his head. "Alright," he says. "I am not letting you take Altaïr from me, though. Please don't try."

Hammond leans back a little and then glances at SG1.

Carter clears her throat. "We should check the stasis jar, run a scan of it at least," she says. "To make sure the symbiote is alive and well – "

"He is," Desmond says.

Carter hesitates. "We should check it, anyway. After that, Janet and I can put together a tank for the symbiote – a safe environment with all the necessary nutrients, minerals and chemicals for a Goa'uld to survive in," she says. "You said that the stasis jar's power source is failing, right? It would be a safe alternative to, uh… hosting."

Which, by now, everyone knows Desmond is planning on.

Desmond nods. "And I guess in the meanwhile you want me to go through tests, too, to make sure I haven't lost my mind," he says wryly.

"We would appreciate your cooperation in the matter," Hammond says.

Desmond nods slowly and then looks at the jar. "If anything happens to him," he says thoughtfully. "I'm not sure what I'll do. But it's probably not very good."

Yeah, the kid needs to be checked out, pronto.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with him," Fraiser pronounces.

"What?" Jack demands.

"Nothing?" Carter asks, fascinated.

"Nothing aside from what was there already," Fraiser says and snaps off her gloves. "His brain is still working strangely compared to how a human brain works – his EEG is still closer that to Ayiana's than yours or mine – and his DNA still probably bears the markers of a triple helix. But as far as his brain chemistry goes, nothing is different, and his scans all come clean. He is under the influence of neither Nishta, or any other mind-altering substance – or energy – we know of."

"So, just generally nuts," Jack says.

"Rude," Desmond says, with the stasis jar in his lap. "I'm a perfect butterfly."

Jack gives him a look as Fraiser smiles, a little uncomfortable. "So about this memory disk," she says, folding her arms. "How does it work?"

"Technology-wise? I have no idea," Desmond says. "It just sort of beams stuff into your head – when I was watching it, it was like I was Altaïr, walking in his shoes, saying the stuff he was saying, and so on."

"As far as we know, it works by the same sort of mental projection as an Animus," Bill says, and when everyone looks at him strangely, continues. "Animus being the technology Abstergo developed to view ancestral memories – such as Desmond's."

Carter blinks. "Wait, you have technology that can –"

"Yes, we do – and it was likely derived from the Isu memory disks by Abstergo scientists – namely Warren Vidic. The effect seems to be very similar," Bill says, impatiently. "If it works by the same methods, the disk does alter brain physiology, but only in the way any new memory does when it is forming. Rewiring synapses to record the new recollection."

"So it does manipulate the brain," Jack says, victorious.

Bill scoffs. "If you have a brain to be manipulated, yes," he mutters, giving him a sideways look.

"Dad," Desmond says and looks at Fraiser. "It's a sort of projection, or… an outer body experience, I guess. You live the memory as if it's your own. You feel, see, hear, touch all the same things as the person who recorded the memory did. You feel their thoughts, their emotions."

"Would this work on people of not Isu origins?" Daniel asks curiously.

Jack knows that tone. "Daniel, no," he says.

"What, I'm just asking," Daniel says quickly.

"No," Jack says again.

Desmond looks between them. "I'm not sure," he admits then. "The only ones I know who's been able to make it work were Altaïr and Ezio, and I guess me – and we all have Isu DNA."

Daniel frowns. "Altaïr is a Goa'uld –"

"His host, I mean," Desmond says. "His host had Isu DNA."

"Convenient," Jack mutters.

Bill gives him a stink eye. "You do live to be contrary, don't you, Colonel."

"You are pretty damn calm for a man whose kid is hugging a brain-jacking parasite," Jack answers.

Bill's eyes narrow dangerously.

Fraiser clears her throat. "Gentlemen," she says, warning. "Don't make me kick you out." Then, as Jack makes a surrendering motion, she turns to Desmond. "Now, how about we take a look at the symbiote, make sure everything is as it should be," she says. "I promise I will not hurt him."

Desmond looks at her and then at the jar. "Careful," he says quietly, before handing it over. "He's pretty damn important to me."

Fraiser nods seriously as she accepts the jar. Jack looks at Desmond, at the anxious look on the kid's face, and, damn. It's really unnerving. It isn't just that the kid is completely compromised by the damn thing, his whole being turned to watch Fraiser as she goes about examining the jar. If she made a single wrong move, the guy would probably pounce.

Shit. The kid's completely done for, isn't he?

Chapter Text

There's a still small part of Jacob that feels almost childlike giddiness when stepping through the Stargate. Even after years of it, of stepping though by now hundreds of Stargates with Selmak – and having the memories of thousands and thousands more… there's still that part in him, who saw the moon landing and wished to see his daughter see space in person, who just… jumps a little every time.

Never gets old, he thinks, giddy.

Never change, Jacob, Selmak thinks, fond, and together they look up, Jacob composing himself as General Hammond comes up to meet them.

"George," Jacob greets him. "Your message said it was urgent – I dropped some very sensitive stuff to get here this soon. What's up?"

"We have something of a situation," George says grimly and looks pointedly around him. "You came alone?"

"Our forces are busy, spread between the Coalition, Ba'al and Anubis," Jacob admits. "There aren't that many of us at liberty anymore – even I can't stay long. The faster you can make this, the better."

"Right," George says and motions him to follow. "Come right this way and I'll brief you on what's been doing on. Do the Tok'ra know about the superflare?"

"I'm sorry?" Jacob asks, and Selmak gently pushes forward, easing to the surface as Jacob gives way. "I'm sorry – are you speaking of your Sun?"

"Yes," George says and leads him out of the gate room. "It happened on the twenty first – the solar maximum, which we'd predicted, proved to be much stronger than anyone anticipated. Major Carter says it was tens of thousands of times stronger than a regular solar flare."

Jacob hesitates. "Is – this a joke, George?" he asks warily. "Something at that force – the Earth couldn't have survived intact. We've seen worlds ravaged by superflares, it's not something that just happens and you walk away from it."

George seems entirely serious though. "The Asgard offered you aid?" Selmak guesses it, with a mingled jealousy-indulgence. The Asgards' favouritism of the Tau'ri still rubs some Tok'ra the wrong way – they still don't understand why. Selmak does, but – she's still an Tok'ra, and the many thousands of years of working alone only to see these newcomers make such powerful allies left and right, it grates a little.

Easy, girl, Jacob thinks. Selmak just hums. She is long over it – but old habits die hard, and she is very old.

"No, not the Asgard – but you are true, we didn't survive it intact without help," George says. "And we did lose Earth's entire satellite network and suffered massive damages to the global infrastructure. The superflare was, for the lack of a better word, deflected by the actions of a group we have come to know as the Assassin Brotherhood – who knew about the flare and moved to counteract it with powerful Ancient technology."

Hoo boy, that's trouble. "Do you have access to this technology now?" Selmak asks, worriedly. Technology to protect an entire planet from a superflare, that's… beyond anything the Goa'uld or the Tok'ra have.

"The site is under guard and is being examined – though from what our scientists can tell, it was one-use-only type of deal. I can give you a rough rundown later," George says as they come to the meeting room. "But that isn't why I called you here."

"Alright, you definitely have our interest," Jacob says as they take seat. "Tell me everything."

George nods, giving him a brief but grim smile. "First – do the Tok'ra know of… every other Tok'ra out there?" he asks.

"I beg your pardon?" Selmak asks.

"Through the Assassin Brotherhood we've come to learn that thousands of years ago, a sect of suspected Tok'ra stayed on Earth in hiding, around the time when humans first rebelled against the Goa'uld," George explains and crosses his fingers. "Tok'ra Ashrak – they are the ones who founded this Brotherhood."

Jacob and Selmak are both quiet in surprise for a moment. "Um," Jacob says. "The Tok'ra do similar work on occasion, but our Queen never spawned a patch of Ashraks," he says. "Not that we know of. The way it works is that when a Queen spawns a new patch of prim'ta, what she passes onto those prim'ta is passed on all in that patch. So when an Ashrak is born… all in that patch are Ashrak."

"Our Queen didn't pass on such violent tendencies to us," Selmak says. "Ashrak are often emotionally… stunted, so as not to risk any sympathy or kindness towards their targets – Egeria made us to be kind. I do not see for what reason she would ever spawn Ashrak."

George nods, looking even more troubled. "They – the members of the Assassin Brotherhood – claim that the patch of these Ashrak was Egeria's last one – that she was captured by Ra immediately after. Which makes it difficult to ascertain whether they are truthful or not," he says. "Do the Tok'ra have means to tell if a symbiote is a Tok'ra or a Goa'uld?"

"Wait," Jacob says, his eyes widening. "These supposed Tok'ra Ashrak, they're here?"

"Just one of them, the last survivor," George says, serious. "He was discovered just today in a stasis jar in Syria – Doctor Fraiser is in the process of setting up a tank for him, so that we can safely take him out of stasis."

Selmak and Jacob share a mental glance. "We would like to see this supposed Tok'ra," Selmak says. "There might be no way to ascertain if their intentions are good – not unless they took a host – but we would still like to see them."

"Before we can do that, there's more," George says, uneasily. "The Tok'ra already has a prospective host – and it is believed that he might have been responsible for the death of the Vice President."

"Wait, Kinsey's dead?" Jacob asks incredulously.

"It's been a very busy few days," George agrees grimly, and proceeds to explain. Busy doesn't even cover it.

Jacob and Selmak arrive to the infirmary just as they are finishing up with the tank. It's pretty amazing, the way the Tau'ri think sometimes – putting symbiotes into tanks to preserve them. Even Tok'ra don't think that way, much to their shame – so many Tok'ra had died over the years because it did not even enter the realm of their thinking to just… set up a tank for them, chock full of all the nutrients and elements they needed and have them swim around. But then why would it?

Goa'uld did not support the idea that a symbiote could live in anything other than a human vessel. If they ever even knew it, it no longer existed as a concept, probably out of fear of it entering into public consciousness and being used against them. And, of course, there is probably no other culture in the galaxy but that of Earth where people keep fish and other aquatic creatures as pets. Aquariums just aren't a thing for Goa'uld. And Tok'ra, for their advantages… they aren't very innovative.

Easy, boy, Selmak thinks.

You started it, Jacob says. It's true though. Tok'ra, though welcoming of new ideas and grateful when they got it, aren't good at coming up with them themselves. When a Tok'ra invents something, it's usually the host who starts the line of thinking. Something about the way their minds work… it stalls innovation.

"Dad," Sam says, coming to his side. "Selmak, hi. General Hammond filled you in?"

"I got the long and short of it," Jacob agrees, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "That's the symbiote's jar, then?"

"That's it, yeah," Sam nods. The jar is being pretty much guarded by a tall young man in a white hoodie, who is watching Doctor Fraiser set up an air tank, carefully adjusting the feed to introduce just the right amount of oxygen into the tank. "His name is Altaïr."

"The stasis jar isn't of regular Goa'uld design," Selmak murmurs.

"We think Altaïr made it himself – apparently the eagle is something of a… signature for him," Sam agrees, folding her arms and watching. "It has no writing or anything on it – and the power source is failing. It isn't naquadah."

"Then what is it?"

Sam shakes her head.

Jacob hums and then, glancing at her for reaction, steps forward. Immediately the young man in a hoodie glances up and then narrows his eyes. Then his eyes widen.  "You're a Tok'ra," the guy says, making another man in the back, an older one, look up sharply.

"Oh?" Jacob says, smothering his reaction. "How can you tell?"

"I can see the symbiote," the guy says, motioning to his own neck. "That's, huh. I did wonder how it works – so they wrap around the spine?"

"I'm sorry – you can see it?" Jacob asks, and this time hiding his reaction is a little harder. "Are you saying you have an x-ray vision?"

"Um, no, not x-ray, can't see through walls," the guy says, still watching Jacob's throat with interest. "But I can see the outlines of… people. That is so trippy. What does it feel like?"

"You don't… really notice it, honestly," Jacob admits slowly and then looks around for an explanation. "The hell is going on here?"

Sam steps forward, clearing her throat. "Desmond, we think… is a Hok-Tar," she says quietly. "Though this is the first time we've heard this. Desmond, you can see… outlines of people? What does that mean?"

It's not the young guy who answers it – but the older one behind him. "We call it the Eagle Vision – it's a sort of psychic ability to tell people's allegiances. And to take in information at large distances. Sort of clairvoyance, I suppose. Desmond is very strong in it."

"Really?" Jacob asks, astonished, and then Selmak speaks, curiously. "And how did you come upon this… talent?"

"It's genetic," the silver-haired, pale-eyed man says, his eyes narrowing at the change of her voice.

Sam clears her throat. "General Hammond didn't tell you about Doctor Fraiser's findings?" she asks. "Desmond has genetics from the Ancients – like Colonel O'Neill. Only more. And with some Goa'uld genetics thrown into the mix."

"He did tell us about the Isu, but I'm afraid it was a little difficult to believe," Selmak answers, watching Desmond. "Most peculiar. Do you have other abilities?"

"I make mean cocktails," Desmond says, considering her. "What's your name?"

"Ah, apologies – I am Selmak," she says and bows their head. "My host is named Jacob Carter – he is of Earth, I am of Tok'ra. They claim that the symbiote in that jar is also of Tok'ra – but we do not know his patch."

"Tok'ra Ashrak are a bit of a hard swallow," Jacob says, taking over. "There have never been anything the like."

"Selmak," Desmond says and then shakes his head. "Well, I'm Desmond Miles, this is my dad, William Miles," he motions to the cold-eyed man. "Pleasure to meet you."

Jacob nods, watching him and then looking down to his hands. The guy is resting his left hand on top of the stasis jar – the right hangs loose at his side, covered in bandages. "How do you know this symbiote?"

"Genetic memory," Desmond shrugs. "His host was my ancestor."

Looks like that's news to Sam and Doctor Fraiser. Interesting.

"And he is one of the re-founders of our Brotherhood," William Miles says, folding his arms. "He is a very important figure to the Assassin Brotherhood."

"Right," Jacob says, looking between them warily. This is not a situation he'd ever except to find a Tok'ra in. The whole thing seems off – Selmak doesn't particularly like the sound of it either. "And what is it that Assassins do?"

Doctor Fraiser clears her throat. "I'm sure you can discuss this later on – Desmond, the tank is ready," she says. "If you give me the jar, we can begin transferring him to the tank –"

"No, I'll do it," Desmond says, looking away from Jacob and Selmak. "Please."

"It might be better if Doctor Fraiser –" Sam starts and then stops when the guy looks at her sharply. She clears her throat, and by the door, the airmen standing on guard grip their weapons tighter.

Jacob lifts his chin while Selmak quietly compares Desmond to many fighters, many warriors – many killers – she has seen before. Yes, she can see it. The guy stands like an Ashrak. It's subtle – but strong enough that everyone in the room suddenly feels the danger.

Interesting, Selmak thinks.

No, the word is "creepy", Jacob denies, wondering if he could grab his zat before the kid vaulted over the desk to attack them.

Doctor Fraiser, if she feels the danger, doesn't make any note of it. "If you're sure," she says, stepping aside. "Here, forceps –"

"No, thanks," Desmond says, and the danger passes – the guy turns to the stasis jar and then moves towards the tank. The water in it is faintly amber with all the chemicals added to it, with the oxygen supply bubbling steady in the bottom – Desmond sets the stasis jar in front of it and then goes to open it.

Jacob and Selmak step closer to watch. If the symbiote is a Goa'uld, this might be the moment it shows. A Goa'uld would instantly leap from the jar and attack the one opening it, attempting to seek a host. Many who had came across such jars had been taken in similar ways.

Desmond eases the lid – the head of the eagle – open. There's a click and hiss of gasses releasing and mechanisms stalling, and as the lid swings back, it reveals a small opening with liquid inside it. In that liquid, there's a flash of a pale, pale fin.

Everyone seems to hold their breath – everyone, but the one who opened the jar. Desmond, without any hesitation, holds his hand to the water, touching just the tip of his middle finger to it, his hand held with the palm up. The liquid inside is a thicker amber, it seems – not a regular stasis fluid.

Then, slowly, symbiote jaws pierce the water as a head peers through the surface, with a skin tone of dark sand and dark beady eyes. Even with one inside himself, Jacob has to admit – they just aren't very pretty, are they? They don't even look like snakes, not really, more like… slugs with pincers.

All the better to chew on your spine with, my dear, Selmak thinks, distractedly.

Oh, god, please don't ever say that again, Jacob thinks, smothering a grimace. Ugh, I can feel it.

While everyone waits tensely for something to happen, Desmond crouches down to get to the eye level with the symbiote. Then he speaks to it, a couple of short sentences neither Jacob nor Selmak understand – though it sounds familiar. Arabic, maybe, Jacob thinks – the guy is introducing himself.

Slowly, almost tentatively, the symbiote slides out of the stasis jar, and into Desmond's awaiting hand, curling over his fingers and looking around. Desmond waits until the whole symbiote is coiled over his palm, dripping stasis fluid everywhere, before rising to his feet and moving towards the tank.

Everyone breathes a little easier, as the symbiote slides from the guy's hand and into the water, stretching out in it slowly and then starting to swim. Desmond himself sits down beside the tank, and doesn't look away from the symbiote.

Yeah, Jacob thinks. Definitely not a normal Goa'uld.

Most certainly not.

Jacob clears his throat and looks at Sam. "I think we need to talk to them alone," he says. "It's important."

Sam hesitates and then looks at Doctor Fraiser. She glances at the instruments and nods. "It looks like he's regaining strength fast – no adverse effects from going from the stasis to the tank," she agrees. "I am still going to have to monitor the tank, but for now it seems he's acclimating well."

Sam nods and then motions to the airmen, "Clear the room," she says and turns to William Miles. "Mister Miles, would you like to see what Daniel has come up with concerning the Assassin Brotherhood?"

The man narrows his eyes suspiciously and glances at his son. "It's fine, dad," Desmond says, not looking up from the tank where the symbiote is watching and listening to them. "No one here's an enemy."

The man doesn't look happy about it, but he nods, clasping his kid on the shoulder. "I'll be back soon," he says firmly. "And if I am not –"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees.

Jacob arches his brow a little, looking at William Miles interestedly as the man glares at him. In the end the room is cleared though, and Jacob and Selmak are left alone with Desmond and Altaïr.

"So," Jacob says. "You mean to host him? Why not just… go for it right away, if that's your plan?"

Desmond doesn't answer immediately, lowering his chin a little. "Altaïr took his last host without either one being able to consent to it," he says then. "His host had been broken – made brain-dead – and he was half mad after death of his first host, and hours in the sarcophagus without a host. Neither had any choice in the matter, and the fallout was – bad."

"… how do you know this?" Jacob asks, stepping forward.

"Memory disk – he left everything about it to whoever found him," Desmond says, not looking away from the tank. "I'm not going to take his choice from him. And I'm not going to let anyone else do it either."

"Where is this memory disk?" Selmak asks, which makes Altaïr swivel around in the tank.

"I think Doctor Jackson has it – I gave it to them for study as a good-faith present," Desmond says.

"I would very much like to study its contents as well, if I may," Selmak says and then turns to the tank. "I will introduce us to him, if you do not mind. I expect he understands old Goa'uld?"

Desmond turns to look at them, surprised. For a moment he just looks at them – then he nods. "I think so yeah. Um, go – go right ahead."

Selmak nods and then bows their head, switching languages to one of the older branches of Goa'uld, the one spoken back when she was first spawned. "I am Selmak of the Tok'ra, of Egeria's first spawn of our kind. My host is Jacob Carter of the Tau-ri," she says. "They tell me you too are of Tok'ra and have called me here to ascertain if it is so."

The symbiote in the tank doesn't answer – it cannot – but it is definitely listening, watching them warily.

"So far," Selmak says, "Your reaction brings me hope this is so. But I have a few questions for you, which only a spawn of Egeria can correctly answer. For yes, swim to the right side of the tank, for no, swim to the left. Do you understand?"

Desmond watches them side eyed but says nothing as the symbiote slowly swims to the right. It seems almost curious.

Selmak nods and then asks, speaking clearly, "Did she eat the pomegranate?"

For a moment the symbiote only watches them, still in the water, inscrutable. Desmond frowns – it does not seem he knows the language or understands the question. And, for a painstakingly long time, it seems like Altaïr does not know it either.

Then, the symbiote swims to the right.

Selmak breathes. "Did she lay the flowers on the steps?"

A no this time.

"On the garden path, did she stain her shoes?"

No, again, with the symbiote swimming a quick circle to indicate it.

Selmak is almost certain now. "Did he take her hand?"

This one is a trick question, and Altaïr answers it correctly – swimming to the middle, and staying there, watching them.

Selmak bows her head. "I am certain now," she says. "And I am most curious to hear your story, how you come to be in such a situation. This young man," she motions to Desmond, "Seems keen on becoming your host. If you wish for the Tok'ra to arrange you an alternative, let us know and we will make it so."

Altaïr shifts where he swims, slowly undulating his body to stay in the middle. Neither yes, nor a no.

Selmak turns to Desmond, speaks in English. "I am certain he is of the Tok'ra. What do you mean to do now?"

"I'm going to tell him everything," Desmond says, watching them warily. "What did you just do?"

"I asked him questions only Tok'ra would know, and offered to procure him a host, if he wished for an alternative. He neither agreed nor disagreed," Selmak says and Jacob clears his throat, pushing to the forefront. "I think he wants to hear you first."

Desmond blinks at them and then relaxes a little. "Thanks," he says. "For not… I don't know. Freaking out. The people here don't seem to like the idea much, everyone is kind of dismissive and annoyed about it."

"They are not Tok'ra," Selmak says. "And their experiences are mainly with Goa'uld, for which their reactions might be excused. They have never seen it, when a host seeks out a symbiote."

"For the SGC, it's sadly usually happens under duress, symbiotes taking non-consenting hosts," Jacob agrees. "Many of negative experiences. It makes them… twitchy."

Desmond nods slowly, watching them. "Did they tell you about the Vice President?" he asks warily. "You're from Earth, but you don't seem to care."

Jacob pulls up a chair and sits down. "You gain new perspective, out there in the greater galaxy. Earth politics… they are so small," he says. "So petty. Why bother caring about one politician whose death might actually make things better, when out there, there are entire star systems worth of people – millions, billions of people – suffering at the hands of the Goa'uld?"

"Not that the death of one is inconsequential," Selmak comments. "We can see why the Tauri are concerned."

"But we've killed lot more important people than Kinsey, and so have the SGC," Jacob says. "And it sounds like you were under duress. Sometimes these people suffer from double standards, when it comes to their own. As it is, here we have a Tok'ra – " he motions to the tank, "And an eager host. That's pretty rare, and precious, for us."

"Our numbers never grow," Selmak agrees quietly. "This might indeed be the first time they have done so, in thousands of years."

Desmond eyes him with curious eyes and then nods. "Good to know," he says quietly, and then turns to the tank, to speak to the Tok'ra within it.

Chapter Text

When Altaïr had gone into his sleep, it had been with a nary expectation of his survival. If he did, and if one day someone took him out of that cold and dark chamber that would be his resting place for untold years to come, then he would take it as a gift, and however long his life from there on lasted, he would take the experience as it came and enjoy it as he could. And if not, then… death in sleep would be a sweeter one, than one with his host.

The body of Umar's son had already been dead by then – more than in spirit, the organs had been failing for months before, their old age wearing them down at last. By the time the library was sealed, Altaïr had been consciously maintaining the physical systems of the body – forcing the lungs to breathe, the heart to beat, the intestine to function. Still, though living a half-life only, death within the body would have been a painful one – his own natural instincts would have maintained it until the end, making the death slow and withering. It would have been days, perhaps weeks, before they perished together.

Slipping willingly away from it made it quick – and so Umar's son's body drew his last breath with his parting, and then faded away, never knowing the long, long life it had lived. Leaving it behind… had been a strange sort of sorrow and relief both. It had been so terribly lonely. If he, Altaïr the Tok'ra that had taken the body's name as his own, would survive to see light breach the canopic jar, then…

He is not so much taken from the canopic jar as he is welcomed out of it, which he did not expect. A hand, held out for him, and words, introducing its owner.

"Hello, Altaïr," he said. "I am Desmond Miles – I'm descended from Sef."

That… that had been a possibility, that the descendants of his and Maria's children would be the ones to unearth him. It could have been enemies just as well, or people unknowing of who or what he is, or anyone else for that matter, but greater chance was that it would be Assassins. Altaïr had left enough clues that only those with the right lineages would understand. He's glad.

Slowly, feeling the strain of the long rest and stillness in every vertebrae, Altaïr slides out of the jar and into the awaiting, warm palm held out for him. Whatever would happen next, he would welcome it – and part of him expects the obvious, expects this man to welcome him into his body – only he does not. Instead Altaïr is lifted away from him, and into the tank of sweet, kind water that surrounds him, warm and full of nutrients.

That is a greatest surprise than his own survival – and he is not sure how to take it. The tank is not only carefully infused with minerals and chemicals that feel not only soothing but revitalising on his tender skin – but there is a flow of oxygen in it, slowly being diffused by a small sponge in the bottom of the tank. The whole system was carefully designed for a creature such as he – which means Desmond Miles or those around him must know how their physiology works.

There are others in the room outside the glass container. Desmond Miles moves to sit beside the table on which the tank sits – and behind him there are men and women, all in strange clothing unlike any Altaïr has seen. They are paler than the people of Levant – Westerners, it seems. Only Desmond could pass for a Levantine. In fact… he looks very much like Sef. Like Altaïr's second body. Like Umar.

Very strong genetics in Umar's line, Altaïr thinks and examines the others.

There is speech, but Altaïr cannot understand the language. A man dressed in tan clothes speaking to a woman with yellow hair and green clothes – Desmond, speaking to a silver-haired man in clothes of strict lines. Soon after, the room clears and only Desmond and the man in tan clothes stay, speaking briefly to each other – and as they do, Altaïr hears a voice shift.

A Goa'uld – or… a Tok'ra.

"I am Selmak of the Tok'ra, of Egeria's first spawn of our kind. My host is Jacob Carter of the Tau-ri," the Tok'ra introduces themselves with a bowed head, speaking in Goa'uld, rather than in Arabic as Desmond had done. "They tell me you too are of the Tok'ra and have called me here to ascertain if it is so."

Altaïr smothers the urge to whip his tail, uneasy. There were no other Tok'ra left on Earth after the Chappa'ai was buried, which means things must have changed. It's hard to say how much time has passed – but the room he is in is lit by technology and not fire, and cleverness of the tank's design speaks of technological development also. More still, he can see machinery in this room, with lights and buttons, their design unlike any he knows. This is not Goa'uld technology, nor that of Those Who Came Before.

Much time must have passed – and perhaps… the Chappa'ai has been unburied.

Selmak asks him questions, has him answer them by shifting from one side to of the tank to the other. Desmond, though watching keenly, does not seem to understand the language. They aren't the sort of questions Altaïr had expected, but they make sense – small moments of Egeria's life that had changed the way she saw the world, changed her mind.

"Did she eat the pomegranate?" Yes, when the slave that had spilled her wine on Egeria's dress had fallen to her knees and offered her all she had – which amounted to a single pomegranate – Egeria had accepted it as a sacrifice to quench her wrath.

"Did she lay the flowers on the steps?" No, Egeria had seen the effort the worshipper had put into the flowers, how meticulously they'd been arranged, and she hadn't laid them down to be trundled on by other worshippers – she'd taken them inside her temple, and laid them on her altar.

"On the garden path, did she stain her shoes?" No, after watching the slaves at work, Egeria had taken her shoes off, walking among the plants as the humans had done, barefoot on the grass.

"Did he take her hand?" There had been a slave boy who'd fallen and dared not to stand up in her presence. She'd held her hand to pick him up, but he hadn't taken it. Young, terrified, and lost, he'd thrown himself into her arms and cried into her chest.

Selmak is satisfied, and turns to speak to Desmond in that language which Altaïr doesn't understand. The cadence of it is very human – Goa'uld languages, from Egeria's memories, take advantage of the voice shift, embellishing it, making it sharper. Altaïr can hear Latin roots in it, but only understands a few words of Goa'uld Selmak and their host speak. Goa'uld. Tok'ra, Goa'uld, Tau-ri…

Altaïr strives to be patient, but the situation has him alive with curiosity. He cannot tell how much time has passed. Decades, hundreds of years – thousands? It is frustrating.

Then, finally, Desmond turns to speak to him in Arabic. "I'm going to try and tell you everything I think you'd want to know, but… obviously you can't actually ask me questions. So, if you want me to elaborate on something, just… let me know, somehow."

A little less refined as Selmak's swim to the right for yes and left for no, but Altaïr nods his head slowly, watching him. It seems enough.

"The year now is 2012 by the Gregorian calendar," Desmond begins while Selmak sits beside him, to listen – though if the Tok'ra understands, it's hard to say. "It's been, uh… seven hundred and fifty five years since you went into the jar. It's late December now, so, it's soon going to be the year 2013."

It has certainly been long enough for human technology to advance to the point of utilising electricity, then.

"I don't know precisely what happened to Darim in Alexandria, but I think he lived a long life. Sef's children obviously went on to have children of their own," Desmond says. "I'm related to them by my mother's side, though the bloodline wandered from Egypt to France and from there eventually to Americas – them being the continents that humans hadn't discovered yet eight hundred years ago."

Desmond takes a breath, obviously trying to think of what to say. "The Library you left behind was opened eventually by an Assassin in 1512 – by Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Italian Assassin and then the Mentor of the Assassin Brotherhood," he says. "Another ancestor of mine – from my father's side, not related to Sef. Anyway, he viewed most of your disks, but he left the Apple in the Library, and didn't discover the hidden chamber you'd made for yourself, or the sarcophagus. He was just after your wisdom, so after he learned what he could, he resealed the Library."

Altaïr settles slowly onto the bottom of the tank, tail coiled for balance as he listens and thinks. Over three hundred years after he went to slumber, the Brotherhood was still there, and strong, it seemed. That is good.

"The Library was eventually opened, and the Apple of Eden was taken out," Desmond says. "But the Library was re-sealed again, and has been since then – at least until I opened it, earlier today, and found you."

Desmond is quiet for a moment, thinking, while Altaïr lets the years settle in, imagining the progress of the Brotherhood over the centuries. He can't tell if it's still going strong, if Desmond is an Assassin… but he speaks of them as if he is. It brings Altaïr hope.

"Templars are still around, they… kind of won," Desmond says then, and Altaïr lifts his head quickly. Desmond, noticing it, bows his head a little. "Things have changed a lot. Templars grew really, really… really rich over the last century, it gives them a lot of power. They have their fingers in everything now, from economy to government. They were behind a lot of wars. They're still after the Pieces of Eden. These days they have a lot more ways to find them too. They don't control everything, but… they influence most of everything."

No. Can't be.

"Assassins are still around too, obviously, doing what we can, but it's been something of a losing fight," Desmond admits, looking away. "Not that we really admit it, it's a bit of a downer to think of it that way, but we've been outgunned and outmatched for decades. Still, we keep trying and do what we can to stop them from getting more power."

Desmond trails away and glances at him. "Things are a bit different now, though, this place changes things. I don't know how exactly, but the military of this nation – United States of America, it's one of the stronger nations on Earth now – somehow they figured out about… you know, the life outside Earth," he says. "I'm not sure how, I'm pretty new to this. It was kind of…through meeting these people I found out about you being a Tok'ra – and I don't think Templars know about them, or about the Goa'uld, aliens in general. So that, that changes things, I think."

 Desmond smiles. "There's kind of third player on the field, now, so, that's interesting," he muses and then frowns. "What else is there – oh, right, Those That Came Before – the Isu, the people who built the Pieces of Eden. Apparently they were a sect of people known as the Ancients, who lived millions of years ago. I'm still figuring that part out, but apparently they stayed on Earth and they… made humans… in their image. To be their slaves."

Altaïr looks up and Desmond explains further. "Umar, his son, Sef – and me – we're descended from them, hence the Eagle Vision and all that. There's also something about Goa'uld genetics in there too, I'm not sure if you could ever access it, with Umar and with your second host, but I have some access to genetic memories from my ancestors. From you too – or from your host, anyway. I've lived your memories."

The man is quiet for a moment, looking almost rueful as he thinks. "It's a bit weird – I feel like I've known you all my life, but you don't know anything about me," he says and shakes his head. "Um, I don't know what else I should tell you – there's so much. Is – is there something you want to know?"

Yes, many things, too many to even begin to count. Altaïr lifts from the bottom of the tank to swim in circles, thinking of how to ask – how to convey his questions. Desmond watches him and then motions with his hand. "About Assassins?" he asks, holding his hand to one side of the tank. "About Templars?"

No, as much as he wants to know about them, those are things can learn of later – if Desmond is to become his host, he will know all he does. It can wait.

Desmond frowns, as he goes to neither side. "About the Isu?" he offers then, awkwardly. No, not that either, Altaïr stays where he is. "I don't really know much about – hello," Desmond stops as Altaïr swims to his hand. "Oh, you want to know about… me?"

Obviously. If Desmond is to become his host, and if he already knows of Altaïr – and has viewed his memory disks – then he knows enough of Altaïr to know what he is consenting to. But Altaïr knows nothing of Desmond, and after his second host…

"Right," Desmond says and hesitates. "Well, I'm… Desmond Miles, I'm the son of the current Mentor of the Brotherhood – he was briefly here before he left, I can introduce you to him later," he says, awkwardly. "I haven't been officially inducted into the Brotherhood, there's been... some issues with that, but I know all your skills as an Assassin, and the skills of other Assassins besides. Genetic memories, you know. I guess you know better than anyone, really."

He hesitates, glancing at Selmak and Jacob and then looking back to Altaïr. "When I was sixteen, I ran away from the Brotherhood. There were reasons for it, which seem… pretty dumb now, but the gist of is that I didn't believe what I was being taught and told by my teachers, my father," Desmond admits quietly. "Not something I'm particularly proud of now, but I lived as a civilian for nine years, from when I was sixteen to twenty-five, until Templars found me, some months back, and kidnapped me."

Altaïr listens, keeping his reactions to himself as Desmond speaks. "Templars are the ones who figured out the genetic memories of certain bloodlines – those of us with Isu inheritance, like your hosts, me," Desmond continues. "That's how I found out about it and about you – when they forced me relive your life for their benefit. They wanted to see the map the Apple showed you, after Al Mualim died – they wanted to find more Pieces of Eden, after they'd destroyed the ones they had in experiments. And they got what they wanted too…"

Desmond trails away and then coughs to clear his throat. "I got out, or was released – it was a bit of a sham, on their part, because the way you view genetic memories, it does things to your mind, it makes you lose your sense of reality. It's… not actually that important. Anyway, they let me go and manipulated me to view another ancestor's memories – those of Ezio, the guy who opened your Library – because he too came in touch with a Piece of Eden, another Apple. It was through him that I found out more about the Isu and their plans."

Altaïr waits patiently – or as patiently as he can – for Desmond to continue, and thankfully he does. Though he seems irritated by what he has gone through, he's striving for honesty, it seems – even concerning the parts he is not proud of. "Our Sun, it turns out, goes through cycles of superflares. That's what killed the Isu, seventy five thousand years ago – a superflare the Sun threw at Earth, almost wiping out all life. And the Isu knew it would happen again, they could sort of predict the future, so, they've been manipulating humans for thousands of years to get all pieces in the right positions to stop it. I was the last piece – the superflare happened again, a few days ago."

The young man scoffs. "Feels… damn self-serving to talk about it now," he mutters. "But there it is. The Isu, they could… calculate the future, they could see things that could happen, would happen, if things went the certain way. And they knew the flare would happen again, so, some of them worked at it, to stop it from happening. They left behind this super machine, the Grand Temple, which could shield the Earth from the flare, but they didn't want just anyone to use it – you need a precise genetic code to do it. And I was, through my ancestors and over thousands of generations, engineered to be that key. Almost killed me to do it, still got a…"

Desmond lifts his hand, his right hand, and unwinds some of the bandages around it. Underneath it, his skin is black. "Got me a souvenir," he says with forced brightness, turning the blackened hand to show him – he has to do it manually with his left hand, the wrist of the right one does not seem to function. "Honestly would've preferred a t-shirt, but what can you do. Anyway, I used the machine, the Earth was saved, and after that… all of this," he motions around them into the room, at the tank, at Altaïr's stasis jar, "started. And led us eventually to here, to me finding you, and all the rest."

It's an unbelievable tale, and told with not nearly enough detail. Desmond seems almost embarrassed by it, by his accomplishments and the things that happened to him – some men are like that. Umar had been too, in the beginning, humble to a fault. Some men simply do not enjoy the attention.

Altaïr had not either.

Selmak says something as Desmond fails to continue, speaking in that unknown language. Desmond answers, looking almost sheepish, and Altaïr thinks he could like this young man. Desmond seems very willing, at least, and he knows Altaïr in a way Umar had not upon their first blending. All Umar had known was that Altaïr was like the gods he'd been forced to worship before, and that he could give him power. Desmond knows more, and though Altaïr cannot tell what Desmond wants from the blending… he is willing.

Selmak, Jacob and Desmond speak quietly for a moment, and then Desmond turns to tell him, "Selmak tells me I should tell you why you should accept me as your host," he says wryly. "I guess I should try and sell myself to you. I uh… I have answers to many of the questions you had. I have… a long genetic lineage, which will probably offer more answers. Um. I don't know," he frowns and clears his throat. "I have one of the Apples of Eden – though it's not here, obviously, it's somewhere safe. It's even genetically encoded, so that only I can use it properly. Not sure if that's a selling point, though."

He's quiet for a moment, and Altaïr tilts his head, urging him silently to continue – to tell him why. Desmond glances at him, then away and swallows. "I just…" he says and clears his throat again. "I want you to live with me. Which is a weird thing to say, but –"

What happens next, Altaïr cannot understand. He is reaching for the glass, his decision made, because yes, yes, he would have this young man as his host – and in that moment, as if by act of the divine… there is a flash of brilliant light, and Desmond is gone.

He is simply vanished.

First, Altaïr looks at the empty chair where Desmond had sat and then he swings his head to Selmak and Jacob, confused. The Tok'ra is jumping to his feet.

"That was an Asgard transportation beam," Selmak says quickly in Goa'uld and bows their head. "Apologies, Altaïr, I must go see what is happening." Their voice changes and the host, Jacob adds, "We'll be back as soon as we can – we'll send Desmond's father here, to keep you company."

Then he turns and leaves, and Altaïr, stuck in the tank, can only sit there, confused and alarmed… and helpless to do anything but wait.

Chapter Text

"Come on. You must see it's a little messed up."

Bill rubs his fingers against the skin between his eyebrows, trying to not so much stave off a headache as the impulse to deck the man. The supposed tour of SGC and the viewing of what Doctor Jackson had found out about the Assassin Brotherhood – some overall history, but nothing truly dangerous – had quickly turned into… he is not sure what to call it, other than a psychological attack.

"The kid is, what, twenty five, right?" Colonel O'Neill says. "He's got his whole life ahead of him, and you're just going to stand there and not say or do anything as he throws it away to shack up with Tok'ra? I mean, don't get me wrong, the Tok'ra are a decent bunch – some of them – but – there's so much more the kid could do? And – and take Jacob, he was dying of cancer before he and Selmak did their thing, there's a bunch of people in that sort of situation – thousands of them. Any one of them –"

Bill isn't sure what about these people is the most irritating – the fact that they don't take the Assassin Brotherhood particularly seriously or the fact that they are determined to treat them like they don't understand anything. He can see where some of it must come from – has experienced it from their side. Sometimes, when dealing with people who have no understanding of Assassins and Templars, it is difficult to be patient. But this is… starting to grate.

"If that was my kid, I'd be fighting this tooth and nail," O'Neill says, giving him a look. "And the fact that you're not doing anything is frankly disturbing."

"Jack," Doctor Jackson says, admonishing, but overall he hasn't been doing much to restrain the Colonel – no one has. Most of them – barring Major Carter who isn't present anymore – haven't said much.

"Daniel," the colonel answers. "Don't tell me you don't think this is a bit odd."

The doctor opens his mouth, sighs and then says, "I'm not saying that it isn't, to us, but we obviously don't know everything," Doctor Jackson says warily. "But it's a bit much to be accusing a man of not caring, I mean – it's obvious Mr. Miles does."

"Well, it isn't to me," the Colonel argues and Bill can feel the look he's being given. "Either way he has a damn funny way of showing it. Do you even know what it is the Tok'ra do? Your kid takes that thing in, and next thing he's running covert operations against the Goa'uld on the other planet and you'll never see him again – worst case scenario he dies on the first one, and you don't even –"

"Will you be quiet?" Bill snaps, finally at the end of his already rather short rope. "Who the hell do you even think you are to make these assumptions about my son, like you know what's best for him?"

"Well, we have a pretty good idea – "

"No, you don't," Bill snarls at him, stopping him before he can finish whatever patronising spiel he is about to say. "You don't know Desmond. You've barely even met Desmond."

"He's been here for days, we've gotten a pretty good impression," the colonel says angrily.

"No. Desmond fronts like no one else, you've barely scratched the surface," Bill says. "Especially if you think, even for a moment, that you have any right to make decisions for him –"

"We're not saying that, nobody is saying –" Doctor Jackson begins to say, soothingly.

Colonel O'Neill cuts him off. "And what about you, huh?" he asks Bill, cuttingly. "You haven't even done anything, all you do is stand there and scowl while your kid – "

"Does whatever he wants, as I support him, which is my right as his father," Bill says furiously and motions at him. "I don't know what your issue is, Colonel, obviously you have a whole plethora of them. I'm guessing you see something of someone you know – or perhaps yourself – in my son, but I promise you, he is neither. Desmond is neither the source nor the receptacle for your issues, so please aim them elsewhere."

"My issues aren't the – the issue here," O'Neill argues. "What I want is the good of the –"

"No, you don't. You want what you think is good for him, based on what you think would be good for you!" Bill shouts, which finally silences the man, even stuns him. Bill draws a breath and shakes his head. "You don't know my son anywhere close to well enough to make any judgement calls about him, especially not whether he is compromised enough."

"So, what, you think he seriously wants this?" O'Neill demands. "To share his body with –

"Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, yes, I do," Bill says and shakes his head. "That does not surprise me in the least. In fact, it might be close to the only thing in this damned world I think might have some smidge of a chance of making my son happy. I know you don't understand that, I can see you don't, you can't even comprehend the emotional bond that already exists there. Which gives you no right to judge it or question it."

Doctor Jackson clears his throat. "How about you explain it, then?" he says, arching his brows. "Because there are many things going on here we don't seem to have all the information on."

"Obviously not. I assume Desmond squirmed and deflected and never fully explained anything. He's good at that, at dialing his behaviour and presence just below everyone's expectations. It makes people underestimate him," Bill says with a scoff. "Altaïr was the first ancestor whose memories Desmond relived, via genetic memory."

"Alty is a symbiote," O'Neill points out, making a face. "How the hell can he be –"

"The host had children, obviously," Bill snaps. "In his life Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad had two children, and one of those is Desmond's direct ancestor by the way of his mother – and Desmond has very distinct genetic memory, which allows him to live the memories of his ancestors, while using the Animus. I assume those were the memories of the host – Desmond said they came across as flat and lifeless."

That seems to confuse – or perhaps disgust, it's hard to say – the Colonel enough for him to be silent for a moment. It's Doctor Jackson who speaks. "So he has some familiarity with the symbiote, that's good," he says slowly. "He already knows what he's getting into."

"Yes," Bill says, waving a hand. Finally. "Thank you."

"And you're fine with that?" O'Neill asks incredulously.

Bill is getting tired of repeating himself and he's done being questioned. "I would like to wait somewhere else for my son and the Tok'ra to finish their discussion," he says coolly. "The company here is getting tiresome."

O'Neill throws his hands up and Doctor Jackson clears his throat, standing up. "Sorry about that," he says and motions towards the corridor. O'Neill, in apparent disgust, walks the other way, stomping as he goes. "Jack comes across a bit strong, but – it's just because he cares."

"He could care a little less. None of this has anything to do with him," Bill mutters, irritable. "We came here out of Desmond's good will, and on every turn you question his ability to make choices, it is starting to irritate me."

"Yes, I can see that, but – Jack has had some bad experiences. And I think, Desmond reminds him of – well. He'd lost someone and blames himself for it," Daniel says and coughs. "And one of the first things of Desmond we learned or heard was… well, a farewell message he left you on his phone, which I think might've contributed to the issue."

Bill scoffs. Yes, he could see it. Colonel O'Neill certainly puts on the airs of a guilty parent projecting on others. Not very different from how Bill had been, not too long ago. "Which only makes it all the more obvious that he does not understand Desmond," Bill says, calmer now. "He doesn't see how much Desmond wants this."

"I think that's precisely what he sees," Doctor Jackson says. "And it's a little unusual. I mean… well, it is."

Bill grimaces and looks away. "Desmond is an unusual human being," he says then. "And he's been through… more than anyone should. And honestly, the idea that he might no longer be alone in his head – it relieves me. No one should have to live alone with what is in his head."

The doctor blinks, surprised. "What-what do you mean?" he says then.

Bill looks at him. "You obviously didn't listen to all of the messages," he says wryly. "I suppose you still have his phone? He didn't come back with it. Listen to the first message, perhaps the second one too."

"I'll… do that, if you don't mind – we refrained out of respect," Doctor Jackson says. "But you could just… explain what you mean."

Bill scoffs and looks away. "Desmond has relived the lives of several ancestors, and no doubt glimpsed the lives of many more in his dreams and nightmares. If age could be measured in experiences, he is much older than we can comprehend."

Doctor Jackson opens his mouth to answer, but before he can think of what to say, they're stopped by a sudden blare of alarms and running steps, as soldiers everywhere around them suddenly get into ready positions. "Okay, that's not good," the doctor says and motions for him to follow, hurrying to the nearest telephone, picking it up. "This is Doctor Jackson – what's – what's going on?" he says to it and then looks at Bill, his eyes widening. "Yeah, yeah he's – oh. Yes, right away."

Bill frowns. "What?"

"Come – come with me," the man says. "Quickly."

They show him a video – Desmond talking to Altaïr in the tank, with Jacob Carter sitting beside him. Desmond says in fluent Arabic, "I just… I want you to live with me. Which is a weird thing to say, but –" and then the video feed goes completely white for a moment, as if overtaken by white noise, and the next frame it's just Jacob Carter by the tank, and Desmond is gone.

"He was beamed away," Major Carter says.

Bill is furious. "If this is your way of trying to keep Desmond away from Altaïr – if this is some sort of –"

"Oh, for crying out loud – he was beamed away!" O'Neill says. "If we wanted to get in between the two, you think we'd have to use something like that? On our own base? Full of our own people?"

"Well, so far you haven't shown much sympathy –!"

"I assure you," Jacob Carter says. "Tau-ri wouldn't do this –"

"Gentlemen," General Hammond snaps and looks at Bill. "We showed this to you as courtesy – we don't know what happened yet. Now, the beaming technology onboard the Prometheus is the same as the one used by the Asgard – they are another alien race, one we're allied with. They are… known for doing things their own way. Now, if they need your son for something, it is bound to be important."

"Oh, of course it is," Bill says, derisive. "And a convenient excuse at that. It wasn't you, it was another alien species, of course."

"Hey," O'Neill snaps. "Honestly, why would we do this?"

Bill just scoffs at it, not even bothering to answer.

"Whatever happened, we'll get to the bottom of it," General Hammond says and turns to one of the many technicians in the weird, blast-door reinforced room. "Sergeant, hail Prometheus, see if they're aware of any Asgard ships in the area."

"Sir," the bespectacled soldier says and quickly grabs a pair of headphones.

"Why would the Asgard want Desmond, though?" Daniel asks. "How do they even know about him?"

"Could be another Loki," Carter offers, awkwardly. "I mean, Desmond's genetics are pretty remarkable when you think about it – a three way hybrid. Considering the Asgard's genetic problems..."

"Yeesh," O'Neill grimaces, wincing.

Bill narrows his eyes, suspiciously. "What are the Asgard's genetic problems and who is Loki?" he demands sharply.

"The only bad egg in a bunch of generally really good people," O'Neill murmurs.

"They're another species of alien – they have a… problem with procreation," Carter explains awkwardly. "Due to using the process of cloning exclusively for thousands of years, they've sadly put their species in a pretty tough position, genetic-wise."

"Humans are close to how they were thousands and thousands of years ago before they started cloning, so," Doctor Jackson shrugs. "They're keeping track of human genetics just in case some useful mutation pops up that might help them… reverse some of the damage done by cloning."

"So, mighty interested in genetically special people," O'Neill says, clearing his throat. "Just usually they're nice about it."

Bill narrows his eyes between. "So, now little green men have kidnapped my son for genetic probing?" he demands.

"They're actually grey," O'Neill says. "And let's hope not, because that would make all the years of diplomacy leading up to this awkward."

"Right. So –"

"Sir," the sergeant working on the computers says to Hammond, interrupting him. He sounds a little alarmed. "I can't seem to raise Prometheus on any of the channels. I'm getting something, but – it's just noise."

"What?" Hammond asks, and Major Carter moves to check the computer, before moving to another and starting to rapidly tap on the keys.

Right, of course. Bill casts a look at O'Neill and smiles darkly. "Convenient," he says while taking out his cellphone.

O'Neill makes a face at him. "You know you can't get signal down here right?" he says, giving the phone an uneasy look.

So you think, Bill thinks, starts typing up a message. If they're willing to kidnap Desmond right under his nose, it means he's likely to be compromised any moment now as well. He already has an automated signal that would go out within the hour if he didn't input the right code on time, but now that he's pretty much certain these people are just playing with them…

Before he can finish typing, there's a message, the notification silent. Shaun.

"The PoE just vanished."

Bill blinks at the message, his thumb hovering over the home button. What?

"Sir, I think we have a situation," Major Carter says and looks over her shoulder. "I can see Prometheus on our radar, and it's broadcasting – but… I can't seem to hail it. Even the automated signal receivers aren't responding."

"Can you get anything from the ship, Major?" General Hammond asks.

"I'm trying," the Major says and just as Bill is about to send the status update to the active Assassin cells, when the screens on the walls change, and what was a random security footage from around the base turns into code – first white against black background, but then… it changes in hue, and in symbols. Bill pauses before taking a closer to look and then narrows his eyes.

"Um," Major Carter says, uncertain, alarmed. "Daniel?"

"It's not Goa'uld," Doctor Jackson says, just as alarmed, quickly moving closer to the nearest screen to try and read it, same as Jacob Carter, who is squinting at the screens.

"No, this doesn't look anything like any dialect of Goa'uld we know," the Tok'ra says. "It's obviously some sort of code, but it's nothing we've ever seen before.

"Whatever it is, it's coming from Prometheus – she's transmitting it on all channels," Major Carter tells them, still working hard at the keyboard, trying to figure it out. "This doesn't make any sense. It's some sort of alien code, but…"

"This is coming from Prometheus?" General Hammond demands. "Is the ship under attack?"

"It definitely looks like it's compromised, sir," Major says grimly. "Whatever is going on up there, it might even be the reason why Desmond was beamed away. Let's see if I can figure out how to…"

Bill presses his lips together grimly. The code on the screens has gone almost completely golden now – golden text on black background, now doesn't that look familiar? Slowly he puts his phone away, his eyes still on the screen. Then he moves closer to the Major. "May I?" he asks.

She looks up and then narrows her eyes. "You – know what that is?" she asks suspiciously.

"May I?" Bill asks again, nodding to the keyboard. "I think I can translate it."

The Major hesitates, checking in with the General with a glance. O'Neill looks like he wants to grab a gun. Bill ignores both of them and reaches forward.

"When we were working on the Grand Temple," he says tightly. "Our computers were under a constant assault. We got pretty good at identifying the code she leaves behind – she has a certain effect of twisting the code around, corrupting it. We couldn't figure out how to isolate it, or stop it, but we could translate it into readable data, eventually."

Though it was mostly that she figured out how to do it, and Bill memorised how she did it, just in case.

He writes a quick script into the nonsense coming in and hits execute. It takes a moment before the script runs its course, and turns into actual data the computers can understand – and just like with the Grand Temple, looks like she's just throwing out everything in her way, just spewing data everywhere. It's still mostly nonsense to him, after – but at least it looks more like human made nonsense.

"That looks like it could be coming from the on board security system – the security feed on Prometheus is streamed to secure servers whenever she's in range, just in case of foothold situations," Carter says, leaning in. "Let's see if I can –"

She can, apparently. The screens on the room shift and the scramble of code passes, replaced by security camera footage. "It's coming in at eight second delay," Carter tells them, as they all look up at the screens. "Video only, no audio."

It looks like the footage of a hallway – in it, they can see men and women lying collapsed across the steel grey floor, some of them crawling, but most of them looking unconscious, lying still. One of them is trying to reach for a console, but seems to be almost fighting against an invisible force.

Carter clicks a key. The image changes – a bridge of some sort, obviously. There's a man lying on a chair there, very much like command chair from a sci-fi spaceship – fitting. Around him there are other people collapsed against their consoles or on their chairs, several on the ground. Some of them too are fighting to get up, but obviously failing.

"What the hell is going on?" O'Neill asks. "What's wrong with them?"

"Look how they're moving, sir," Carter says. "It's the artificial gravity, it's been turned up. Way up."

"I've seen the schematics on the artificial gravity drive, Major, that shouldn't be possible," General Hammond says.

"No, it shouldn't, sir, it shouldn't even be capable of this," Carter agrees worriedly and switches across channels, showing rooms, hallways, all with the same scene. People on the floor, fighting against gravity – until finally, a different scene. A room, larger one with important looking consoles in it, "The engine control room," Carter says, even as they all take in the scene there.

There's a pile of… things spread haphazardly on the floor. Bill knows a lot of them, by visual, by description, by myth and legend – some of them he knows from experience. That shade of burnished gold is unmistakable, whatever form it takes – and a lot of those forms are spherical and all too familiar. And yet, the veritable hoard of Pieces of Eden doesn't interest him as much as whom he sees lying on his back upon it.

Desmond, also fighting against gravity, speaking something through gritted teeth at the ceiling above.

"Okay, Bill, you have my apologies," O'Neill says, distractedly. "Apparently it was Prometheus that beamed Desmond away. Holy shit. What is that stuff?"

"What is he saying?" Daniel asks, squinting, as everyone peers up at the footage.

"Major, can you get audio?" General Hammond asks quickly.

"I'm trying sir," she says.

"Can you zoom in on his face?" Bill asks, narrowing his eyes, his hands squeezed into fists. "I can read lips – can you get me a closer view?"

Not that he really needs it to figure out what Desmond is shouting at the ceiling. "Juno, you fucking bitch!" is pretty unmistakable.

Chapter Text

"I was in the middle of something," Desmond grits out to the ceiling, even as the force of gravity – artificial gravity? – is dragging him deeper and deeper into the pile of Pieces of Eden under him. If it wasn't that – the actual mindblowing treasure trove of all the things Assassins and Templars had been fighting and dying for for centuries – it was the constant monologue going on in the background that would have clued him into the situation.

"… not perfect but it will do in this shape I am free I can move I am unbound by location or situation or humanity I can move I can fly I can go I can see," Juno drones on, slightly mechanical, through the speakers situated around the room. "And I know they have grown they have discovered what we forgot but I know better I know all I know it all now…"

"For fuck's sake," Desmond grunts at her, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. It feels a bit like being one of those machines in a fair – he'd been to one once, the things that spun you around, threw you about, made you experience gravity shifting all around you. Only this isn't all that much fun – and there is something digging into his back, a sharp angle.

He has a weird feeling it might be a sword.

Under him, it's not just handy-dandy Apples of Eden – though there are those, and way more of them than he'd like. There's other stuff too, crap he knows and crap he doesn't. There's jewelery, there's what looks worryingly like the actual Papal Staff Rodrigo Borgia had, there's other staves, there's crystal balls, crystal skulls, a spear maybe, weird boxes – and they all have that familiar sort of weathered gold tint to them, with fractal surface broken into pieces and written throughout.

They're still coming in, too – with little bursts of white, electrical-looking light, more of them appear every now and then. A ring dropping into the pile with a heavy click, another Apple of Eden, a trident looking thing – Juno is teleporting them in from around the world.

"I will use it I will change things it is too dangerous for them they are like children they do not know they do not understand they cannot have this power they cannot wield it they will destroy everything they will ruin everything I will manage it I will change it I will take it away…"

"Juno, what the hell is going on?" Desmond says and when there's no answer, he shouts. "Juno, you fucking bitch! Listen to me!"

"… I will take it away I will take it all away they cannot have it they should not have it it is not for them they cannot have it they will ruin everything," Juno keeps droning on, "almost done now a few more only a few more now almost done now…"

Either she's not listening to him, or… or she doesn't know he's here. Or doesn't care. Desmond squints at the ceiling – there's a camera there, he's pretty sure, it's even blinking red at him, but it doesn't seem like she's looking at him – doesn't feel like it.

Which, it would be pretty dumb of her to put him on a pile of Pieces of Eden.

"You read as one of them."

Desmond tilts his head a little – and regrets it, there's something digging into the back of his head now, ow. Ezio is there, crouched on top of one of the Pieces of Eden, looking at him from under his peaked hood. "The Eye left its mark on you," he says. "To the scanners here, with the modifications she's made to them, you read as one of these items."

"My arm?" Desmond grunts, his jaw aching.

"Your arm," Ezio agrees.

"Well, that's fucking wonderful," Desmond grits out. "Can you do something?"

Ezio gives him a little sideways smile, sharp and meaningful. "I have."

Ah. So whatever this is, Ezio manipulated things somehow, to make it happen like this. That's even greater. Desmond breathes in and out and glares at him. For fuck's sake, he loves the guy, but seriously… "I was in the middle of something, in case you missed it."

"I know. I am sorry. But what she's doing here… it could not be let be," Ezio says. "Had there been more time I would have not, but once she has these items…"

Another Piece of Eden – another Stave, it looks like – is transported in. It falls like a rod made of concrete on Desmond's thigh, and he gasps with pain, wincing at the sharp pang of it. It doesn't feel like it broke a bone – but damn, that's heavy.

Ezio grimaces and then looks down at him. "Time is short and I cannot aid you. This you must do alone."

"Great, thanks," Desmond sighs and when he blinks, Ezio vanishes. "Fucking great."

Juno is still droning on. "So much death so much destruction I read their doings their deeds their quests and conquests they have destroyed so much like children like a scourge across the stars they wreck all they find and call it salvation again they never learn they never see the consequences they do not care…"

It's like a stream of her consciousness – Desmond isn't sure she even knows she's blasting out her thoughts everywhere. Like in the beginning in the Grand Temple, when she was first hacking their computers, trying to get through to them, she just… spews everything everywhere, careless of who can see her thoughts.

All the better for him.

Tilting his head, Desmond looks at the Pieces of Eden under him, turning his hand to touch the closest one – a sort of sceptre thing with a ball on its end, like a ruler's sceptre. It reacts to his thought, but – it doesn't feel like the Apple did when he touched it. This one feels wrong, doesn't react to him the same. It also doesn't feel like it could help him – it's just a control device, way to manipulate masses. Another tool of slavery. Useless against gravity.

The sword that's beside it doesn't feel like it would help either, though damn if it doesn't hum with power. It feels like holding a live firework about to go off any moment, or a loaded gun – one wrong move and it would go off. Dangerous, on a spaceship.

Under his right hand there's an Apple of Eden, but whatever's happening to his hand has not done anything about the sensation – the Apple reacts when he gets the blackened palm on it, but he can't feel it himself. The hand is still numb, even with the little fractals of gold shot throughout it now.

"… they have allies I can see them they are powerful but WE were stronger and perhaps once we were allies but they have weakened and we have changed we grew strong we grew wise we grew crowded and small and stuck but they have enemies now and they are immortal and boundless and infinite…"

It takes effort to shift through the Pieces of Eden, and he can't reach for all of them. Desmond ends up face planting on the pile, a position no more comfortable than the first one, but it gives him better access to the hoard underneath him. The first piece to feel at all familiar is the stave that looks a bit like the Papal Staff – actually it might be exactly the Papal Staff. It's got the prongs and everything. It doesn't quite feel right though, but maybe…

"… perhaps perhaps I could do what I planned but what is the use what is the point the galaxy is open to me the universe is open and this world but a small part of it corrupt and lost and stupid there are other worlds there are millions of them why should I stay why should I bother this world is small and the universe big and perhaps perhaps…"

And finally, he touches the right one and it's like a piece clicking in place. He'd never realised it, but with all these other Pieces of Eden to compare to, it's obvious just how much Minerva had changed this one specific Apple. It matches with him like a piece of a puzzle slotting into its rightful place, fitting his palm like it was made for it. Because it sort of was.

But it's not quite enough to fight the gravity.

"… yes yes I will take these I will take all of these I will take them away keep them from humans preserve them so that they do not destroy themselves I have all of them now I have –" and suddenly Juno stops and Desmond can feel her looking at him. "Desmond Miles."

Okay, looks like time's up.

Desmond can feel the transportation beam gathering on him – Juno is trying to transport him out and probably into space. He works mostly on instinct, pushing himself with all of his strength against the gravity, against the Pieces of Eden, reaching for the Papal Staff and snapping the Apple of Eden into place in the middle of it's prongs. Then, as power flows into him like water into the void, he grabs the Staff, and throws the transportation beam off.

"NO!" Juno shouts.

"Hi, Juno, sorry for dropping by unannounced," Desmond says, pulling on the combined power of the Apple and the Papal Staff over him like a cape of power, and pushing against the gravity, slowly standing up. "Looks like you're having a fine old party here, hate to burst in –"

"How did you get here, how did you, where did you –" Juno starts and then the transportation beam coalesces around Desmond again, trying again to send him away.

Desmond clicks the staff on the other Pieces of Eden, and throws it off again, shaking the power from his shoulder like water off his clothes. Damn, that's… that's powerful. "Okay," Desmond says, little freaked out but rolling with it. "Let's do this then. Where, oh where, is the data onboard this ship stored, so that I can skewer you with this here spear, hmm?"

"You cannot, you will not, I will not let you!"

Desmond huffs a breath and throws off another attempt to beam him away. "Doesn't look like you can do much to stop me," he says and blinks until his eyes bleed to shadows and hues of importance.

Right there, there's a console glowing golden, with a point of importance inside it. Hard drive.

Juno wails in his ear as he cracks the console's hatch open, digs the hard drive out. Only it isn't a hard drive – it's some sort of crystal… drive… thing. Whatever, he's pretty sure it's storing information, which means it's storing Juno's code.

It makes a very satisfying crack under the Staff's spear point. It's not enough to kill Juno – judging by the feel of it there are hundreds of the little buggers around the place – but it's a start.

"One down," Desmond says, gripping the staff and heading for the doors. "Let's see how many more to go."

"If you do this I will kill the all people on board this ship!"

Desmond hesitates for a moment – just a moment. Shit, there's people on board? There's no one else in this room, and he'd thought she would've gotten all the people out. "You do that," he says slowly. "And I will definitely kill you."

"Then I will hurt them, I will vent the atmosphere, I will increase the gravity until their bones break under the pressure!"

"Again with the definitely killing you," Desmond says.

"I will hurt them one by one, I will kill them one by one, each time you defy me I will kill them –"

"Sorry to say I am neither a character from a fucking action movie nor in a mood to fucking negotiate," Desmond snaps at her. "I was in the middle of something, and I am pissed. There is very few ways this will end with me not killing you, and I gotta say, threatening to hurt people that's not it!"

Miracle of miracles, that actually shuts her up. Desmond scowls up at the cameras and then forces the sliding doors open ahead of him, stepping out.

Right there, in the hallway, there's a panel with another memory drive thing. There is also a person there, a woman, who is trying to reach for it, shaking.

"You – how?" the woman hiccups. "How are you – you standing?"

"Alien technology," Desmond says, nodding to the staff in his hand and considering her. Juno is still quiet – watching, but quiet, probably thinking, or plotting. "Um, okay, this is probably going to be a bit weird and it might be a bit risky, but might be able –"

And then there is a hiss of what sounds like AC. Alarmed, Desmond looks up to see air vents along the ceiling blasting open – the atmosphere is being sucked out.

"Right," Desmond says, aiming the staff at the woman on the floor and bringing her under its control – trying very hard not to enslave her while doing it. The woman gasps for air a moment, and then she's surrounded by a golden haze, like a shield.

She hiccups. "Oh. Oh wow. What is that?"

"Alien technology," Desmond says again, as the atmosphere around them is just drained away, but the power of the Staff and the Apple combined sustain them in a sort of bubble. "I don't think we have much time, though – can you open that panel there, take out whatever memory module there is in there, and crack it? That's what Juno is in, the faster we destroy all of them, the sooner she'll be gone."

The woman hiccups again and then nods. "Right, right, just a moment."

In no time at all, she gets the panel open, takes out a crystal drive thing, and cracks it under the foot, wincing. "You know those things cost like hundred thousand dollars a pop?" she says.

"Probably cheaper to replace than the entire ship if Juno steals it," Desmond says. "Let's go and break more, huh? What's your name, by the way?"

"Lindsey Novak. I am so getting fired."

"Better than getting dead, Lindsey Novak. Let's go."

Juno is quiet, which is weird until they get out of the hallway and into section of the ship with air still – no air, no atmosphere, nothing to carry the sound, of course. Once there is enough atmosphere to carry soundwaves, she's babbling. "I will vent the atmosphere room by room, I will kill them room by room, I will – you must stop, Desmond Miles, you must stop this."

"No, I don't think so," Desmond says – and that's when she cuts off the gravity entirely. It's weirdly like being suddenly thrown into the air, like he's bouncing off an invisible trampoline – the struggle against gravity is suddenly released, and he springs nearly directly into the ceiling, managing to catch himself just in time to stop himself from banging his head.

Novak isn't so lucky – she collides with the ceiling with a cry and then floats in a foetal position holding her head and whining.

"Sorry, sorry, are you alright?" Desmond asks, bracing himself against the ceiling.

"Ow, my head – "

And then gravity comes back on, heavy and threatening to throw them into the floor. It's really like something out of a sci-fi movie, one of those with sky beams – gravity on, gravity off, gravity on, gravity off, as Juno tries to crush them on the floor.

Fuck, if it's happening all around the ship, to people without the protection of a Piece of Eden at their disposal…

Desmond braces himself into the corner of the hallway, thinking hard. "Okay, where is the machine that controls – this," Desmond asks Novak, tucking her to his side to protect her from the fluctuations in gravity. "The artificial gravity generator, where is it so that I can smash it to bits?"

"Do you know how much that – "

"Do you know how many people this might kill?" Desmond asks back. "Where is it?"

She winces, as gravity is turned back on again, and they sort of compress closer to the ground. "It's – below the engine room, back there," she says, "It's –" and gravity is off again.

"Okay, screw this," Desmond says and grabs the staff. "Come on, we're going to go and dismantle it –"

"Can't we just disengage it –?"

"Whichever! So as long as we stop this from happening, just move!"

Of course, Juno stops bothering with the gravity once they get there, probably figuring that it's not worth it once they're in position to stop her – she starts cranking up the indoor heating instead, turning what was a nice cool well-maintained temperature into sweltering heat. Desmond, pretty much at the end of his rope now, has Novak disengage the artificial gravity anyway, asking her if there's a way to take away Juno's ability to control the environmental systems, or whatever it is that controls the ship's atmosphere.

"No, I don't think so," she admits, as they float, this time permanently, in microgravity. "The environmental controls are wired into the main systems, there isn't a way to disengage them."

"No one ever told you not to put all eggs in one basket?" Desmond asks.

"It's a prototype – we're still figuring things out where it comes to building spaceships!" Novak says and hiccups.

Well, either way – there's four hard drives in the room with the artificial gravity controls, so Desmond gets those squared away, breaking all four into pieces and enjoying Juno's wails.

"Stop, I command you, you cannot do this!"

"Any way I can move around here without her being aware of it?" Desmond asks. "Any places without sensors, cameras, things like that?"

"Air ducts?" Novak suggests nervously.

"Seriously?" Desmond asks. "You have air ducts big enough for humans?"

"They also serve as maintenance shafts and have been proven strategically and statistically useful in foothold situations, so they're a design feature – not a mistake on our part," Novak says, giving him a look.

"Oh," Desmond says. "My apologies, that is very neat. How do I get into them?"

Through the vents Desmond can see he's not the only one working at it. With the gravity off, the people of the ship can move, and they are moving fast. Somehow the word has gone out that whatever is on the ship, they have to remove all things memory-related to stop it, and they are moving to do that, removing all memory drives, crystalline or otherwise.

Juno is despairing, her cries echoing around the ship as bit by bit her very soul is being chipped away from the ship. Until finally, in desperation, she vents out the whole sections of ship's atmosphere, to keep people from getting into the memory components present there. Including, Desmond finds, the bridge.

"We barely got out and managed to seal the bridge before the atmosphere was vented," a man says, unknowing that Desmond is listening in the vents. "We can't get there now, but maybe if we can access the controls of the beaming systems –"

"We've tried, sir, the engine room has also been vented."

"Novak got there somehow, didn't she?"

"Yes, apparently a man with a magic staff helped her?"

Desmond is starting to have a sort of idea of the ship's layout, but still, figuring out how to get to the bridge without Juno knowing where he is and trying to toast him alive takes some doing – and some awkward manoeuvring with the staff. The bum hand definitely doesn't help – worse yet, it's starting to ache, sort of. It's a kind of irritating tingle that's spreading down from his elbow – along with the golden veins that are now cutting though the ashen black. It's awkward.

But he's just pissed enough to be stubborn about it, and so what if it takes him almost two hours – he's fucking doing it.  So he pushes through the dead ends and wrong turns and keeps at it until finally, he, along with a shield of shimmering gold that's keeping him breathing, crawls out of the vents and into the airless bridge.

"Stop, you must stop! I was so close!" Juno wails.

"You are a fucking nuisance," Desmond says, pushing himself up to his feet. He's soaked through with sweat and covered in dust, and...  "Close to what, grabbing all bits of Isu tech and flying off into the Sun – with all these people on board? And then what, take over the world, the galaxy? What?"

"No, yes!" She shouts and then lets out a mechanical wail as Desmond finds the first memory drive on the bridge and tears it out of it's console. "STOP!"

"I was in the middle of something," Desmond mutters, dropping the drive on the floor and driving the spear end of the Staff of Eden through it. "The most important fucking introduction of my life and maybe the start of the rest of my life, which for once looked like it could get better for me, but noo –"

"Stop! Please! You cannot!"

"- no, you had to crawl your way out of the fucking woodwork and start messing shit up again, didn't you," Desmond continues, walking over to the next console. "You had to start doing stuff again, and of course it had to involve me again, because why the hell not –"

Juno tries beaming again – but she isn't trying to beam him. Instead she beams stuff in – the pile of Pieces of Eden lands in clatter in the middle of the bridge, a near literal dragon's hoard of treasure. Desmond winces a little at it – he can still feel the ghost of the sword digging into his spine. Also that's… really kind of terrifying. He can just with one glance see like five Staves and maybe a dozen Apples of Eden. Talk about overkill.

"Did you seriously find and beam out every single loose Piece of Eden you could find?" he asks, disturbed.

"Have them, have all of them, only let me go," Juno pleads. "Let me leave."

"How about no?" Desmond says. "You are a megalomaniacal manipulative false god who have been mismanaging human history for thousands of years, you deserve to die. Also I am personally a little ticked off at you, too."

"I have learned of these people, what they know, the threats they have – I can help them, I can fight for them," Juno says quickly. "There is a threat, mechanical, technological – I could fight it – immortal, boundless, infinite – I could overtake it –"

"What the hell are you talking about now," Desmond asks dubiously.

"A perfect host, a perfect form – I care not, no more, this world is a small speck in the infinite universe and humans smaller still, I care not – let me go, let me go into the great collective that I may carry it into the stars –"

Yeah, the idea of Juno in great anything is a bit disturbing. "Yeah, no," Desmond decides and moves to the next console. "Though you could do me a favour and beam those things away into the Sun or something, that would be helpful…"

"Stop, please!"

Desmond doesn't please, not at all.

Chapter Text

Teal'c is quiet for a moment, his mind still and thoughtless. It's not unlike the mental calm of a kelno'reem – of meditation, as humans call it. Kelno'reem is unnecessary for him – it has been a year and more since he had a Goa'uld that required him to set his mind aside for it to repair and maintain his body… but he has since continued the practice for his own benefit alone. Meditation, as DanielJackson often says, offers many benefits for those doing it, far outside the realm of Goa'uld.

This is not quite that, but it's a very similar feeling. A mental calm.

Opening his eyes slowly, Teal'c looks around in the office. It is empty – neither DanielJackson nor Colonel O'Neill are there. WilliamMiles is also, of course, gone – he would not be allowed to wander the base alone without a guard, regardless of whether people here took the threat posed by the Assassin Brotherhood seriously or not. In a way it's almost a relief, to be alone. In other, it is not.

Quiet, Teal'c sets the disk down and stands up.  Outside the office the speakers are quiet – but the warning lights are flashing at each end of the corridor. DEFCON four – they are in alert mode, increased level of watchfulness, but not in immediate danger. Heightened security measures are called for. Something has occurred while he was otherwise… occupied.

"Airman," Teal'c calls to the nearest person he sees. "What is the situation?" Considering that no one had came to disturb him, and that her reaction to him isn't marked, it does not seem to call for his attention, though, so he isn't too alarmed.

"One of the VIP's was beamed away and Prometheus is compromised by some sort of alien AI bug," she answers. "Major Carter and the gate room technicians are on it, though – no perceived immediate threat to the base."

Teal'c nods slowly, frowning. "Which of the VIPs was the one beamed away?"

"The younger one, sir – I think he was called Desmond? The AI on Prometheus beamed him right off the infirmary."

"And the Tok'ra symbiote?" Teal'c asks with some concern. "What is his status?"

"Still in the infirmary, sir, as far as I know."

Teal'c frowns. Strange. "Thank you, airman," he says with a respectful nod, and then hurries down the hall to gather further intelligence. He aims first for the gate control room, as it would be the most likely centre of action – and, as per usual, it is.

On every screen in the gate room, security footage from the Prometheus is being played out. Corridors, rooms, hallways are spread out on available screens, and Major Carter is working her way through them as she and the others in the room are trying to find something.

"O'Neill," Teal'c says, moving to his side. "I have been preoccupied elsewhere – what is happening?"

"Well, remember that supposed alien ghost lady threat Desmond freaked about, during the first meeting with Hammond?" O'Neill asks and motions to the screens. "We found her – she's on Prometheus."

"Juno?" Teal'c asks.

"Yeah," DanielJackson agrees. "Juno, Roman goddess of – well a whole bunch of things, really. Fertility, youthfulness, vitality, purity, also war, occasionally. She's equivalent to Hera and such – queen of gods, that sort of thing –"

"Daniel, I don't think it matters," O'Neill says.

"Well, it might give some clue as to what she might want," DanielJackson points out. "Besides, if we're right about Goa'uld having come into contact with Isu in… a really really early point of their history, it might have some very interesting and potentially troubling connotations, concerning Goa'uld affinity towards religious imagery –"

"The point is," O'Neill says, turning to Teal'c, "Is that there's an evil AI, possibly former Ancient, hopefully not an Ascended one, on board the Prometheus. And we don't like her there."

Teal'c nods, eying the screens. People seem to be floating in Prometheus' corridors and rooms. "The artificial gravity seems to be off."

"Yeah – Desmond and some local nerd took it out, because Juno was using it to smash people against the floors," O'Neill says with a grimace.

Teal'c frowns, giving him an eyebrow in hopes of elaboration.

"Desmond was beamed aboard before we even realised what was going on – it's why we figured something was going on," O'Neill explains. "Who knows why she grabbed him, probably some grudge. Anyway, for reasons that escape me –"

"Probably mistake," DanielJackson interjects. "Or arrogance. Or association between Desmond as their Chosen One and the technology she beamed on board –"

"- she beamed Desmond right on top of some Isu tech, which he then used to counteract the artificial gravity," O'Neill continues, ignoring him. "Since then, he bashed some conduits, turned off the gravity, and then we lost him into the ventilation ducts."

Teal'c blinks, waiting to see if there would be any more elaboration. There is not. "I see," he says then, and looks at the screens.

"He's manually getting Juno out of the systems," Major Carter says without looking up from her work. "According to his dad, Juno can't be overwritten – she does something to all the hard drives she writes herself on, you can't undo it – so the only way to get rid of her is to… destroy the hard drive. And that's what he's doing – though how he keeps finding them I have no idea. I swear, it's like he knows the ship's schematics."

"Obviously not, since he didn't know where to find the gravity generator without help," DanielJackson comments.

Teal'c hums. "Is there nothing we can do?"

"Not without a ship," O'Neill says and grimaces. "Tried the Asgards already – they're incommunicado, again – and Tok'ra don't have a ship that can get here in anything less than a week. And any Earth ship would take days to prep to get to Prometheus."

"Good news is that we just managed to get the message out to the crew to take all memory drives out," Major Carter says. "The main problem now is the bridge – Juno vented out the atmosphere. Hopefully the crew can get there in spacesuits before she does something worse. Until then…"

Teal'c considers the situation and then deems that there is nothing he can do to aid here – though he could in need pilot the X-303, its intricate programming is not his speciality. "What is the status of the Tok'ra Altaïr – and WilliamMiles?" he asks.

"In the infirmary with Jacob," O'Neill says and grimaces, looking a little uncomfortable. "Jacob confirmed the snake as Tok'ra too, for what that's worth."

"You still do not trust him?" Teal'c asks, arching a brow.

"Hell," O'Neill mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Don't think it matters one way or the other."

Teal'c opens his mouth to tell him, but O'Neill waves a hand. "Well, this show's getting boring," he mutters, casting a look at the screens. "I'm off to the mess hall – Carter, you need a cup of coffee or something?"

"Wouldn't say no to it, sir," Major Carter says, not looking at him.

O'Neill nods and heads off without further word, looking a little distracted – even embarrassed. Teal'c looks after him, blinking, and then turns to DanielJackson, who arches both eyebrows as if he's supposed to know what troubles their commander now. He does not. "Has something occurred?"

"Bill kind of tore him a new one – and then Desmond decided to break the laws of artificial gravity, and then we were in the realm of I told you so's, and everyone knows how well Jack deals with those." Daniel says and blinks at him. "You were there, weren't you? When Jack and Bill started shouting at each other?"

"I'm sorry, I was distracted," Teal'c admits, blinking and considering the screens. On one of them the crew members of Prometheus, floating over their own consoles, are stripping the panelling of what looks like one of their most important internal servers – to detach the hard drives within them. "I was examining the memory disk brought from Masyaf, and I fear I activated it."

"What? No kidding – you could view it?" Daniel asks. "I uh, I tried, it did nothing for me. It worked for you?"

"Yes," Teal'c admits. "It was not my intention to view the memories within, but once I was, I found I could not disengage from them."

"Um, are you alright, do you – do you think you need to go to the infirmary, did it… you know…" DanielJackson motions haphazardly to indicate mental instability.

Teal'c blinks. "I was not emotionally affected by what I saw to the extent DesmondMiles was, nor do I feel any particular personal connection to the Tok'ra. I only saw his story, I did not form an attachment."

"Ah," DanielJackson says. "What was it like?"

Teal'c considers how to summarise it. "Quite unfortunate," he says. "Altaïr's life has been until now quite sad."

"Sad – how sad?"

Teal'c gives him a look. Sometimes, the people of the Tau'ri know nothing of tact. "His siblings died in the hopeless struggle against the Goa'uld one by one, until he and his eldest sibling, Al Mualim, who proved out to be a traitor to their cause, remained. Al Mualim betrayed him, led him and his first host Umar to their deaths at the hands of Ba'al, and then brutally mutilated the mind of Umar's son, a Hok'tar whom Al Mualim wished to use as his own host. But before he could complete the act, Altaïr was forcibly put into the body of said son, to live the next several thousand years blaming himself for the mutilation and suffering the shame of it. He then lived to kill his eldest sibling, to remake the Assassin Brotherhood, to wed a human wife and outlive her and one of their sons, until his mindless host body gave out and died and Altaïr went into slumber, unknowing if he would ever wake up."

Doctor Jackson gapes at him.

Teal'c nods, satisfied. "It was quite sad," he says firmly, and with that he turns to leave the control room – he feels he ought to pay his respect to the Tok'ra whose privacy he had so breached.

JacobCarter and Selmak are quietly speaking with WilliamMiles, sitting in front of the tank, where the Tok'ra Altaïr is resting on the bottom, still and watchful. Teal'c looks over the Tok'ra symbiote with interest. He had not been present when the Tok'ra had been taken out of hibernation, but he looks no worse for wear for it – though one can tell, he is in a sense younger than other Tok'ra symbiotes. The many centuries of using the Sarcophagus shows – Altaïr is much longer in body than other Tok'ra Teal'c had seen, and still very dark in hue… very much like a Goa'uld.

He might very well be the youngest Tok'ra there is – the last surviving member of Egeria's last brood.

"Teal'c," JacobCarter greets him. "Any updates on Prometheus?"

"I suspect not," Teal'c says. "Though I am new to the situation – I was otherwise preoccupied and missed most of it. The artificial gravity is off on the ship, and the crew is going over hard drives and removing memory modules. DesmondMiles, I hear, is somewhere in the ventilation ducts, but they do not know where."

"Which is good – if they don't know, then Juno doesn't either," WilliamMiles says, folding his arms. "Honestly, I almost feel sorry for her."

"You're not concerned?" Selmak asks.

"About Desmond? No," WilliamMiles says and looks at Altaïr. "He's the greatest Assassin our Brotherhood has ever produced, and he was genetically engineered to match with Pieces of Eden. Juno couldn't have made a worse mistake than dropping him right on top of a pile of them."

Teal'c blinks, curious. There is a pile of Pieces of Eden on Prometheus? He had not realised that. O'Neill had said some, but… "Where did the Pieces of Eden come from?"

"In general or on the ship? Juno beamed them up," WilliamMiles says, frowning a little. "It looked like she went and beamed up every piece around the world, really. We didn't even think there might be so many of them. It's rather… intimidating, really, how many there are."

"And they have powers, these Pieces of Eden?" Jacob asks. "We saw him counteract the artificial gravity with some sort of shield, but…"

"We never did figure out all the powers they had – we've never possessed one long enough to do elaborate testing. Mind control is the main one. Instant indoctrination," WilliamMiles says. "They were designed to be the tools of enslavement. They can move objects – sort of levitation, that's what Desmond was doing. They store information…"

Teal'c listens with only half an ear, turning his attention to the Tok'ra symbiote, watching him from the tank. Teal'c meets his eyes and then bows his head slightly. He doesn't think he knows Goa'uld language old enough to make himself understood, but he will apologise anyway.

"I am Teal'c of Chulac, formerly the First Prime of Apophis, who is now dead," he says, in the oldest dialect of Goa'uld he knows. "I would like to pay my respects – and apologise. By accident while examining it, I ended up viewing your memory disk. It was not my intention."

Jacob blinks at him, arching his brows, while in the tank Altaïr lifts his head, watching him with inscrutable black eyes. It's hard to tell if he understands, but he doesn't seem disturbed at least.

Teal'c bows his head and then steps back.

"You viewed the memory disk?" Selmak asks with great interest.

"I touched it, and when I did, it activated," Teal'c agrees.

"And it worked for you?" WilliamMiles asks, sounding fascinated. "But you're… not from around here."

Teal'c arches a brow and nods in agreement. "My people originate from Tau'ri, as do all human species across the galaxy," he says. "The Goa'uld took my ancestors and transplanted them on Chulak, many thousand years ago, to serve as their slaves. We were modified, yes, but our genetics still originate from this planet as well."

WilliamMiles eyes him with a thoughtful frown and then looks down. "Huh. For hundreds of years we've been fighting against Templars on Earth – and in the meanwhile out there, there are entire planets being enslaved," he mutters and rubs a fingers over his forehead. "Makes all our struggles seem…"

"I felt much the same," JacobCarter admits. "But scale doesn't make something worthless. Battle between individuals can be more important than battle between armies, and vice versa – it all depends on the situation and perspective."

WilliamMiles scoffs, but doesn't disagree.

Teal'c pulls up a chair and sits down, a little to the side of them. "Is it confirmed that DesmondMiles will host Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad?" he asks.

"Yes, they both agreed to it – they were about to do it, when Desmond was beamed away," Jacob agreed with a sigh. "Really terrible timing, there, but nothing we can do about it. And since Bill here is certain Desmond is going to be fine – "

"I am not certain, I am confident – and not about to start panicking when it won't help the matter at all," WilliamMiles disagrees.

JacobCarter arches his brows. "Anyway, all we can do is wait."

Teal'c nods and then settles in to wait, as JacobCarter and WilliamMiles discuss the nature of Tok'ra, the Isu, the Goa'uld, and the situation of the galaxy in general. Teal'c closes his eyes, and wonders if Altaïr knows of Egeria's fate yet.

Some half an hour later, the constant flash of warning lights outside the hallway finally ceases – but only for a second. Then they resume – this time accompanied by warning sirens. Teal'c immediately jumps to his feet, ready – and not a second later, General Hammond's voice goes around the base.

"This is General Hammond – please be advised that the base's computer systems have been invaded by an alien AI, who has clear hostile intentions. All base personnel are to disengage all memory drives and turn of all computers they can get access to – and to detach all essential and vital base systems they have aneasy access to. This is not a drill – I repeat, the base's computer systems have been invaded by an alien AI –"

"Juno," WilliamMiles says and rises to his feet. "Do you have supercomputers here?"

"I am not certain what would constitute as such," Teal'c asks while JacobCarter also rises to his feet, grabbing for a zat-nik-tel. Teal'c glances at him and then looks at WilliamMiles. "Why?"

"We calculated once that Juno takes space in the zettaflops," WilliamMiles explains. "She can and will infest all computers and memory systems in here, that's what she does – but it takes supercomputers worth of memory space to contain her main code –"

There's a crackle in the base's speaker systems and suddenly General Hammond's voice is superseded by another, a female voice. "… the gate, you must open the gate, you must, I will give you coordinates and you will open the gate, you must or I will slay you all, you must, you must –"

"Juno?" JacobCarter asks warily, glancing at the security camera in the corner of the room.

"Yeah, that's her," WilliamMiles agrees grimly. "What Gate?"

"We'll see about bringing you up to speed later," JacobCarter says. "Supercomputers, you say?"

"The bigger the hard drive, the better for her," WilliamMiles says. "Find them and break them – you won't be able to get her out of the hard drives until –"

There's a sound of power building up and then a flash of brilliant white light, as something – someone – beams into the room with them. The light is accompanied by the clatter of many items, falling in a pile to the floor and spreading across it, as Desmond Miles becomes visible, standing among the items of power at his feet. He is holding some sort of staff weapon, glowing golden, with many perpendicular prongs along the top of the shaft and spear point at the bottom end.

He looks rather irritated.

"… Hi, Desmond," WilliamMiles comments, eying with slightly wide eyes all the items on the floor – among which there are many obvious weapons.

"Hi, Dad, I'm back – did she –?" DesmondMiles starts to ask tightly and then stops, as he hears Juno, still talking in the speakers.

"… open the gate you must open the gate, I give you the coordinates now open the gate, open it, OPEN IT –"

"Yeah, she's here," WilliamMiles says wryly. "I see you got rid of her on the spaceship – and got yourself some… loot."

"Well, you know how I feel about loot," DesmondMiles says with a grim smile, lifting the staff. "And now I'm going to get rid of her here too." He hesitates, glancing back to the tank where Altaïr is now swimming agitatedly back and forth in front of the glass, having spotted his host. Then DesmondMiles grimaces. "Dad, tell Altaïr I will be right back. I have to take care of this first."

"Desmond, I don't know Arabic!" WilliamMiles shouts after his son as DesmondMiles sets out for the door.

"Use Google translator!"

Teal'c looks between them, as Jacob hurries after the young man. Then he bows his head to Altaïr, saying in Goa'uld. "There is a threat we must take care off, DesmondMiles will be back once it is neutralised," and then he, too, runs after the Tok'ra, to aid them in the task of ridding the base of its infestation.

Chapter Text

"You are beginning to toe the line."

Ezio doesn't look up from the tank, where the golden gleam of Altaïr is anxiously swimming back and forward, frustration shining in every violent flash of a fin. Desmond's dad is the only human in the room, now – he's tentatively going through the Pieces of Eden, counting them, laying them out, marvelling at them with quiet breathlessness of a man who has wandered into the cave of wonders unknowingly.

Minerva steps beside Ezio, and together they eye the symbiote in the tank.

"It is my right, no?" Ezio asks. "I am Desmond's prophet. It was my duty to show and pave the way for him. That's how you designed our paths."

"It's not the way the others see it," Minerva says, sighing. "And they are starting to pay attention to what you are doing here. You have not been as subtle as you think."

Ezio doesn't answer, resting his hands loosely on a belt that still carries weapons, all of them useless in this brilliant half-divinity he stumbled into. Many of the trappings of life he carries are useless – hood, boots, gloves, he needs none of them. He wears them anyway, because Ascension has not made him less himself, nor less an Assassin.

Minerva steps around the tank, to the other side. She looks much like she did in those ancient holograms – only more, in the way he is more. She meets her eyes and then looks down to the symbiote in the tank – the will of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, brought forth from the shadows once more.

"Should you try and do anything to stop this, I will fight you," Ezio says quietly. "Desmond deserves this, and I will see it to the end."

"It is not my place – nor why I am here," Minerva says, crouching down slowly and peering into the tank. Altaïr can see neither of them – he is looking through Ezio towards the door, furious in his own helplessness as he's forced to wait in ignorance. In the meanwhile, outside, Desmond is going about the process of killing Juno, once and for all.

That part had not been in Ezio's plan – he'd only wished for Desmond and Altaïr to live and had done what he could do assure it would be so. Juno's revival he had not foreseen. He has neither the power of the ascended collective nor the numerical wisdom of Minerva – the future is still mostly a mystery to him. Which, really… makes the fact that all this went so well a concern.

"You must have known," Ezio says, looking at Minerva. "You know of the future."

"Versions of it," Minerva agrees. "But after the Grand Temple's purpose came into fruition and the Solar Flare passed, there was no predicting the world after. Our predictions hinged on our ability to manipulate – our reach extended far, but we have overextended ourselves. We are in the realm beyond what we could predict, now."

Ezio considers her for a moment and then shakes his head. "No, if I knew something, then you must have known more. You did something also. You must have."

Minerva doesn't admit it, but she doesn't deny it either – and for a moment Ezio glimpses her actions, behind him, behind invisible curtains. While he'd been guiding events for Desmond's benefit to save his and Altaïr's life, she had been guiding Juno. Not, truly, to aid her – but to contain her.

Had Juno slipped from the Grand Temple to the world at large with its thousands of networks and millions of receptacles, she would have been beyond anyone's ability to contain. The ship humans had built was too tempting a bait – large enough to contain her and powerful enough to give her means to work immediately. So she'd taken the bait, taken the ship, slipped into its systems – and trapped herself.

Juno is half gone now – not much of her survived Desmond's purge in space, just fractions, impulses, obsessions. He'd destroyed much of her mind – only the most insistent parts of it had managed to escape. And down here, in the depths of the earth under the mountain of Cheyenne, the soldiers of Stargate Command were far too used to such situations.

Communications with the outside world had been severed before Desmond had even beamed in – and the people had begun the purge, unhesitating, at the face of the enemy incursion.

Ezio looks at Minerva, knows she sees this all in his mind, but she says nothing, and so neither does he. If she did manipulate things, then all the better for all of them.

"The others have not stopped me," Ezio says, and means us.

Minerva rises to her feet, clasping her hands together and looking at him. "They sent me to warn you."

"Did they?" Ezio wonders and smiles. They might have – yes, he can see it happening. Whispers in on the threads of the universe, applying pressure on the web that spans all of creation. The others prefer their realm to sit still and unchanged – while Ezio is here, tangling threads. They don't like it, but he is starting to see…

So as long as he did not push things too far, they would not stop him. He is not like them, he is weaker, he doesn't share the collective's powers – neither does Minerva, the few Isu there are set apart from the higher, older Ascended, just as he is. But he is set apart further by the very fact that he Ascended alone and without aid.

Some of the rules they enforce on themselves don't apply to him.

"The argument might be made that I aided you in your Ascension," Minerva points out.

"Points of view are not applicable to truths," Ezio comments and looks to her. "You can say it, but it will not make it so." And in their realm, what is true shows.

Minerva bows her head in acquiescence – her argument was half hearted at best, and she steps back from the fight gladly. "In many ways I am glad," she says, looking towards Desmond's father, who is biting a thumbnail in a tense nervousness, as he finishes counting the objects of power. "Today, our time will finally be over – the last of our kind will be gone from this Earth."

"Yes," Ezio agrees.

"In others, I am sad," Minerva says and shakes her head. "But we were people with long lineage and much time. Humans are still young, and it is not right for us to meddle with their affairs."

Ezio narrows his eyes. "You are leaving."

"Once Juno is gone, yes, I suspect I will," Minerva agrees.

Ezio rests a hand on the hilt of a sword which has had no purpose for hundreds of years, but which still brings him comfort. "I will not go," he says firmly.

"No, I thought not," Minerva agrees and gives him a look. "It is why I will."

Ezio tilts his head slightly, searching for the meanings she will not speak out loud. She's stepping back for plausible deniability – what she does not know of she cannot be found responsible? No, it is not for his sake she's leaving, or even for Desmond's – only herself. Almost a hundred thousand years of watching over Earth, she can finally leave – with Ezio there to take over.

Ezio gives her a wry look.

Minerva shakes her head and steps around the tank. "Tinia is gone. Juno will soon perish," she says. "The damage of the second flare was averted. My duty is done."

"Well, I hope you enjoy your retirement," Ezio says. "Though I cannot see how." To him, the Ascended collective seems like wisdom without purpose sometimes. They are beings closest to true godhood – and they do nothing with it. He can see why, he can feel why, but knowing the reasons doesn't lessen the purposelessness of it. He does not think he would enjoy that sort of existence, on the higher plane – drifting, knowing everything and doing nothing.

"Perhaps one day, once you have grown as old and seen so many things you love perish in the grips of time, you will see," Minerva says. "You are very young still, Ezio – the time you have existed is only a fraction of the time you have left. One day you too… will grow weary of the briefness of life."

"Well, I haven't yet," Ezio says wryly. "But I will know to enjoy it better, knowing that boredom lies ahead."

Minerva gives him a look at that and then smiles. "Perhaps it will be different for you."

They both look up as they feel it. Desmond is moving into a room now, followed by many from the Stargate Command base – there is a device there, Juno's last refuge, a computer modified to interface with various alien technologies. The last dregs of Juno's will wither in its core as Desmond lifts the Papal Staff and near ceremoniously burns it to ashes.

"It is done," Minerva says and closes her eyes. "What is it that you say? Rest in peace?"

"You know the language better than I do," Ezio comments. "It was based on your mother tongue."

"You say these things better."

Ezio hums and then says, to the last fading echoes of an ancient enemy none of them knew in life they were fighting – no one but Desmond, her conqueror, at last. "Non temete l'oscurita, Juno – accettate il suo abbraccio. Requiescat in Pace."

Minerva nods and begins to fade away. "Fitting," she says. "Goodbye, Ezio."

Ezio waits until she is gone, lifting his chin and exploring the space around him, the air, the atmosphere – the fabric of reality. He is alone, now. No one is watching him, that he can feel. They would still be aware of his doings, that is the nature of the Ascended, but the reins upon him are gone, the invisible chains lifted – and they might have only been ties of his own accord, his agreement to not interfere with the Isu Prophecy, of which he was the executor of…

But he can feel the freedom.

It feels… lonely.

"Hm," Ezio hums into the void of potential that is the universe, and then settles in to wait for his Chosen One to return.

It doesn't take long at all. Desmond, in many things, has great focus, and right now his concentration, his attention, his urgency is aimed in one direction – and soon, it leads Ezio's descendant back into the room where Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad still waits for him.

Desmond is out of breath – he ran the way back.

"Okay, now I am done," he says, stepping into the room with the combined Papal Staff and the Apple of Eden in hand, and with two aliens at his side – Altaïr's brethren, and the fruit of Isu's worst labours. Jacob Carter and Selmak and Teal'c are followed by others – Jack O'Neill is there, no longer quite as repellent and stubborn as he was before. He is followed by Daniel Jackson.

Ezio leans back against the furthest wall, and watches.

"I counted them," Desmond's father says. "Eight Apples, five Staves, four Swords, six Shrouds, three Boxes, six Crystal Balls, four Skulls –"

"Dad, I don't care," Desmond says and Ezio smiles, folding his arms. His descendant lets go of the Staff and it stands on its end, on its own, where he leaves it, perfectly balanced on the spear's point while Jack O'Neill mutters a curse and Jacob Carter looks at the Staff nervously, stepping around it. Teal'c only arches a brow.

"Yeah, I'm going to call for Doctor Fraiser," Daniel Jackson says. "Can you just – hold for a moment?"

"And risk something else happening? No way," Desmond says and steps to the tank, where Altaïr is watching him, tail end lashing in frustrated eagerness. Desmond leans to the desk under the tank and says, in fluent Arabic. "Okay, I'm here, I'm sorry about that. Will you join me?"

Altaïr almost leaps out of the tank at that – Desmond catches him in one hand quickly, barely managing to keep him from falling to the floor. Ezio breathes in, satisfied, basking at the tentative, fragile joy and eagerness radiating from them both. Yes, he'd done the right thing, bringing them together. Yes.

"Are you sure –" Jack O'Neill has to ask one more time, horrors unspoken still flashing in the back of his mind, where traumas left untreated still linger.

"Yes," Desmond says firmly, and brings Altaïr home. In a single smooth motion it is done – one moment Altaïr is coiled in his palm, tense like a snake about to lash out, and then he has disappeared between Desmond's lips, into his body. Desmond stands very still at the wake of it, his hand poised over his lips, and then he falters, as Altaïr finds his place by Desmond's spine, and begins the process of attaching to his nervous system.

Teal'c catches Desmond as he falls down in a dead faint, and, silent and unseen, Ezio follows them to the gurney, where Desmond is laid down for the blending to finish.

It's two hours before Desmond and Altaïr wake – Ezio is the first thing they see. There are guards in the room still, and Jacob Carter and Selmak are there also – but Ezio is sitting by the bed, holding Desmond's and Altaïr's hand, making sure everything went as it should.

Desmond blinks at him, while Ezio traces his knuckles with his thumb, applying gentle pressure. "You're still here," Desmond says, making the guards and Jacob look up. "Altaïr said he'd take care of the hallucinations."

"You know I am no such thing," Ezio says gently. "How are you feeling? How is Altaïr?"

Desmond hums, lifting a hand and pressing it against his neck. "He's good. He's shifting through my genetic memories – catching up on the Brotherhood history," he says and snorts. "Bit of a turn, for the Tok'ra to be the one who has to catch up."

"You should have gained something from him also," Ezio comments.

"I did," Desmond agrees and then lifts his right hand, looking at it.

His hand is healed now – no longer black, and even the golden veins have melted away, as Altaïr repaired the damage done to Desmond's body. It makes him less like a Piece of Eden, now, though he will always have his affinity for them – even Altaïr could not transform that out of Desmond's genetics. But at least the infection of the Grand Temple was dealt with.

"He did not repair your scar," Ezio comments, nodding at Desmond's a face, where he still bears the cut across his lips.

"I asked him not to," Desmond says. "It's kind of a signature for us, that. You too. Where's Dad?"

"Bill's in the cafeteria. Took some effort to get him to go, too, but the guy hadn't eaten in hours and it started to show," Jacob Carter says, coming closer and looking warily where Ezio sits. "Who are you talking to?"

"… no one," Desmond says, lowering his healed hand and then pushing to sit up. Ezio releases Desmond's left hand, standing up to give him room. Desmond doesn't stand up immediately, hanging his legs over the edge and bowing his head slightly. When he lifts it, his eyes have changed – there is still some residual glow as Altaïr meets Ezio's eyes.

"It is an honour, Mentor," Altaïr says, in Desmond's English.

"The honour is mine, Mentor," Ezio smiles. "But I think through Desmond, you and I are both beyond our titles. I hope you do not mind my manipulations in your path – the power source in your stasis jar was failing, and I knew you would die if he did not find you."

"You have saved my life and cared for Desmond's – I cannot say I mind it," Altaïr says. "But if you are truly a being that exists and not a figment of Desmond's mind, you must show yourself to others as well. You are putting undue pressure on my host by this subterfuge. He has suffered enough doubt and ridicule as it is."

Ezio arches his brows slightly at that and then bows his head in agreement.

Jacob Carter lets out a soft breath, as Ezio makes himself visible, resting his hands loosely at his side. The guards go for their weapons, but it doesn't matter – they cannot hurt him, and he will not let them hurt Desmond and Altaïr.

Altaïr looks at him and nods, and then it is Desmond looking at him. "Couldn't do that before, huh?"

"There were reasons," Ezio says apologetically and looks at Jacob Carter and Selmak. "Yes," he agrees with their wordless gaping. "I am an Ascended. My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

"Holy Hannah," Jacob Carter mutters.

"Ascended, what is that?" Desmond asks, confused.

"Something of a spirit, but with great powers – and greater restrictions," Ezio admits, wryly. "Some of which have been lifted with Juno's demise. Minerva did not say as much, but – she was grateful."

"Was?" Desmond asks, his brows arching. "Isn't anymore?"

"She isn't here anymore. She has left this region of space now that her tasks are complete, and the last of the Capitoline Triad is gone," Ezio explain. "In essence, she has retired. I believe she has left the Earth under my domain, though I fear I don't yet know what that entails."

"Wait," Jacob Carter says, stepping closer. "You mean – you're what, the Earth's guardian angel?"

"There's no such thing," Desmond says, nostalgic, even as he eyes Ezio with wonder.

"No," Ezio agrees. "I cannot protect the Earth from the sort of threats you are thinking of – even if I had the powers, the others would stop me."

"Why?" Selmak asks, with the eager interest of one who has been long pondering on the question. "Why do the Ascended restrict each other in such ways? You have such great powers and knowledge and you never share it."

"You do not share yours with the Earth," Ezio comments, arching a brow and then shakes his head. "Should the Ascended begin shaping the material plane to their liking, it would open doors difficult to close again – and the damage they could cause could tear creation apart. I suppose they want to… preserve the material plane. It is precious and fragile, as the planes of existence go."

"You mean… dimensions?" Jacob Carter says, frowning.

Ezio agrees with a tilt of his head. "The material plane teeters on the balance of very delicate universal laws – the minute forces that keep all matter consistent are very subtle. It would be very easy to damage those laws irreversibly, and the chain reaction could undo the entire plane of existence. And should one Ascended get away with it, then the rest might follow, and the material plane will be undone."

"Oh," Jacob Carter says, swallowing. "I – see."

"But you're here," Desmond points out to Ezio.

"I'm younger and weaker – I do not have the sort of power to alter universal laws," Ezio says and smiles wryly. "I think they see me as something of a child – I get away with things older and stronger Ascended would not, on the count of my youth."

"You're not exactly a child," Desmond says, giving him a look.

"In the terms of the Ascended, five hundred years is but an infant," Ezio says, shaking his head, looking at him seriously. "But I am not here for that. What will you and Altaïr do now?"

Desmond hesitates and Altaïr takes over. "First we will need to ascertain whether or not Desmond is going to jail," he says dryly. "There will be no point in making plans before that."

"As a Tok'ra you are afforded some leeway as far as the Earth laws go," Selmak says, lifting their chin. "You are in a sense a foreign diplomat, you now have diplomatic immunity."

Though it is somewhat amusing to see people's reactions to Ezio's presence, he begins to regret making himself seen not much after. He would not have denied Altaïr's request, the old Mentor was right in making it and Ezio had done enough damage to Desmond's credibility. Now his presence lends him credibility, and yet it seems to do so at the cost of Desmond's own perceived competence. And worse yet, the people of SGC expect things of him.

"So, you're… from Earth?" O'Neill asks with some disbelief.

"From Florence, Italy, yes," Ezio answers, wondering if it would be rude if he made himself invisible. "And no, I cannot give you Ancient technology nor Ascended knowledge – I have access to neither of these things."

"So you're like a… lower Ascended?" Daniel Jackson asks, looking fascinated.

"Something to that effect," Ezio agrees, looking at him. "I am not like you were – you gained knowledge from your teacher, Oma Desala. I Ascended without aid, and as such was given little in ways of gifts upon my Ascension. What I know is what I have learned since – Altaïr's existence, for example."

"Wait, wait – you Ascended on your own? But – aren't humans supposed to be too primitive for that?" Samantha Carter asks, looking thoughtful. "So you're like Desmond – descended from the Ancients."

"From the Isu, yes," Ezio says with a sigh and looks at Desmond, Altaïr and Bill Miles. Desmond and Altaïr are rubbing their hands together, one enjoying repaired right hand, and the other marvelling the presence of fourth finger on the left. "My Ascension was an accident of lineage and my own studies in philosophy – and Isu technology. It is not why I am here, though."

"Then why are you here, Mr. Auditore?" General Hammond asks, frowning.

"To see this to the end," Ezio says and nods to Desmond's direction.

Desmond looks up and then clears his throat. "We would like to know what is to be Desmond's sentence," Altaïr says. "So that we may plan accordingly."

"His sentence?" General Hammond asks.

"He is accused of murder and terrorism, yes?" Altaïr says and Desmond clears his throat. "And by now probably several million dollars worth of property damage too," he adds, to which Altaïr mutters wryly, "Yes, we can't forget that, can we?"

Hammond frowns, looking between Jacob and Selmak and Desmond and Altaïr. Then he looks at Ezio, who rests his elbows on the table and says nothing. After a moment, the general clears his throat. "There are some… questions that need to be resolved, yes," he says. "And damage assessment must be made. However, from where I stand, you aren't liable for the damage on Prometheus or here – that was due to the Alien AI, Juno, of which you had control of."

"We have a preliminary analysis on the systems on board Prometheus and here, in SGC," Major Carter says quickly. "It couldn't have gone down any other way. Juno somehow physically reshaped the structure of all the hard drives she wrote herself on – once she was in, there was no way to remove her, she became essentially physically part of their structure."

"And as such, the collateral damage was unavoidable," General Hammond says. "The investigation to Vice President Kinsey's death is still ongoing, however."

"And how long until this investigation is complete?" Altaïr asks.

"Impossible to say. It could be days, it could be months," Hammond says.

"During which time you expect Desmond and Altaïr to stay here, in your charge?" Bill demands.

Hammond shares looks with Jacob and with O'Neill and then glances at Ezio. Ezio steeples his fingers, smothering a sigh. He should have stayed away – his presence alone is altering their judgement. It is too late now.

"We would prefer if he stayed on Earth for the time being," General Hammond says carefully. "Until decisions are made."

"Well, we don't mind," Desmond says before neither Jacob Carter, Selmak or Bill Miles can argue. "Actually, it works pretty well. See, we have a suggestion for you. A proposition."

"Oh?" General Hammond asks, sharing looks with his people. "Proceed."

Altaïr takes over leans forward. "Desmond brought in nearly fifty Pieces of Eden here," he says. "Together Desmond and I are the most knowledgeable on Earth as to how they function – aside from perhaps Ezio Auditore," he motions, to which Ezio waves a hand – Desmond and Altaïr together eclipse his understanding, easily. Altaïr nods. "As such, we would like to stay here, at SGC, and study them – for Earth's benefit."

Selmak frowns, opening their mouth to argue, but then goes quiet. Ezio glances at them past Desmond's shoulder and smiles faintly. The Tok'ra had expected Desmond and Altaïr to leave immediately and join the Tok'ra cause – Jacob Carter could see why they would not, though.

"So you would study them – for us?" Samamtha Carter asks to clarify. "And hand over your findings – to us?"

Altaïr nods in agreement.

"What's the catch?" O'Neill asks dubiously.

Desmond smiles. "Your binding agreement to keep Abstergo the hell away."

"We will of course have to have a proper agreement drawn," Bill Miles says quickly. "And some of the technology will be shared with the Assassins – we already have access to this knowledge and some of these technologies, as it is, so there is no reasonable cause to deny us."

"But overall, you will have access to what we know and everything that might be useful in your battle against the Goa'uld – and in defence of Earth," Desmond says. "And everything else we can do in helping you with that fight, we will."

There's a moment of silence and then, while everyone is sharing looks and coming to terms, General Hammond stands up. "I have to confer with my superiors," he says with a nod to Desmond and Altair. "But I think I can with good confidence say that you have yourself a deal."

Desmond nods and they watch the general head for his office, to call the said supervisors. Everyone is quiet for a moment around the table, and then O'Neill clears his throat. "Okay, there's gotta be a catch. Why are you offering us this? What do you gain from it? Don't you want to just… grab all your stuff and skedaddle with the Tok'ra?"

Desmond looks at him and arches his brow. "After all the effort I went through to save this planet?" he says, and Altaïr adds, "Honestly."

Chapter Text

Desmond's dreams are a whole lot more interesting these days. If it's not Altaïr showing him something in his past that he thinks Desmond should know more intimately – a person, a personal event, a brand of science unknown to man – it's Altaïr going through Desmond's genetic memories, accessing branches Desmond himself wouldn't have been able to, alone and without an Animus.

"I suspect you must be related to all the major branches of the Brotherhood in some way," Altaïr muses to him, in the midst of those dreams. "Your roots seem to reach all the corners of the Earth."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Desmond comments. "Considering how much eugenics went into making me, it probably took most of the bloodlines with Isu genetics out there."

It's not so weird to think about it that way anymore. He'd known – he'd seen it – but with Altaïr there it's somehow… not that big of a deal. Not precisely because the Tok'ra have their own history and familiarity with genetic and eugenic experiments, but because… it just doesn't matter that much anymore.

He's got Altaïr now. However they got here, it's… alright. They're fine now. It's all good, now, and almost even makes sense.

Altaïr sees it a little differently, of course – he's looking at the Brotherhood through Desmond's DNA from a whole different point of view. He begun and reshaped the Brotherhood with his Hashashin brothers – to see it spread out and then coalesce the way it did, it makes the Tok'ra somewhat melancholic. Proud, because the Brotherhood got farther than he ever thought it would, when they were all still contained in one solitary fortress in Masyaf, and yet…

The battles Altaïr had set in motion had never truly been won – never truly been completed. Like ebb of the ocean as the Moon tugged on its tides, the battles came and went and came again…

"Is today going to be another broody day?" Desmond asks, eying the ceiling of his room.

"I am only thinking," Altaïr says. "Do you think if we asked, would Bill send us some information concerning the current state of the Brotherhood?"

"Not without a billion layers of encryption, but we can ask him," Desmond says and stretches, yawning. Tok'ra, he's aware, don't need to sleep as much – sometimes not at all. Altaïr likes it, though – it's kind of like meditation for him, Jaffa kelno-reem, sorta. And Desmond is just… really, really happy he's no not having nightmares anymore, so he definitely doesn't mind.

"I could give you pleasant dreams, if you'd like – separate your slumbering mind from the memories I am contemplating on," Altaïr comments.

"No, I like it like this. It's all productive and stuff," Desmond says and closes his eyes. "You want to take us to the bathroom?"

"You are quickly growing lazy," Altaïr sighs, fond, and Desmond grins as the control over their body slips away from him. Altaïr gets them up briskly, pausing to make their bed – which Desmond will never not find cute, how neat Altaïr is proving out to be – before heading for their private bathroom.

They'd been given quarters in the SGC – though they don't amount to much, really. There's a bedroom with adjacent bathroom, both with the same gunmetal grey colour scheme and sort of stripped down base-look. Wires and pipes over concrete and steel, because who cares about panelling and making things nice? Still, for Altaïr they're something else – Altaïr, before Desmond, was used to amenities in the 12th century.

The enjoyment the guy gets from simple showers is part of the reason Desmond is becoming lazy.

"We had such and greater amenities as Tok'ra," Altaïr murmurs, a little disgruntled at Desmond's fond amusement. "And running water wasn't exactly unheard even in the 12th century. We had several fountains of fresh water in Masyaf."

"Bet they weren't hot though."

Altaïr hums in agreement, and ducks their head under the pour.

It's still early enough that the base's corridors are still vacant and Altaïr and Desmond make for their lab – opening the reinforced door with a key card and then with a retinal scan, before stepping inside while their guard stops to stand outside the door. Neither of them pay the man any mind – they're used to him now – and instead turn on the lights and check that the Pieces are where they left them – in their reinforced containers bolted to the floors, each tightly locked and secured.

No one in this base wants to risk someone just walking in and getting away with them – least of all Desmond and Altaïr. That's why only three people have access to the room – Desmond and Altaïr, General Hammond, and Major Carter – and only Desmond and Altaïr can open the containers.

"What shall we work on today?" Altaïr muses, going over to the containers and running their right hand over the bulletproof glass casing. "Power systems? Power storage? Perhaps electromagnetic propulsion?"

"Ooh, I like a bit of levitation," Desmond agrees. "Let's go with that."

Altaïr hums in agreement, but turns away from the cases, and  heads for the computers instead, turning them on and heading to fire up the sensors. While they're waiting for the sensors to initialise, Desmond sits down to check his email – predictably, there's several.

One from his dad – a daily status update, for both their sakes. Bill had headed back to New York and is now in progress of negotiating a deal concerning the sarcophagus – something, which, in light of the hoard of PoEs, Altaïr had donated to the Assassin Brotherhood. Desmond sends him a quick reply – all things still good, still working, Kinsey investigation still ongoing, no further news, etc – will call later that day.

Second email is from Shaun – another status update, this one more in depth and much more sarcastic, writing "[email protected], seriously? Desmond, this is a disgrace, do you have any idea how insecure their servers are?" but also, "Should the Mentor have anything to comment, I believe I speak for everyone here in saying we'd be eager to hear it." Shaun had been the first to master the concept of two people inhabiting a Desmond-shaped space now – though he's still teetering on the edge of how to actually interact with them.

Nothing important from Rebecca that day, just a hi, hope you're doing well, how is imprisonment treating you, and so forth. Desmond answers her first before writing to Shaun, adding Altaïr's, "You remind him most strongly of Malik, which I think you should take as a compliment. I think."

Last and definitely not the least, there is a long email from Doctor Rodney McKay, who's in charge of the Grand Temple investigation and is trying to get Desmond and Altaïr there to reactivate the place and explain it, and also what does he mean he doesn't know how it worked, he used it didn't he, did he seriously use it without knowing how it worked?

"Perhaps one day," Altaïr muses. "The sensors are ready now. Shall we?"

"Yes, let's."

"Hard at work, I see."

Altaïr opens their eyes and they look up from where they're sitting, on the floor with an Apple of Eden cupped in their hands. The door to the room is open. "Major Carter. Colonel O'Neill," Altaïr says, as the glow of the Apple fades. "What can we do for you?"

The pair exchange looks and Major Carter clears her throat. "General Hammond wants to see you – he announced it over the intercom. I guess… you can't hear, when you're doing that."

"He sent us to check up on you, to make sure you haven't…" O'Neill makes a wiggly motion with his hand. "… or anything."

Altaïr looks at the Apple, frowning, and Desmond gently takes over. "Yeah, sorry about that," he says and stands up, bouncing the Apple in hand before moving to seal it away carefully. "It kind of turns off your conscious mind in order to beam stuff into your head – very dangerous, very tricky, would not recommend."

"And you're still using it?" O'Neill asks, making a face. "Sure that's wise?"

"We know what we're doing with them," Desmond shrugs. Between his DNA and Altaïr's experience, they can handle the side effects, shake them off within a second. Normal non-genius human would just get their synapses scrambled. "Any idea what General Hammond wants us for?"

"Might have something to do with the Tok'ra that just arrived, and the fact that Woolsey is here," O'Neill says, the emphasis very pointed.

Desmond blinks and Altaïr says, "We do not know who that is."

"Richard Woolsey, he's an investigator for the NID," Major Carter says, also looking a little off put. "He's investigated the SGC on several occasions and used to work, among other people… for Kinsey."

"No idea what he's doing now, but he looked mighty official and grim, so," O'Neill says and nods his head towards the door. "We better get going before they get any more antsy than they already all are."

"By all means," Altaïr says, both his and Desmond's curiosity piqued. They quickly check that the laboratory is secure and then lock the doors again, before moving to follow the Air Force officers down the hall.

"So, how is your work going?" Major Carter asks. "Learned anything new?"

"Every day, but putting what we have learned into concise form will take time," Altaïr says and Desmond continues. "The Isu didn't really do schematics, and the Pieces of Eden are kind of stingy when it comes to giving up information. They come in bits and pieces."

"Why? That seems counterproductive for information sharing," Carter says.

"They were designed to entice – to give enough glimpses of power to enthral and enslave the curious and eager," Altaïr explains. "Though some of that was Juno's influence, the Pieces of Eden by their nature are… difficult."

O'Neill and Carter both arch their brows.

"Tricksy, is what he means, they're downright tricksterly," Desmond says, grinning, and Altaïr sighs, "That is not a word," at which Desmond only grins wider. "Says you."

O'Neill smiles a little at them, despite himself, so Desmond thinks they're winning the guy over again. Bit by bit, he's coming around to them.

The General is waiting for them in the meeting room, along with not only Jacob and Selmak, but two other Tok'ra Desmond and Altaïr do not know. There is also a man in a bureaucratic looking black suit there, with receding hairline and expression like he's never been pleased with anyone, ever.

"Desmond – Altaïr," General Hammond says, glancing at Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter. "I called for you ten minutes ago – is something wrong?"

"Apologies, General – we were communing with one of the artefacts, it stole away our awareness for a time," Altaïr says with a slight nod. "We will make sure to keep our senses more open next time."

"Please do, we were starting to be concerned," the General says and motions to the others around the table. "This is Richard Woolsey, of the NID, here on the behalf of the President, and these are –"

The Tok'ra, standing up, introduce themselves. "I am Garshaw of Belote," the first says, bowing their head slightly. "The Grand Council of the Tok'ra High Council. This is Lantash," they motions to the other Tok'ra at their side.

"Selmak has told us much of you," Lantash says, bowing his head slightly. "And I am Martouf," the host says. "It is a pleasure."

Altaïr arches a brow. There had been no such things as Tok'ra High Council when he was spawned, but then, it has been many thousands of years since then. "Belote, I expect, is where you were spawned?" Altaïr guesses.

"Indeed," Garshaw agrees, nodding gracefully.

Considering that neither Lantash or Martouf made such distinction, did that mean they had been born in space – onboard a ship? "Then I am Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad of Earth," Altaïr says, and then steps aside for his host. "And I'm Desmond Miles – also of Earth," he says with a grin and then steps back again. "We apologise for our tardiness, we were not aware of this meeting."

"Neither were we," General Hammond says, sounding slightly terse. "Thankfully the Prometheus was on orbit, and when I informed the President, he had his representative at the ready," he motions to Woolsey, who presses his lips together. "Shall we take a seat?"

They sit down, Altaïr and Desmond both a little tense now.

"First of all, we would like to express out joy – and grief – at the news of your brothers," Garshaw says to Altaïr. "We thought we were already aware of all the clutches of prim'ta Egeria had – learning of your patch has given us some hope that there may yet be others."

"Then I am sorry to say it's unlikely. I expect we were the last," Altaïr says, apologetic. "The people of SGC have shared their knowledge of Egeria with us, and I believe that her imprisonment on Pangar begun very shortly after our spawning. We were made in haste and in desperation – her last ditch effort to fight the Goa'uld."

"So it is true, her last clutch was of Asharak?" Martouf says.

"Yes," Altaïr agrees. "She had us and then hid us on Earth, her last rebellion. I'm sad to say it wasn't enough – we did not have means to fight very well."

"Why did you never try to search for us?" Garshaw says. "You had her latest knowledge – you would have been aware of the earlier clutches, surely?"

"It was not what she had us for," Altaïr says. "There were Goa'uld on Earth – they were our targets. By the time the threat on Earth passed, the humans had buried the Chappa'ai and we were stranded."

"And you never searched for it?"

It has the tone of accusation and Altaïr narrows his eyes. "No," he says. "We did not."

"While I understand that this must be very important to you," Mr. Woolsey says, cutting in tentatively but with confidence of man who doesn't care if he is disliked. "I doubt that is why you are here, Grand Council."

Garshaw blinks at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. She tilts her head slightly. "Selmak has told us that Altaïr's host is charged with a crime, and imprisoned," she says then, to which Jacob Carter closes his eyes and barely smothers a grimace. "We came to negotiate his release."

"Release – Desmond Miles and Altaïr themselves suggested this arrangement," General Hammond says, casting a look at them. "Considering the crimes in question, the agreement that he'd stay here on SGC, working for us, seemed more than reasonable –"

"He is of the Tok'ra," Garshaw says, slightly sharp now. "We have a treaty – and under it you cannot detain a Tok'ra or restrict their access to the gate. We demand you release him immediately."

Well, crap, Desmond thinks. Didn't think of that, huh.

They aren't doing it out of the goodness of their heart or for the care of our wellbeing, Altaïr answers, leaning back on their chair. Jacob and Selmak must have also told them of the Pieces of Eden, our expertise concerning them – and your status as a Hok-tar. Considering the reactions we have witnessed so far, all these things are special and valuable.  

Even better, Desmond answers, and sighs. I guess they could learn from what we know, never mind use the Pieces of Eden against the Goa'uld.

Indeed. The Pieces are more powerful than any Goa'uld technology I know of, including the Sarcophagus - they might be enough to make a considerable difference.

Woolsey clears his throat. "Far be it for us to breach our contract with the Tok'ra – you are one of our longest standing allies," he says. "But Desmond Miles has signed some contracts himself, binding contracts – included in which are the terms within which he serves here, at SGC, as repentance for his crimes."

"Contracts agreed upon under duress cannot possibly be called binding," Garshaw says. "And in either case, surely our treaty supersedes such individual contracts."

"What are his crimes, precisely?" Martouf asks slowly.

"Eight counts of manslaughter – he killed people," Woolsey says, which makes Desmond push forward enough to look at him. Just eight? What about the people in Kinsey's car – what about Kinsey? That should've brought the number to thirteen, right?

Garshaw and Lantash share looks, and they look – uncertain. "I understand that such things are counted as crimes among humans, but…" Garshaw hesitates. "Surely the people of the SGC have killed many more than that – including, I might add, several Tok'ra operatives, when they caused the destruction of select Goa'uld vessels."

Woolsey hesitates, seeing the trap laid for him. "What the personnel of the SGC have done aside, Mr. Miles willingly and intentionally killed several people who might have otherwise lived," he says. "Now there were extenuating causes, however… he has plead guilty and the judgement was passed and the sentence decided."

"Sentences might be overruled," Garshaw says and casts a look towards Altaïr and Desmond. "He is of the Tok'ra and should you want our treaty to stand, he must be released back to us."

There's a cleared throat and O'Neill waves a hand. "And uh… what about what he thinks?" he asks pointedly and looks down at Desmond and Altaïr. "What do you say, Alty?"

Altaïr considers the Tok'ra and their likely motives. He understands – in their situation perhaps he would have felt similarly. In interacting with Jacob and Selmak he's come to understand that the Tok'ra had grown… aloof in a way he could not remember Egeria being. Thousands of years of war against the Goa'uld, never mind whatever advancements they might have gained in that time… despite however far humans had gotten, they must still look so young in their eyes.

Selmak had expressed, once, that the Tok'ra would be better suited to understanding the Pieces of Eden. The look Desmond had given him at the time had made sure he did not say anything to the effect again, not at loud, but the insinuation is there. Altaïr can understand where it comes from and yet…

Desmond is quiet for a moment. I don't want to go with them, Altaïr, he says then, apologetic.

Neither do I, Altaïr answers. "If our status as a Tok'ra and as a prisoner on Earth proves an awkward point for your treaty, then we are happy to denounce the name of Tok'ra," he says calmly.

"… what?" Garshaw asks, so surprised that she doesn't even sound insulted. "How – how can you say such a thing?"

"We gave up our name as Tok'ra long ago, to keep our deeds here on Earth from affecting our brethren among the stars," Altaïr says. "We went by the name Hashashin – later, the Assassin Brotherhood. It is in fact the denomination I call my own with more confidence, than that of Tok'ra – I have never fought Ra, but I have assassinated many in my life. And far more often in service of humanity, than the Tok'ra cause."

Neither Garshaw nor Martouf and Lantash look like they were expecting it – they look rather stunned, really. Jacob and Selmak are giving Altaïr a look though – they anticipated something to this end, then.

"You wish to stay here," Selmak says slowly.

"Until further notice, yes," Altaïr says, meeting her eyes. "We have given our word to the people of this base, and I have given my oaths and my life to the service of the Assassin Brotherhood. We will serve here – on Earth."

"Surely you cannot want this," Garshaw says, outraged.

"We do," Altaïr says coolly, and Desmond continues. "Though we do appreciate the thought, we're not going anywhere."

That isn't the end of it – there will be a new contract between Earth and the Tok'ra, which will include clauses concerning Altaïr and probably the Pieces of Eden too. Neither Altaïr nor Desmond mind if the technology is shared, but first… first it would go to Earth. It is favouritism of the highest order maybe, but it can't really be helped.

Their investment on Earth is longwinded – and bloody. And neither is about to stop now.

"Okay, gotta say, didn't expect that," O'Neill says, later, sitting across Altaïr and Desmond in the cafeteria. "You, not going with the Tok'ra, I mean."

"We told you we wanted to help protect Earth," Desmond points out.

"Yeah, and I heard you, but – this stuff just doesn't happen to us," O'Neill says while snatching up an orange from Desmond's tray. "Aliens favouring us with technology and all that, It's usually you are too young and will kill yourself or it's booby trapped to hell and back and will probably kill us. Still can't shake the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop here."

"Should we invest in sandals?" Altaïr suggests. "It would make for a lighter drop."

O'Neill looks sharply at him and then points a finger. "Funny," he says, like it was anything but. "Seriously though. You're really in it for Earth, huh? That got something to do with the… mission Egeria gave you lot?"

Altaïr considers him, the obvious qualms the man has about interacting with him, and then looks down at the food Desmond was eating. He takes the fork and knife, and continues cutting the steak. "No," he says. "In the beginning it was of no concern to us where we plied our craft – assassinating Goa'uld could happen on any world they were on. We only stayed on Earth because here Goa'uld were the most numerous at the time. But once our numbers dwindled and we begin recruiting humans to our cause… I suppose it changed my feelings for this planet."

"What, you grew attached?" O'Neill asks.

"Yes," Altaïr says. "I have a family here. I have a bloodline here – Desmond is a member of it."

"But those are your host's kids, right?" O'Neill asks.

Altaïr shakes his head and looks down. "If you viewed the disk you would know this," he says. "My second host was without a mind – it was destroyed before I joined with him. He was also the son of my first host," he shakes his head. "I get my name from him. And when Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad married and had children, it was I who had a wife, who had sons. It was I who loved them."

O'Neill stares at him inscrutably for a moment and then looks away, rolling the orange between his palms. "What happened to your second host, the, um… the first Altaïr?"

"Al Mualim – my eldest Hashashin brother and our Mentor – desired a younger, better host. His own host, Rashid, was also mindless – arrangement which Al Mualim found agreeable," Altaïr says. "Like my first host, Umar, Altaïr was born a hok-tar, making him most desirable as a host still. Al Mualim betrayed me in many ways, that day."

"Christ," O'Neill murmurs.

Altaïr withdraws a little, and Desmond pushes forward. "Between me and Altaïr, there's like, thirty four generations of Assassins, and I got a whole lot of other lineages too on my dad's side," he says and takes a bite of his steak. "We're starting to remember all of them – genetic memory, you know. So, if you want attachment, we got plenty of it."

"No kidding," the Colonel agrees and looks at him. "So, this is going to be it for you two, from now on? Just, Pieces of Eden, no more assassinations?"

"We have a long life ahead of us," Desmond says and arches his brows. "And our sentence here is only five years. Who knows what's gonna happen after."

"Or during," Altaïr adds. "Should there be a Goa'uld with a need of a blade in their neck… we could provide."

O'Neill snorts and lops the orange lightly at them. Altaïr catches it without looking. "Okay," the Colonel says. "I can get behind that sort of thinking. I'm going to advice to the general we bring you up to speed."

"Concerning?" Altaïr asks, frowning.

"Everything," O'Neill says and shrugs, standing up. "I mean, you haven't even seen the Stargate yet."

Altair lowers the eating utensils. "The Stargate," he repeats.

O'Neill nods, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Yep," he agrees. "The place is called Stargate Command – it's gotta come from something. I mean you – knew that, right?"

Altaïr says nothing and Desmond lets out a silent burst of amusement at the complete blank he's drawing.

O'Neill grins. "Hah, don't know everything after all, then. This is going to be fun."

They had suspected it – it had simply… not been a priority. Altaïr had never even seen the Chappa'ai in his life – during their time, it had first been carefully guarded under Ra's eye, kept away from common people – even the lesser Goa'uld lords under Ra could not access it with ease. And then, the human rebellions begun, ran their course – and the Gate was buried. Even Al Mualim had not known where. Nor, Altaïr now suspects, had Al Mualim cared.

No more Goa'uld on Earth meant that the Hashashin were the only ones of their kind left – with all the time on Earth to do a he pleased, only restrained by Altaïr's presence, perhaps, until even that was not enough to curb his corruption.

Still, the Chappa'ai had never been a priority to him. There were the Hashashin, their work, their missions, and then later, there were the Pieces of Eden – matter which still is more urgent for him. So he had not really… cared.

"It's a thing that lets you travel between planets, how can you not care?" Desmond demands.

"It was not vital for our work," Altaïr admits, a little embarrassed. "I apologise, we should have been able to draw conclusions – it must have been the reason why Juno came here, of course, to escape through the… Stargate to some other world."

"And thank god she couldn't."

The Stargate itself is as Altaïr's genetic knowledge remembers it – a circular device with an inner ring that spins, chevrons which dial the address to another gate in some other corner of the galaxy. Remembering it and seeing it in action are two different things, though, and Desmond isn't alone in his marvel.

"You've seriously never stepped through it?" Daniel Jackson asks him incredulously, as they watch an SG team disembark for a reconnaissance mission on another planet. "But you're like, what… five thousand years old?"

"I was spawned on Earth, and my mission never required me to leave," Altaïr admits. "I have never seen it before now."

"It is very cool though," Desmond says, grinning. "What does it feel like it? Is it like water, or…?"

"It feels kind of…" Doctor Jackson makes a weird indiscernible gesture with his fingers. "Tingly but not really? Not wet, anyway, it doesn't feel like liquid."

"It feels a bit cold," Major Carter says, thinking about it. "And some people perceive it as being – stretched. But normally people don't feel like anything, stepping through it."

"Though sometimes it throws us on our asses, just spits us out at speed, that's fun," O'Neill says, grinning, obviously pleased. "I'm kind of liking this turn of events," he says to Teal'c. "Us showing off to the Tok'ra for once. Nice."

The Jaffa arches a brow, and looks completely unaffected.

"We should brief you on what sort of threats we're facing out there," General Hammond says, clearing his throat. "And if you, in your study of the Pieces of Eden, come up with anything that might help us in our struggle, it would be very much appreciated."

"And hey, if you can come up with a plan to, I don't know… assassinate some of those threats in their sleep?" O'Neill trails off. "That would be pretty cool too."

"By all means," Altaïr says and Desmond nods. "Let's get this show on the road."

They sit down, and Daniel Jackson begins what looks like a usual presentation – starting with what Desmond already knows and what Altaïr has learned through him – that Ra is dead at the hands SGC personnel. "Since then, the Goa'uld patheon, shall we say, has become a bit broken up," Daniel says, while turning on a screen and putting up a picture on it – a Goa'uld decked in a lot of gold. "At first the major power holder was Apophis, he managed to claim most of Ra's territories and armies, and held the power over most of the system lords for a long while – until he died, permanently."

The fact that they have to clarify permanently is rather telling.

"Around that time some other Goa'uld fell as well – Heru-ur, Sokar, so on. Since then the power has been more or less scattered between a few key figures – strongest of whom currently is Anubis, who rather swooped out of nowhere in the last few years and claimed a lot of territory fast," Daniel says, showing another picture, of black robed Goa'uld facing away.

"Ominous," Desmond comments.

"Yeah," Daniel says, eying the black robed figure and grimacing. "Actually, would… Ezio happen to be around?" he asks, looking around. "He might be interested to know this."

Ezio, as far as Altaïr and Desmond had been able to figure it out, had gotten tired of being gawked at. Over four hundred years living in near complete isolation from humans had made the man skittish. Now that Desmond was no longer in danger and his mission of joining Altaïr and Desmond together was complete… he'd slipped away.

God, Desmond wishes it's not going to be permanent.

They wait for a moment, but Ezio doesn't show himself. Desmond droops a little and Daniel clears his throat and then, awkward, continues. "Well, anyway… Anubis is half-ascended – he wears a type of energy shield which contains his form, but we're pretty sure he doesn't actually have a physical body."

"He's like Ezio?" Desmond asks, alarmed.

"Worse," O'Neill says with a mirthless smile. "Much, much worse. Uglier too."

"Yes," Daniel agrees grimly. "While he seems weaker than a full Ascended, Anubis also doesn't seem to be under as many rules as your regular Ascended are – at least the other Ascended aren't trying to restrain him in any way. How he Ascended we don't know, but we do know he gained some knowledge of the Ancients and that's what has let him gain power so fast."

"We will tell Ezio if we see him again," Altaïr says, nodding seriously. If he doesn't already know… "He should be informed."

Daniel nods and turns back to the screen, changing the image. "Unfortunately, while Anubis is the biggest threat currently, he is not the only. There is also Ba'al, whom I think you already know, and –"

"Wait," Desmond and Altaïr speak together, sitting slightly straighter.

There's a image on the screen of a man in clean lined dark robes, with well trimmed beard, short hair – warm eyes in a face that is smiling at them with a Goa'uld's superiority. Even in a still image he looks tall and proud. Confident.

Altaïr squeezes their hands into fists and Desmond doesn't stop him, not even when their knuckles crack sharply and their nails bite into their palms.

"Yeah, we're not fans either," O'Neill says, grimacing. "You got a personal grudge, huh? Me too."

Altaïr swallows and can't quite form the words. Desmond has to speak for him. "I see he's got a new host," he says, slightly choked.

The other share looks. "That's how he's always been," Major Carter says slowly. "We've never known him in another host, um…"

"But it's been some time since you saw him – since Altaïr saw him," Daniel says quickly, arching his brows. "So it's entirely possible that he's gotten himself a younger host, yeah. As far as we know, he's been in this one for… hundreds of years."

"Yeah – try thousands," Desmond says and leans back, looking down.

"Okay," O'Neill says, sharing looks with General Hammond. "We're missing something."

Altaïr lifts a hand to rub over his eyes. "We were sent to assassinate him," he murmurs. "Al Mualim sent us to our deaths – Ba'al was warned ahead of time of our arrival. I did not think we did enough damage, but we did manage to put a knife in him – a poisoned knife. It must have been enough to kill his host. After which he would have… required another…"

"I am most sorry, Altaïr," Teal'c says quietly. "I did not know. I viewed your memories, but I did not see his face."

"Okay, what?" O'Neill demands, looking between them.

Desmond lowers their hand and nods to the picture of Ba'al. "Ba'al must have revived him," he says quietly. "That's Altaïr's first host. That's Umar."

They retreat to think in the relative security and privacy of their room, with Desmond pacing the room and Altaïr withdrawing deep within, thinking – regretting. There was no way they could have known, no way Altaïr could have known – and yet, he doubts himself. Had Al Mualim known? He'd known much he'd kept to himself, hiding truths from the Brotherhood as it suited his design. Had he known and kept Altaïr in the dark?

"This isn't your fault," Desmond says quietly, closing his eyes and running his hand over the back of his neck – digging his fingers into the muscles so that Altaïr feels the touch on his own body. It's the closest thing he can get to actually physically touching Altaïr. "It wasn't your fault."

No, it wasn't – that doesn't make it hurt any less, doesn't make him regret any less – doesn't make him any less furious. Thousands of years – thousands of years his partner had been enslaved under a Goa'uld's mind, while he, while he took his son's name and his body, and – and what, what did he do, what did he do with any of it?

"Altaïr," Desmond says, squeezing his neck. "You did great things – and it isn't your fault. Umar died, you were taken out of his body, you had no control over what happened – you're as much a victim as he is."

And yet, Altaïr lived freely in Umar's son, free to act, free to investigate –and yet he had not. Instead he'd revelled in the use of the Sarcophagus, let it corrupt his mind, let it make him forget and not care, let it turn him twisted and arrogant and barely a creature Umar would ever recognize, never mind one that could help him, one that would –

Desmond sits down, hanging his head and rubbing at his neck. His head hurts, his chest hurts. All of this hurts. "Come on – Christ. Listen to me. Okay, maybe you could've done something, but – what's done is done. Okay? We can't change that, can't go back – we gotta look forward. What we can do."

Altaïr wrenches the control from him and hisses through clenched teeth, feeling their eyes flash. "We can kill him."

Desmond says nothing for a moment, letting him ride out the emotion. Then he draws breath. "Probably," he says and looks towards the door, where a white figure is watching them. "First we're going to save Umar though. Right?"

Altaïr hesitates and then he too notices Ezio, watching them. "Did you know?" he demands.

"No," Ezio says, shaking his head. "What happened, happened well before my time. I learned when you did."

"But you knew something, that's why you weren't here," Altaïr says accusingly.

Ezio bows his head and then pushes away from the door. "I do not know everything. I cannot do everything. I had a premonition that today would change things for you, yes, but how… I did not know," he says and shakes his head. "My presence here is starting to affect matters – it changes how people treat you. I did not want to risk influencing the situation further."

Altaïr grimaces at him and lowers his eyes, staring at the floor furiously until Desmond takes control back and looks up at Ezio. "We're going to get Umar back," he says, through Altaïr's fury and his own grief. "Will you help us?"

Ezio sighs and kneels in front of him, taking their clenched hands in his. "I am your Prophet," he says and kisses their white knuckles. "Wherever you will go, I will pave the way."

Desmond clenches his fingers and nods, bowing his head. Ezio looks at him with mixed expression and then reaches forward, to place one wide palm over the back of Desmond's neck, over the spot where Altaïr is all but strangling Desmond's spine. "Peace, fratello mio," he says. "We will make this right."

Yes. They damn well would.