Chapter Text
You had never stepped foot in New York. Your training as an Assassin never required you to. You had, of course, seen maps of the large city. You memorized every street, every corner, every little shop, and of course, the location of the Assassin's Bureau. It had been a precaution at the time, should you ever find yourself among its cobblestone streets. And, here you were, caught within the flow of crowds and amongst the noise of large city life.
It wasn't Boston, not even close. Boston was a comfort, full of familiar people and even more familiar contacts. Here, everyone was a threat. Every person that passed by was an unknown factor. Every building could be the host of a gang or extorted by a gang, an enemy eager to sell you out.
You reached the Bureau in time. It wasn't as fast as you would have liked it but you arrived there in one piece and without incident. You scaled its walls, the windows and shutters making for a fine support. You stepped down through the hatch in the roof, the darkness a stark contrast to the wintry gray evening outside. There was the soft touch of yellow hued lantern light to fill some of the spaces but for the most part, the shadows of the Bureau lingered in every corner.
Passed the entryway there was a living space, lavishly decorated and warmed by the crackles of a fireplace. You saw them, gathered around together, two men and a woman, talking in soft voices and sipping on tankards full of something strong.
You looked about the space, taking in every useless detail, remembering things that might be more useful. There were no usable windows as was customary of a Bureau. There were three by the fire and one at the doorway, mugs clenched in his hands as if he were on his way to join the others.
"Sister," he greeted cautiously and everyone's eyes lifted to you in the doorway.
You gave a bow of your head, fighting back any nerves that might have been rattled. "Brothers and sisters. I've only just arrived from Boston this morning."
"Is there some task for you here in New York?" He continued his walk past but you noticed the stiffness in his movements, the caution that still lingered there.
You whipped out your best smile, relying on your skills from your younger years. You were a fantastic liar when the need arose. You waltzed into the room, stopping just in case you needed a quick exit. "I was simply passing through before moving on and hoped I could stay the night safely here."
You heard the soft drop of weight behind you, someone else having entered the Assassin's Bureau. You tried to keep yourself from looking and you hardly had time to glance over your shoulder before he spoke, that familiar voice that boiled a rage inside of you.
"Passing through or spying for your Templars?" Nathan shuffled behind you, slightly towards your left by the sounds of it.
Your eyes weaved through the four Assassins inside of the cozy den, fire flickering across their expressions. They were being cautious because they had been waiting for you, because Nathan had warned them about you. You spoke almost pleadingly, "I am not a traitor."
Nathan moved across the foyer, stepping into view as he passed you. "If I recall correctly, that was the Morrigan docked at port." His face was stern, unchanging for all of the years you had known him. "The Morrigan... Isn't that captained by the traitor Shay? The same traitor that chased me down in Boston."
"You tried to kill me!" Your body tightened, your anger leaning you towards him.
He turned his head away but his eyes remained on you. "I could not let you hand over all of our secrets."
"I gave them no information about us, as promised. I was working under the ruse of a thief which you knew about." You hoped the others would be swayed, that they would doubt who was truly a traitor. But you were an unknown factor and Nathan was highly praised by the Order, his work amongst various cities somewhat famous.
Nathan turned his whole body to you, hands lifting outwards. "You were supposed to bring us valuable information. You were ordered to bring me the precursor key and yet, you handed the necklace over to the Grand Master of the Templar Order."
Your fists clenched, nails biting into your palm. "That does not make me a traitor. Haytham helped me. He nursed me back to health. I was only repaying the favor."
"Repay the favor? He's a Templar." He suddenly gave a breathy laugh, his lips twitching to smile but he forced it away. "I think I understand now. You are in love with the Grand Master. Do you honestly believe that he won't kill you the moment you became impractical?" Nathan nudged his chin towards the other four, your eyes following the action. They were rising to their feet, their mugs placed onto the cocktail table, their drawn blades glinting from the undulating amber hues of the fireplace.
"That's it, then? My guilt so easily decided?" You glanced from them back to Nathan. "You're just going to kill me?"
He tilted his head, unphased by his next words, "Kill, no. It would be more useful to torture information from you. We need all we can get to use against the Templars."
You would have laughed at his ignorance had you not been so tense. "You will get nothing from me. I don't know anything. I am not a Templar."
Nathan gave a shrug of his shoulder. "At this point, I'm not sure it matters." His hidden blade clicked free, his other hand flicking out his dagger and lunging. You parried what attacks you could, deflecting until the moment there was an opening. But there were four others who joined in on the sparring and all you could do was parry, taking nicks here and there, defending yourself best that you could.
You were losing the battle, deciding to use the objects around the area in your defense. You kicked a chair into an Assassin, putting some distance between you and them, throwing a vase at another while flinging a throwing knife close behind.
Finally, the opportunity came when you could snag hold of an Assassin, using his body as a shield the exact moment when Nathan brought forward his dagger, sinking it into the abdomen of his ally. That brief moment of triumph gave you enough time to throw the dead weight into an Assassin, striking hard and fast at another, your hidden blade a viper sinking its fangs in and out.
You grabbed the lapels of their jacket, lunging their weight into Nathan. He deflected, throwing his dying ally to the ground, hardly missing a beat, his steps moving ever forward.
The other remaining Assassin rose slowly to their feet, unsheathing their longsword in a long swipe. She used the back of her hand to wipe a smear of blood, brows coming together in her spark of rage.
They both charged you, their blades coming forward within moments of each other. You used what moments you could to take the brunt of one attack with your shortsword while dodging the other. You spun free, attacking the closest body that you could, burying your shortsword deep into the flesh and bone between her shoulder blades.
She dropped her weapon before crumpling to her knees.
Nathan didn't hesitate, taking the opening with as much force as he could. He slammed you hard into the wall near the fireplace, your skull hitting rough stone, vision darkening briefly. You watched him pull back his fist and put every ounce of force behind his punch. You tried to block them but he held advantage so long as your skull was swimming in darkness.
You grimaced, tasting blood sharp upon your tongue, your face swelling with fiery pain. You grabbed the wrought iron poker, swinging it into bone until it crunched. His weight fell away and you slowly shuffled to your feet, stumbling across the room until the stars finally faded from sight.
It was a dance between the two of you, moving about the expanse of the den, eyes locked on each other, judging each other's skills. He was bloody, his blood and others. His chest heaved with each breath, his steps were precise and planned as he rounded the room with you.
You spat the blood that collected in your mouth. You face agonized with each word you spoke, "You shouldn't have killed Sophie. She was innocent. She was just a child."
His chin dipped away but his eyes remained strongly on you. "That baker again. You have no idea what she was doing. She wasn't innocent. She cost people their lives for selfish reasons. She costs fellow Assassins their lives. She was death-dealer."
"If she had known that, she wouldn't have done it."
Nathan was impatient now. He rushed forward, stepping onto the couch, propelling off of it into a high profile leap, blade extending. You expected it, snatching hold of his wrist just as it came towards your throat. He was expecting your response, flicking free his dagger and jutting it forward as the two of you fell into the floor. You managed to somewhat dodge the attack, metal slicing across your ribs and breast. But you couldn't dodge his second assault, his dagger sinking deep into the muscle beneath your collarbone.
Your scream ripped out of your throat, neck arching beneath the wave of searing pain.
His face was inches from yours, lips pulled back to bare his red stained teeth. "After I've killed you, I will hang your carcass before the Grand Master himself." His callous hand clutched the back of your throat, bring you closer to his face. "And then I will kill him in his hours of grief."
Your stomach lurched, the very idea of Haytham being gripped in the thralls of mourning, the sorrow that might distort his expression. A need for survival, a greater need than you felt earlier, suddenly bloomed into life. You growled, hand flexing and hidden blade thrusting out of its sheath into his heart.
His breathing hitched, mouth gaping to speak choked words. His hand slipped away from the dagger leaving it pitched in your body. His head fell forward, forehead in the cold floorboards. "You..." He fell weakly on top of you and you were far too exhausted to push him off. "You are still... a traitor." He must have tugged a throwing knife free of his belt because he was sinking it deep and firm into your thigh, his last desperate attempt to break you.
You clenched your teeth, blood thickly sliding down your throat, a sour and rancid taste.
His hot blood poured out onto your garments, pumping wildly as he died on top of you. His body stilled, breath gone and agonized grunting silenced. You pushed his massive form with your good arm, sliding out from underneath him one exhausted shove after the next. Your elbows crawled you out the rest of the way until you could press your back against the closest object.
You heaved down raspy breaths, your own blood drowning you. You spat out another pool that gathered on your tongue. Your body quaked, fingers trembling as you reached a hesitant hand towards the throwing knife in your thigh. Your eyes bobbed around the room for anything to help.
You settled on Nathan, fidgeting with the buckle of his belt. You undid it from his waist, tugging it free before strapping it down on your thigh. You tightened it, groaning through clenched teeth at the burst of intense fire that lapped across your muscle and skin. You set the buckle, the leather holding firmly to slow down your blood loss.
You gasped for air, eyes rolling down towards the dagger in your chest. Your vision darkened, head falling forward wearily. You weren't going to survive this. You were certain of it. Blood was seeping out of you, gathering on the floor around you. No one was coming, at least not until tomorrow.
You wondered when Haytham would grow worried enough to stage his rescue. You grinned weakly, imagining the way he would have waltzed into the Bureau, a snarky comment on those thin lips of his. Then you realized how heartbroken he would be to find you dead, your thoughts wandering back to the broken Haytham you had seen, back in his quarters, hunched over his desk with his head in his hands.
No, you couldn't allow that. You had to live, to find your way to him, to tell him that you trusted him, to tell him that you had fallen in love with him.
You pried yourself forward, shifting until you lifted up onto one knee and then your feet, throwing your weight onto your stronger leg. Your breath was caught in your throat, balled painfully in your chest as you made your first limp through the den towards the foyer. Your shuffles were slow, specks sparking across your eyes until your feet hit something on the floor, knocking you back to your knees.
Your hands fell forwards to take your weight, the sharp bite of metal stinging to life in your chest. You palms found the corpse of one of the Assassins. You chuckled, coughing up blood as you did, finding that even dead the Assassins were getting in your way. Haytham would have appreciated the irony, you thought, tears burning as they blurred your vision even more.
You weakly crawled a few more steps, over the corpse and through the cooling puddle of blood. You heaved down raspy breaths before continuing forward, reaching the doorway of the foyer. Your arm gave out beneath you, dropping you down onto your shoulder. You rolled backwards, spine firm against the floor. The ceiling above made for a poor last sight.
You swallowed down more blood, a tightening sickness growing inside of your stomach. You lifted up onto your elbows, used your hands to haul your weight backwards until you planted yourself firmly against the doorframe. Through the opening in the roof you could see the light of day, an evening sunset of pinks and orange, the distant sounds of the city fading away.
You grinned, head tilting lifelessly. "Now, that is a good last sight." Your lips relaxed as eyes lidded over your vision, Haytham's voice filling your ears. You could almost hear him whispering your name, a soft and gentle purr. You lifted your arm, the hidden blade's leather pressed against your nose.You could smell his lingering crisp scent, thinking back on that tender moment when he had kissed you goodbye.
You laid it across your lap, a hand soft upon it as if you could somehow feel him. "Haytham," you gladly spoke his name, feeling it move across the tip of your tongue. Energy drained out of you. Your body was exhausted, sinking into the hard frame until finally your mind clouded into unconsciousness.