.

Scrambled Times

.

In which time-travel shouldn't be involved and the Assassins are far from amused

1776, New York, Ezio Auditore da Firenze

Ezio decided that this… was not good.

He fought the urge to shift uncomfortably in his (?) clothes. Just what the hell was he wearing? And why was he wearing something? He was supposed to fall asleep in his bed in Monteriggioni by Caterina's side.

What did he miss?

The buildings around him were… different from the ones in Monteriggioni. Very, very different. Like, this-isn't-my-world kind of different. Ezio searched for an alley and hid to check his clothes (and himself, but no one needed to know that.).

Wrists. Two Hidden Blades, Assassin insignia on the left one. They weren't his, not at all – his blades had steel bracers, not leather ones. The pistol underneath the left Blade was noticeably missing.

A sword he didn't remember ever buying.

A hatchet (?) shaped like the Assassin symbol. Who the hell carried a weapon like this?

A bow and a quiver full of arrows. This situation was just getting stranger and stranger. Since when did he possess a bow?

Two twin… something, similar to his Hidden pistol but bigger and probably less efficient. Or maybe not.

Looking at himself, Ezio noticed he wore assassin-white robes – well, at least he was dressed like an Assassin. He'd rather walk around naked than wearing Templar clothes – and that was a good thing in his mind. Assassins meant ally, friend, comrade.

But then what was he doing here?

"Rebecca, there's something seriously wrong with this memory."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"And? What is it?"

"…The synch rate should have increased after the upgrade. I was sure of it, and yet… it's going down. Fast."

"Fantastic. Can I leave, just in case the Animus explodes?"

"No, Desmond. There's no time to waste. Remain in the memory."

His Eagle Sight was different, Ezio soon noticed. The glows were… dimmed, in a way. It was upsetting - these weren't his clothes, but surely the body was his, right? There was no way someone (or something, as he was starting to believe) could swap bodies.

He reached out with his hands to feel his face, and he immediately knew there was something terribly amiss. His beard was gone, as was his scar. His hair felt less smooth the more he passed his hands through them, and his right cheekbone had a scar that wasn't there.

What happened to him?

He itched to see what he was like now. Not knowing how you got somewhere was jarring enough, but having a whole new body?

He ran everywhere to see how he was like, but Fate had other plans for him when nothing could reflect clearly his image. Even glass was filthy, and he was tempted to pull down his hood and ask a passerby what was he like.

Then again, the previous inhabitant of this body wouldn't want someone to recognize him or describe him to guards or Templars. So Ezio wandered in silence until he reached the docks.

His (?) feet carried him there, like they knew where he was supposed to be. Uhm.

"Connor, you're late."

Ezio turned around at the voice (enemy, he's the enemy – but he's father, a father I have never needed – we have called a truce) and, checking with his Eagle Sight the vaguely familiar man turned up red.

He almost unsheathed his (not really?) Hidden Blades at the sight, but he suddenly noticed it was a cautious red, not the kill him now red. It felt more like don't trust him too much red. Such a strange shade was almost lost on Ezio, and he faltered in his attack mode.

The man noticed, and raised an eyebrow. "Jumpy, aren't you?"

Ezio silently glared at him. What language was that?

"Well," he continued airily, "I'm glad you came here in one piece." He smirked, that subtle twitch in his lips so condescending that the Italian Assassin bristled immediately.

"Chi ti credi di essere, sbruffone?" (Who do you think you are, braggart?) He growled in Italian. How dared that man think he was better than him? He didn't know him at all!

"Da quando parli italiano?" (Since when do you speak Italian?) the red-glowing man questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"Shit! Desmond, what the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm not doing anything! It's Connor that spoke Italian!"

"Connor isn't supposed to know Italian, just in case you haven't noticed."

"Shaun, I know! Get me out of here!"

"I'll send you in an earlier memory, Des. And don't speak Italian again, the synch rate goes to hell every time you open that mouth!"

1503, Monteriggioni, Altair Ibn-La'ahad

Altair didn't know what happened.

People were running, screaming and panicking all around him. He was pretty sure he was alone in the hay before he opened his eyes. And yet…

He immediately noticed these weren't his clothes – too light, without hood, splattered with blood – but there wasn't much time to think. His instinct told him to bring all these people to safety, and since his Eagle Sight agreed he led them through the tunnels.

He came across a wide, decorated white room – there were seven statues, all of people he didn't know-

Wait.

Was that… himself?

"Rebecca! What the hell?!"

"Ezio's file loaded itself! It's impossible!"

"You said earlier memory, but this is way too early!"

"The Temple is sending scrambled data. I don't know what's happening!"

"Ezio, dobbiamo andare!"

Altair turned around at the shout and two women – Claudia and Maria, family, my sister and mother – were waving at him to hurry up. He hurried, fending off the guards who managed to enter without any mercy. His shoulder felt like it was on fire, and Altair still had no idea what had done that wound.

Then again, he didn't think closing his eyes while hiding in the hay would bring him there.

Somehow actually bringing all the civilians outside, he knew they needed to hide, run and hunt the culprits at a later time. He ordered for a horse to be brought to him, and frowned when none of the people seemed to understand him.

Instead, they were staring at Altair with baffled and confused expressions.

"Desmond, would you kindly stop fucking up memories?"

"It's not my fault!"

"Then why did Ezio just speak in Arabic?"

"Uh… sorcery?"

"Then I guess that returning to Altair's memories will be for naught, since you'll speak Mohawk."

"I'm not that bad, and I don't have a fucking idea about why this is happening."

"…Forget Altair, let's just return to Connor."

1190, Jerusalem, Connor Kenway

Connor… wasn't sure he knew what happened.

He shifted uncomfortably in… someone's clothes. He understood they were of an assassin –white hood, check. Sword, check. Hidden Blade, check- wait WHERE IS MY FINGER-

He coughed. As if waking up without a finger wasn't enough, he had no recollection whatsoever of what happened to him to lack a finger, his own clothes, his face – oh, he noticed the scar on his lips, aye, aye – and his normally flawless sense of orientation.

Or how he ended up in a hay cart… somewhere hot. Like, seriously hot. It was early spring when he was riding to New York to meet his father – yes, the same father that almost killed him three times. Yup, that one – and now it felt like it was worse than full summer.

He left the shade of the hay, and the second he stepped up to a wall a voice called him. "Assassin!"

And Connor bolted as if hell hounds were at his heels, frowning when he didn't see trees anywhere.

"…Desmond, do you actually think Connor ever went to Jerusalem?"

"…No? Rebecca, why am I- is Connor here?"

"Uh… This time it's one of Altair's memories. Baby's goin' bonkers today."

"What if you just pull me out and fix it before my brain turns into goo?"

"What brain?"

"…Thanks, Shaun. Your comment was really needed to lift our morale."

"I do my utmost best – which you seem not to do, if this random desynching is anything."

"Go fuck yourself."

Connor soon discovered that maybe he wasn't supposed to be there, like, at all.

After a mad chase around half the city – of which he still doesn't know the name – killing a couple of his pursuers- eerr, maybe a little more than a couple, dismaying over the lack of thick bushes and trees and trying to understand what the hell happened, the Native found a vaguely familiar roof.

Which wasn't familiar at all, but a part of him whispers safe place, allies, the Bureau. Whatever a Bureau was.

He entered through the grate, and heard immediately the clear thump of a fallen book meeting a surface. "What do you want, novice?" a voice asks, and although its tone is hostile Connor can't help but think Malik, I've hurt him and now I lost the only friend I truly had.

Then Connor realized that wasn't his thought, and curses. In Mohawk.

"…"

"Desmond, that was low."

"…"

"You actually spoke Mohawk. In Jerusalem. In Medieval Jerusalem. To Malik."

"…I really don't know why."

"I'm sure you don't."

"Your synch rate is next to ten. Ten out of a hundred."

"…Can you just pull me out?"

"I need to find what the problem is first, Des – you'll have to stay here a little longer."

"What a strange language you've learnt." As he said this, Malik raised an eyebrow. Of course, Altair learning a new language in a week was nothing short of ridiculous and the Dai meant it as a jab.

Then Altair started in English – a strangely accented, downright odd version of it, which didn't help at all when it translated to, "Who are you?"

Malik stared. "How hard have you hit your head?" he seethed, but not really. The lost look in Altair's eyes somehow unnerved him into thinking that something was seriously wrong with the demoted Assassin.

The Dai was tempted to mark it as an historical moment when Altair pulled down his hood and touched the back of his head with an even more lost expression, mumbling, "…Did I?"

Malik almost started fidgeting. But not quite. "Altair, if this is a joke this is your last chance to say it is before I'm using you as target practice."

Altair almost looked hurt as he looked into his eyes. But what truly hurt was the answer he gave. "It's not. I don't… remember… ever being this 'Altair'. I'm not."

"Shaun, did Altair ever have amnesia?"

"You relieved his life, you should know."

"I got in for, like, a few months."

"Which seems in the same time period you're in."

"I'm asking for someone to enlighten me, not point out the obvious."

"…The lamp I have here would give about the same answers I'd give."

"Comforting, really."

"You're not what?"

"I'm not… Altair."

Malik frowned, trying hard to find the lie – because there was no way his so-called brother would say something so preposterous without the hint of a lie – and a mildly dismayed expression settled on his face when he found out he was telling the 'truth'. Or what he believed to be the truth.

Gathering his wits together, Malik spoke. "We've known each other for years, since we were novices. I can confirm – you are Altair. Do you remember anything at all?"

He scratched the back of his head before answering. "My name is Connor, and I've joined the Assassins after the Templars attacked my village."

"Pull me out! Pull me out!"

"Desmond, your vitals are going haywire! Calm down and try resynching!"

"What the fuck is going on?! Why is Altair speaking like Connor?!"

"Abort immediately! Desmond, we're pulling you out!"

"No! We need to know what is happening!"

"Bill! Your son will return comatose if we don't pull him out!"

Connor suddenly blacked out, collapsing on the floor in front of a very concerned Malik.

. . .

ANIMUS 2.5.5

DESYNCHRONIZED

SYNCH RATE: 0%

REBOOTING…

GENETIC MEMORY ACCESS: OFFLINE

REBOOTING…

GENETIC MEMORY ACCESS: ONLINE

SUBJECT: 17

ANCESTOR: CONNOR KENWAY

PLACE: NEW YORK

SYNCHRONIZED

SYNCH RATE: 25%

1776, New York, Ezio Auditore da Firenze

"Parlo italiano da quando sono nato, templare." (I speak Italian since I was born, Templar.) Ezio growled at the man. His father wasn't a Templar – hell, wasn't even alive anymore – and didn't have that strange accent.

The older man – Haytham, father and Templar and sworn enemy – threw his hands up in desperation, not willing to put up with his son's tantrum. "Bene allora, cominciamo subito. Seguimi." (Alright then, let's begin immediately. Follow me.)

Ezio hesitated. Why should he follow the Templar? He'd be led straight into a trap, and the previous owner of the body wouldn't be happy in the least – as Ezio would be in his position. But there was something that thought we called a truce, we have to trust each other to kill our target.

That same something wasn't budging from its place in his mind, and the Italian followed after Haytham. He'd just have to stick close in case he decided to pull something, and Ezio would need a human shield or be ready for hand-to-hand combat.

Or, glancing at the Hidden Blades on the Templar, blade-to-blade combat.

"Staring now, are we?"

"Zitto."

"Truly Connor, you surprise me – since when you learnt Italian?"

"Non parlo quell'altro fottuto linguaggio." (I don't speak that other fucking language.)

"L'hai fatto per tutta la tua vita. Veramente, figlio, ti sei dimenticato come parlare inglese?" (You did for all your life. Really, son, did you forget how to speak English?)

SYNCH RATE: 15%

"Desmond, I need to calibrate the Animus if you don't stop speaking Italian."

"It's Connor doing it!"

"Well, you're really not- wait. Rebecca, what is this?"

"Uh… Crap. Des, instead of synching only with Connor, you're doing it with Ezio, too."

"What do you mean?!"

"Read and understand."

ANCESTOR: CONNOR KENWAY, EZIO AUDITORE

FILE OVERLOAD.

REBOOTING…

IMPOSSIBLE REBOOTING. SUBJECT CONNECTED.

FILE OVERLOAD.

SYNCH RATE: 10%

"Then pull me out and fix it!"

1503, somewhere in Italy, Altair Ibn-La'ahad

Somehow speaking and understanding a language he had never heard, Altair got a horse and rode to… somewhere.

His mind kept whispering where to go in his ear – west, south, Rome – and the Assassin found it worrying. Not only it didn't sound or feel like his head – and how jarring it was admitting it – but his thoughts were different. His knowledge came slower, like there was something else in its place.

He treated his shoulder as best as he could, but the wound – you got shot, shot by a rifle – continued bleeding and bothering him.

It had been such a long time since he'd been injured.

Then darkness started to pull at the edge of his vision, blurring everything. But Altair kept going, remaining conscious through sheer force of will.

Altair has never been used to this sort of pain, and he didn't offer other resistance when unconsciousness claimed him.

SYNCH RATE: 17%

"It's rising once again. Good job."

"It doesn't take much to faint."

"Well, I'd love to see you in my place."

"Son, we need to return to Connor. Now."

1776, New York, Ezio Auditore da Firenze

Ezio wrinkled his nose at the clothes he was forced to wear.

It didn't surprise him that their previous owner had been drinking on the dock when the Assassin killed him and stole them. It pained him to relinquish momentarily his (?) Assassin robes, but when he looked around the harbor with the Eagle Sight he was relieved to see a blue figure.

"Connor!" the man saluted airily. "Those clothes look ridiculous on you," well, thanks, "but they'll help you blending in. Do you want me to bring yours on the Aquila?" Saying this, he pointed a ship moored nearby.

Ezio was even more relieved when he heard a similar-French accent. "Bring my robes on the ship," he answered in French, "and… be ready to take off." The Italian didn't know why he said the last part, but it felt just right. The man's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I didn't know you could speak French this well."

"Well, I'm a man of many virtues," was his cryptic answer. He almost winked at him, but his body screamed at him no, it's just wrong. Ezio started walking away when he said, as an afterthought, "And by the way, Aquila's pronunciation is different."

The man was left scratching his head, wondering when Connor ever pointed out the correct Italian pronunciation of 'Aquila'.

SYNCH RATE: 14%

"Desmond, Connor was supposed to go directly to the Aquila and bring his robes himself."

"…How do you know about it?"

"Because the synch rate dropped every second you spoke with Stephane. In French. Connor didn't know French that well at this point of time."

"…Again, how do you know about it?"

"Just hurry up speaking English."

"You finally arrived, son."

Ezio's eyebrow twitched. What gave this Templar the right to look at him like that? "Mi sento ridicolo." (I feel ridiculous.)

The man quickly looked at his attire. "Perché? Ti stanno bene. Forza, andiamo." (Why? They fit you. Come on, let's go.) Haytham left the alley without looking back, and Ezio reluctantly followed.

"English…"

"Shaun, I don't know what's happening! Stop ordering me around, for fuck's sake!"

Words of an unknown language slowly flooded into his mind, and Ezio barely restrained himself from ripping a limb – from anyone, really, he wasn't feeling picky – when the Templar claimed he was his father.

His father was an Assassin, always was until his death.

Then again, the voice in his head seemed to agree with the man – Haytham, father and Templar – and Ezio wasn't really sure what to think. Yes, the world around him was different. Yes, his clothes were different. Yes, his body was different. So, in turn, everyone could claim a different relationship to him.

Oh well.

Ezio quietly followed his so-claimed father and they took several turns in the empty brewery – for ale and alcohol and liquors I don't drink – when the Templar sharply turned around to face him with a glare.

"Connor, what is wrong with you?"

"Sto benissimo, Templare." (I'm great, Templar.)

"Speak. English." Haytham's glare became fiercer, but Ezio didn't back down an inch. "You're not the same of a month ago at Valley Forge. I want to know what happened."

The misplaced Italian bared his teeth threateningly. To hell with maintaining the cover! If this Assassin was working with the Templars – or maybe he was a Templar in disguise! – Ezio would help the Brotherhood by breaking every link with Haytham.

"Vorrei vedere te al mio posto, stronzo! Non so nemmeno perchè stiamo collaborando quando è evidente che siamo diversi – io un Assassino, tu un Templare!" (I want to see you in my place, asshole! I don't even know why we're working together when it's obvious we are different – I an Assassin, you a Templar.)

"And since when this was a problem for you?" he countered, "You were alright with it-"

"Non io!" Ezio interrupted him mid-sentence, body ready to either stab or flee. "Questo corpo non appartiene a me, e stai certo che finché io ne avrò controllo nessun Templare sopravvivrà sotto i miei occhi!" (Not me! This body doesn't belong to me, and be sure that, as long as I have control on it, no Templar will survive under my watch!)

Saying this, Ezio lunged at the Templar.

SYNCH RATE: 8%

"Fuck! Desmond, we're aborting now!"

"But-"

"Bill, his vitals are haywire again!"

SYNCH RATE: 6%

"If we don't pull him out now, he'll die!"

SYNCH RATE: 4%

"Baby, don't do this now!"

"What's wrong, Rebecca?"

ABORTING PROCEDURE…

ABORT FAILED.

"Bloody hell…"

ABORTNG PROCEDURE…

ABORT FAILED.

SYNCH RATE: 2%

"The Animus is rejecting my instructions!"

"Shaun, grab the aid kit now!"

SYNCH RATE: 0%

DESYNCHRONIZED

. . .

Animus Core, Altair Ibn La'Ahad, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Connor Kenway, Desmond Miles

The four misplaced Assassins looked around the island.

"…Shit, not here again…"

"Sorcery again?!"

"Never waking up in the same place…"

"What…?"

They looked at each other. Desmond, although utterly bewildered with his world turned upside down, spoke up again before any of his ancestors did.

"Soooo… What now?"

He got three raised eyebrows.

"I mean… meeting you is good and all… but why are you here?"

"Exactly what we're asking ourselves, amico."

Altair turned to fully face Ezio. "You're speaking the same language of that other city," he stated.

"City?" that got the Italian's full attention. "Monteriggioni? What happened to Monteriggioni?!"

"It was attacked. I had led the people out to safety." He rubbed his once-injured shoulder unconsciously, but his expression remained impassive.

"…Attacked? Attacked?!" Ezio wasn't sure if he should be enraged at the attackers, relieved for his people, baffled at the strange body-swap magic between him and Altair or melting at the greatest Assassin in history in a puddle of admiration and gratitude.

He chose the latter. "I… You'll forever have my gratitude, Master Altair, for all that's worth."

Connor's eyes widened at the name. "You are Altair?"

Squirming uncomfortably on the inside, the Syrian Assassin nodded. "Yes. What of it?"

"There was this man with one arm that told me I was you-"

"Malik?" Altair's face became a shade paler at Connor's nod. "What did you do?"

The Native shrugged. "I told him I wasn't you, but then I kind of…" he seemed to blush, but nobody could really tell with that hood. "…fainted. I don't know why."

"Well, you're all in a better situation than me." Ezio didn't seem to mind being at the center of their attention. "There was this Templar claiming to be my father-"

Connor swore, face-palming. "You were… in my body."

"I think so. But since he was a Templar I attacked him-"

He wanted the ground to shallow him whole by this point. And Connor wasn't just interrupting anyone, but Ezio Auditore da Firenze. "I… apologize for the interruption, but we were kind of searching for the same target… and father will never believe it wasn't me…"

"Well, he is sort of a dick," Desmond commented, "But I think he'll believe it. Ezio was speaking Italian to him."

The Italian mentor looked sharply at the future Assassin. "How do you know it?"

He shrugged. "Future machinery to see your memories. Kind of a fucked-up invention, really."

"Wait. But if we're speaking different languages, why can we understand each other?" Altair's change of topic was jarring and unexpected, but Desmond preferred it better than explaining the Animus. The ex-bartender pointed a huge stone near them.

LANGUAGE

TRANSLATOR

3.1.0

"Uh… It could have been useful to have before in… what was it… New York."

"Tell me about it…" Altair agreed whole-heartedly with him.

Desmond snorted. "Yeah… the other Assassins blamed me for that."

The island rumbled ominously.

"Uh…" the ex-bartender looked around frantically, not really eager to disappear in a shower of pixels like Clay. "There!" He shouted, pointing a shimmering portal behind the Assassins. "Run for your lives!"

The three Assassins looked warily around them, and when they noticed the island was disappearing right before their eyes they followed Desmond's lead and jumped straight into the portal.

1190, Jerusalem, Altair Ibn La'Ahad

Altair bolted upright the instant he woke up, nearly head-butting with someone.

"Altair!" a very familiar voice exclaimed, sounding almost frantic (but not quite), "Are you so out of it that you understand 'hit me' instead of 'wake up'?"

"…Malik."

His Brother's shoulders nearly sagged in relief. His glare expressed a completely different emotion, though. "Was that joke worth it, mmh?" he hissed, "I warned you I'd use you as target practice, so you really have it coming!"

Altair moved away to find cover – behind the door, the counter, anywhere really – but quickly aborted the life-saving maneuver when his vision was filled with black spots and nausea crept up his throat, making him stumble on the counter.

Malik had already two throwing knives in his hand, but hesitated in hurling them. At this distance, he might as well use them as tiny daggers – but that wasn't exactly his foremost thought. "…You're injured."

When Altair's sight stopped swaying and darkening, he reached with his left hand to feel his head. Warm blood stained his glove, and he slowly lowered himself on the nearest carpet. Damn head injuries. When did he get it?

His once-friend sighed, putting back his knives in his belt. "It would be a pity if you died before you become good target practice," he mumbled, getting a couple of medical supplies from behind the counter.

1503, somewhere in Rome, Ezio Auditore da Firenze

When he woke up, Ezio didn't find anyone to talk to about that strange… possession-swapping-body-thing.

Life was about as good as it could get in his situation – which didn't allow many breaks, or anything really – but when he saw Maria and Claudia at the brothel the Assassin was immediately reminded of the attack he missed in Monteriggioni.

Especially when they looked at him oddly.

"Do I have something on my face?"

His sister observed him for another second. "…No. Are you alright with us being here? You were kind of… strange… when you told us to go to Firenze."

He did? Argh, he should have asked Altair about it… "Me? Yes, I'm… alright…" Ezio was tempted scratch his cheek, but he refrained. "I'm just… surprised."

"Oh, Ezio," Maria said from the sidelines, "just let your sister help you. She's more than capable of it."

Claudia looked at him challengingly, her posture suggesting she'd rather die than back down. She was truly as stubborn as himself, and he wasn't sure it was a good thing.

"Sure. Why not?" Although yes, if Altair sent them to Firenze – did he know what Firenze was? – there might be a reason, but she might as well be helpful. If anything threatening came up Ezio would just assign a couple of recruits to keep an eye on her – maybe ones that won't be swayed by the courtesans…

He almost missed Claudia's surprised expression.

1776, New York, Connor Kenway

Connor woke with a blade at his throat.

"Are you done with your tantrum?" Haytham demanded in a hiss, his mouth very close to the Native's ear. His breath wasn't that bad.

"It wasn't me, father."

He could hear him sneering. "Of course it wasn't you – because you were possessed, right?" his tone was sarcastic and condescending, but Connor found his correct observation almost laughable.

"Ezio Auditore himself, yes. I was out of my body for a little while," he deadpanned, and somehow he still sounded utterly honest. Even Haytham seemed mildly baffled.

Before the Templar could open his mouth again, Connor continued. "Did you really think I've forgotten English and learnt Italian in a month?" He performed highly functional movements to free himself (aka squirmed) and Haytham relented somewhat, letting his son get up.

"Pretend this never happened," he stated, "and let's kill Church. He'll flee if we don't hurry."

His father frowned, and his calculating eyes screamed "This is so not over, boy," when he walked up to the locked door in front of them.

.

Sadly, it is indeed over. Please let me know what you think about this ;)