Assassin's Creed X Reader One-shots

Perhaps it'll be Different (Desmond x Reader)

Perhaps today will be different.

Desmond watched on from a comfortable distance, a bouquet of freshly picked gladiole clutched tightly between a pair of trembling hands. One corner of his lips twitched upwards to form the tiniest of smiles upon hearing the exuberant laughter flowing from your lips.

You appeared to be in good spirits today.

The soles of his shoes squeaked at a level loud enough to draw a few curious glances from the other residents as he strode warily across the linoleum floor, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat when nearing the recliner you currently inhabited. He crouched directly in front of your seat, a wince momentarily contorting his features due the ferocious pain clawing at the joints in his knees. You didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence until calloused fingers curled around your hand - only then did your (colour) eyes deter from the blank television screen and find a pair of hopeful brown eyes searching your face.

Over time, Desmond had learned that it was best to announce himself upon arrival. “Hey there, sweetheart.” The wrinkles around his eyes deepen when he smiles. “I picked these flowers for you this morning. They should look nice in the vase I bought last year for our anniversary.”

You look to him with the slightest of head tilts, managing to catch the falter of his smile. There’s an overwhelming sadness flooding his eyes, but you have no idea as to why. The flowers are set down on your lap, and you trace the petals with the tips of your fingers.

Desmond’s expression softens considerably whilst watching as you bring the flowers to your nose, inhaling deeply and smiling. You had failed to address him with recognition today, but he remained hopeful that the memory of who he was would eventually come back to you.

It does.

Your smile is redirected to him, which in turn drags an even broader smile to his face. “Hello, honey. Look at these flowers. Aren’t they lovely?”  You hum happily and turn to the other women seated around you. “Girls, I want you to meet my husband.”

Polite smiles and head bobs are offered in greeting. Desmond has met them all numerous times before, but neither party are willing to bring attention to such a fact. He takes notice of the fact that you don’t use his name, and he silently questions whether or not you can recall it – not that it matters right now. Today you are aware that he is your husband, and that is more than enough for him.

“I want to take you somewhere today,” he says softly, taking possession of your hands and urging you onto your feet. “How do you feel about a road trip?”

“A road trip?” You repeat, weakly squeezing his hands. “Where will we go?”

“Somewhere special.”

The pair of you make a quick pit stop at your room so you can fetch the white hoody from the closet. Desmond smiles as he helps you into it, ensuring that the zipper is pulled all the way to the top. It was far too big considering it once belonged to him. He had given it to you as a keepsake during your first date – but only after enduring an hour of you tugging at the sleeve and complaining about how cold it had gotten. He cherished the memory, and once upon a time, you did too.

The answering machine on the bedside table blinks, indicating that there are seven new messages waiting to be heard. Desmond begins the daily ritual of playing them, and as usual, an aura of melancholy surrounds him when hearing the voices of their three children, and four grandchildren, waft from the speakers of the aging machine. He steals a glance in your direction, gauging your reaction. As expected, your face remains impassive. You had no idea to whom these voices belonged.

Pushing the nauseating feeling of helplessness aside, Desmond keeps a firm grip on your elbow as he guides you out to the car and gets you settled in the passenger seat. As he drives, he can’t help but occasionally snatch tiny peeks from the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth tugging down into a slight frown. You’re staring out the window with a look of innocent wonder, as though you had never stepped foot outside before. Desmond wonders if you ever missed the independence you had just a few short years ago.