A/N: This is the second part to Codex. It's a lot shorter, and while I was initially intending to make something out of this, I'm unable to continue. My mind has kind of shut down the whole plot I had for this, so, here it is. Unfinished but, somehow, it kind of works.

Codex: Inverse Reflection over the Y-axis

Desmond Miles had never considered himself a coward, especially not after living through his ancestors' memories, but not even Des could handle the sight that was currently inhabiting his mind. He had to be crazy, because there was no way that the two assassins that were curled into one another were actually on his floor. He was never touching the apple again. Scratch that, he was going to destroy every piece of eden, ever. Because they were evil insanity-inducing spawns of satan.

When he realized that it was Altair facing him and that said Syrian's eyes were open, he panicked. Obviously both were awake and prepared to move at the slightest indication. Altair was tensed like a bowstring and Ezio was doing that thing where his eyes were closed but he was more aware than ever. Altair's gold eyes burned as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Hello Desmond."

Ezio turned slowly in the other's arms, opening his eyes, and in that precise moment Desmond realized two things:

1. His ancestors looked nothing like how he thought they did. The animus did some strange things, he realized, because even when he was them, he was still Desmond and thus their faces became a twisted amalgam of their own and his, and as his mind simply could not handle the fact that he looked like someone else, it often morphed Altair and Ezio into Desmond-with-creepy-eyes and Desmond-with-long-hair. Altair's jaw was much more defined than his own, his skin far paler - almost european in its coloring- and his nose a slim severe line that gave his face an almost hawkish appearance. Ezio looked far more like a womanizer- with big brown eyes that carried his soul, high cheekbones, his mother's eyebrows and his father's nose.

2. Desmond was severely out of shape from all that time in the Animus, and he really ought to work on that, if he was ever supposed to do half the things the men before him had.

The next thing Desmond did was panic.

It was probably the fastest he had ever run. When he got to the closest room that seemed safe - i.e. Shawn Hasting's quarters, he started banging on the door and screaming.

"Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn-"

He was still going when the brit opened the door.

"Desmond, you idiot. What are you even doing awake right now? It's half three and I was attempting to get as far away from you as possible, which isn't going to happen if you keep knocking on my door like a deranged Neanderthal-"

"Shawn, I think I've gone crazy."

The historian sighed and propped his hip against the door jamb, this was going to take forever.

"You passed that point a long time ago, I'm afraid." Snark made time pass more quickly. Or so he tried to tell himself.

"No, this is worse than normal."

"I'm not sure that's even possible."

"Shaaaawn-" The idiot was whining now, "I touched the apple and now I think my ancestors are on the floor and they were all cuddly but like death and I don't know what is wrong with me, but you have to come with me. Please can you go look? Please?"

"The things I do for you. Will you go back to sleep if I check your bloody room for ancient assassins who. are. not. there?"

Desmond nodded and they were at his door in moments. He breathed a sigh of relief when the floor was empty.

"Oh, thank God they're gone."

Unfortunately, he did not bother to check further into the room than that.

"I'm hurt. Don't you love us Dessy?"

The thickly accented English had Desmond clinging to Shawn like a woman. And 'eep'ing. He actually 'eep'ed. Shawn was way too tired to be bothered with hiding his amusement, so he laughed. Flat out cackled.

"Caro, are you sure they're sane?" The Italian turned to the man beside him, both hooded men looked quite like the birds of death they were supposed to embody as they stood in one of the darkened corners, blending but not invisible.

"Indeed. I suppose we must have startled them. Not that I can't imagine why, Ezzy."

"Fine. Be that way, Alty." The older chuckled lowly, getting some sick amusement out of the pet names.

Desmond was now obviously confused, likely thinking that there was no way that Altair was actually laughing at Ezio, who was physically pouting. Something was seriously wrong with him. Granted, there was, just not what he had thought.

"Well, this was unexpected."

"You must be Shawn." One beaked hood turned to face the Brit, amusement fleeing from Altair's features like mice from light.

"I'm not going to question how you know that, but I will assure you that I know very well who you are. No need for introductions." Although he very much doubted he'd get one from either man.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?"

"Well Desmond, it seems that you've managed to summon your ancestors, by being a general idiot. If that's all, I'm going back to sleep."

"Shawn don't leave me here."

"Just think of it as a family reunion. It's been a while for you, hasn't it?"

"Damn it, Shawn."

"You really do like saying my name don't you?" Sick, sick amusement was now emanating from Shawn's every pore and he loved it.

"Sorry to break up this lover's spat, but, we have a few questions, if you don't mind, mi amici."

"W-what? We, we aren't-"

"Regardless, why did you call us?" Altair doesn't play games, does he? He could respect that.

"I didn't mean to."

"Looks like we're early then, caro."

"Wait- what's with the endearments?"

"Like you don't know." It really wasn't that hard to figure out, from the way they interacted with one another - far more alive than they'd ever seemed from the glimpses the Animus had shown (and for Ezio, that was saying something). There was also their close proximity, the fact that they appeared incredibly comfortable with one another, and that look. It wasn't the type of thing anyone would write about, just a subtle respect and affection that told only of friendship, unless one was aware that the ones sharing that look were both time-hardened assassins. Then, it was the thing of cinematic endeavors and flowery poetry. WHICH SHAWN WOULD NOT WRITE- at least until he was safely behind his desk with several ounces of coffee in his system and a few more hours of sleep.

"What?"

"Desmond, your ancestors are together, and in case you didn't catch my meaning, I'm implying that they have sex, probably often, and are likely mutually attached to one another."

"I didn't need to know that Shawn." Desmond huffed, then the reality caught up to him, and he froze- barely even breathing.

"You asked."

"I think you broke him." Ezio waved a hand in front of his face, trying to distract him.

"Probably. G'd evening, gentlemen. I'll be taking him with me."

Altair grinned, and Ezio was never prouder to call the man his lover than in that moment. "Don't go too hard on him. He might be necessary."

"I always knew we would get along."

"It's hardly surprising."

Desmond found himself in Shawn's bed three minutes later. He didn't know why, but as long as he didn't have to think about why Ezio kept calling Altair "caro" he would be fine. He hoped.

Of course, things would not go quite as smoothly once it hit about 8 am and the other two assassins woke. For Desmond, the whole thing was a blur of 'oh dear god why is this still happening?'

For everyone else, the conversation went along the lines of:

"Uh, Shawn, why are Desmond's ancestors standing in the kitchen?"

"They're attempting to figure out the toaster. They just got the hang of the microwave and the oven. The refrigerator still boggles their minds. Not that it's all that surprising though. All things considered."

"And how did they get here?"

"Apple I suppose. Ask Desmond. He's the idiot responsible."

Any further conversation was stopped by the sound of Ezio squawking and cursing at said toaster in Italian, until he stopped, sauntered into the animus room with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth, grinning. A rather disgruntled looking Altair followed- of course, his frown was interrupted as the Italian attempted to shove a piece of toast down his throat.

"Ezio, I don't want the damn toast."

"But it's so... toasty..."

"I am ashamed to admit that you descend from my lineage."

"And that's just the long-winded way of saying that you love me."

It was then unanimously decided that they ought to take advantage of the fact that two master assassins were currently under their roof, and thus Desmond found himself being thrown into a training room with his current nightmare.

Which, expectedly, got worse once he realized that he would be training under Altair- who would have made a damn good drill sergeant. He'd run through every single attack and counter-attack that he could think of while the older two watched, then held back tears as the Syrian ripped into his poor stance and terrible handling as Ezio started to move his body into proper position.

"Just do what he says. The man might be a bastard, but he knows what he's doing."

"Thanks, I think"

At least the Italian wasn't going to make his life a living hell.

Or so Desmond thought until the two started to set up a parkour heaven inside the large training room of their new hideout. Soon he was running through a pre-determined route with the two master assassins on his heels. His objective was to keep as much space between himself and their blades as possible. They didn't actually cut him, but his sweatshirt was full of so many holes by the time they were satisfied with his performance that he was making jokes about it's properties as a holy relic.

Ezio, predictably, found this hilarious. Altair just shook his head and muttered something about 'idiot descendants' under his breath.

"Don't mind him, Dessy, he's just incapable of laughter."

"I don't think he ever learned how to emote."

"I believe you have a point, amico, the idiota is too cold to know how to live properly."

"Did he not have enough friends or something?"

"I think his only friend was a bit like your Shawn, so it's no surprise he's like this."

"Yeah, and they don't name a guy Son of None for nothing."

"Indeed. It's pietoso."

"I think he's going to kill us."

"Most likely."

"Should we run?"

"No. He's fast enough to catch us easily."

"We're fucked."

Ezio laughed at that, composing himself enough to admit "Indeed we are, Des." He then promptly continued laughing.

Desmond was pretty sure that his life was insane. He comforted himself with the thought that while his life might be hell training under his ancestors, at least the Templars would soon be feeling his pain.