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Chapter Text

He kneeled down in front of you, blood splattered delicately across his face. He let his lips widen, a mix between a smile and a devilish grimace. He was draped in his red military regalia, a stark contrast against his pale skin, a commanding officer by the looks of it. "Now, darling." He looked down at his busted knuckles, examining them and running fingers over the open flesh. "You can end this whenever you like."

Your skin was seared with heat, thick blood coating your face and hair. You were pretty sure your ribs had been kicked in, broken, and shattered. Your face, lips, and eyes felt swollen and tender. You were certain that if they pulled you up onto your feet, you would have collapsed.

He'd been drilling into you for what had to have been days. It wasn't like you could see the sun through the windowless room, some sort of wooden shed tucked away from the town. When they weren't beating you for information they had a bag over your head, a bag reeking of musty sweat and sour blood, leaving you to suffer alone in the silence.

You would have gladly ended the torture, glad to be done with it all, but you weren't that weak. You were an Assassin, highly trained and devoted to your cause. Even if that cause landed you in jail. Even if your organization’s ally betrayed you, leading to your capture.

Now, look at you, kneeling on the ground and soaked in your own blood. You spit the blood that gathered on your tongue into his face, your lips tugged downward in anticipation of his next punch.

"Stupid fucking whore." He wiped the back of his sleeve across his face before laughing and getting to his feet. "Have at her, Mills." He threw a quick glance to the officer behind you and with a nod of his head your face was shoved into the dirt.

Mills had been tense behind you the whole time, a dog on a tight leash, eager for something to sink his teeth into. Sadly, however, it wasn’t going to be another beating. Not this time. He had been throwing you winks and grins all night, alluding to something a little more sexual and sinister.

Even chained up you were a rogue, a sly and evasive creature. You squirmed free, rolling onto your back and kicking him hard in the jaw. He grunted, grumbling curses under his breath, before clamping a hand against your neck and forcing himself on top of you. You shifted your hips just enough that a knee could slip past his defenses and rammed it hard upwards into his chin, clattering his teeth together. That's when he turned you, faced you down hard against the dirty floor.

There was laughter again from the commanding officer, the same laughter you'd heard for days now. You were sick of hearing it but you were pinned down again and too weak to fight back. “That’s enough, Mills. She’s not going to talk.”

His subordinate lifted you back onto your knees, forcing you to bow before his commander.  He moved around you until he was standing tall, towering over you confidently. He leaned down, lips pressed firmly against your ear. "Be glad he stopped me, whore. I'd have fucked you blind."

You bite down on your growl but can't stop the seeping hatred from your glare as he walked away. He stepped beside his commander, the two of them muttering back and forth.  You can just barely make out a few useless words. Mills wanted time alone with you, no doubt.

Something moved in the corner of the room, just past the legs of the soldiers. You could see shadows and for the longest time, you believed it was your comrades finally coming to get you. If it was like you imagined it and you had in fact been missing for days, then surely someone finally sent help. Your mission obviously didn’t go well.

The commander stepped forward, leaving behind his cocky lapdog who was smug as ever. He kneeled down, pressing your chin between his rough fingers. "Final chance, darling."

You wanted them to believe you were finally breaking under the stress of torture. "I might have a few things to say..." You weren't paying attention to the commander. You had your eyes on Mills, attempting to look frightened about what he had muttered to you earlier.

He had his arms folded across his chest, eyes burrowing into you. Smug git. You stared back unwavered, waiting for that precious moment. It was quick and silent. A hand slipped over this mouth, eyes jolting wide with fear, then lifeless with death. The assassin slowly lowered the dead weight onto the floor, quiet and proficient, before moving forward to the next target.

You rolled your eyes to the commander finally. "Rest sweetly, Commander."

He growled, lowering his eyes before flicking them back to you. "This would have been easy if you would just give us what we wanted."

His voice was deep, haughty even, each syllable spoken with precision, "I agree, Commander."

Your capturer spun around, sloppily getting to his feet.

He was arrogant, whoever it was, likely off the boat from England, draped in expensive garbs. His voice was unrecognizable but his features, the brief glance you got of them, had been vaguely familiar. "Any last words before my men take you, Commander?"

"I am a commanding officer of His Majest--"

"Ah, yes." He stepped forward, throwing a punch hard into the commander's jawline and dropping the man to the ground. Then, with casual elegance, he clasped his hands behind his back. "Charles, attend to our new guest, will you? He's a commanding officer of His Majesty the King, after all."

Another man approached from the shadows and snatched hold of the commander's lapels. He pulled his body across the dusty floorboards and out the door into the night.

You reluctantly rolled your eyes up to the man before you, knowing well now that he was not an Assassin. You had seen his face before, a well-done painting in fact, posted on the wall with his name scribbled beneath it.

"Haytham Kenway." He kneeled down, looking over your bloodied wounds, his tricorn hat obscuring most of his expression. "You do not appear to be any friend of the commander’s. Who are you?"

You swallowed hard, finding it difficult to breathe through the pain. The draining adrenaline left you trembling. "A thief." You looked as much like one, your attire had been exchanged for simple rags when you became their prisoner. Your hidden blades had been taken to be mounted somewhere on someone's wall, to be mocked and goaded.

"Ah." He almost smiled at the notion, cocking his head to one side. "Then you may be of use to me."

You laughed, almost choked on it. A Templar and an Assassin working together. "You want a thief to help you? You so certain you can trust me?" Your head was heavier by the second, finding it hard to keep your eyes on the man.

"Trust, perhaps not." He lifted you to your feet, slow and gentle hands, far better treatment than the soldiers had given you. His arm slid around your waist and a hand cupped against your hip bone, steadying your staggering stance.

You scoffed, leaning against him as he helped you from the shed. The smell of fresh air was a great relief, mixed with the salty sea from the distant harbor and the spices that lingered on Haytham's clothes. "Seems like a poor idea to hire someone you don't trust."

Outside were more dead guards, assassinated quietly and cleanly.  You would rely on the Templars. You had little choice in the matter. There would have been no point in running and, furthermore, you were curious as to what the Templars were up to. What knowledge did the commander hold that the Templars sought after?

Charles returned, holding out a set of keys to Haytham. "Our guest has been secured and transported, sir.”

"Wonderful work, Charles." Haytham took the keys in hand and pressed you against the firmness of his chest. He also smelled of smoky pines and the twinge of blood. His hands slid down your arms, finding the cold metal cutting against your wrists.

You managed a weak smile. "Mister Kenway, all of this touching, the least you could do is buy me a drink first."

Haytham chuckled, an oddly lighthearted sound for a Templar. He removed your shackles one at a time, before tossing the keys back to Charles. "Have the others meet us at the Green Dragon."

“Of course, sir.” Charles hurried off, a puppy eager to please its master.

"Your skills might be of use to me." Haytham put a small amount of space between you. He was glancing at you, eyes attentive and analyzing. The true instincts of a Templar were likely kicking in. "Do tell me how you were captured so easily?" He moved quickly, his arm knocking your knees out from beneath you. For a quick moment you thought it was over, you were a prisoner once more, your secret discovered. Instead, he cradled you against him lifting your weight easily, and started down towards the city.

You rolled your eyes away, each muscle tense and each bone aching. Something bitter must have flashed across your expression, the bitter hatred of being betrayed by an ally because he made a sound of mild understanding. "I was set up," you finally say. "Ambushed."

He humored, "Then we both have valid reasons not to trust each other."

If only he knew the whole truth of it, you thought. But your thoughts became harder to grasp, your head finally falling against the hardness of his chest, taking in those delicate, rich spices. Despite Haytham being a Templar, you sighed readily against him. His grasp around you, the gentleness of his touch, made it all too easy to relax your bruised and broken body.

Chapter Text

Your wounds had been severe, greater than you realized. You had a rush of a fever. The doctor came and went, a blurry memory and a half-heard conversation. You did remember Haytham, his features coming into view more than once. He had cleaned your wounds, gently wiping away the blood and sweat. He spoke here and there but it was all such a distant memory, remnants of a dream, really.

You couldn't be certain if you had hallucinated most of it.

When the fever finally broke, you dared to sit up slowly and glance about the room you were in. It was a shabby place, drab with the lack of sunlight. Outside were the drunken songs of men, the faint smell of stale beer, and plenty of loud shouting. The room had to be at the Green Dragon, the place Haytham had mentioned.

Haytham. A Templar. You groaned at the remembrance.

You had to play this carefully. The wrong word or the wrong movement might alert them to your true nature. You were enemies but this didn't mean the opportunity had to be wasted. You could gather intelligence, steal a peek at their plans, take what little fragments you could. It was in your nature to gather things that might benefit the Assassins.

You shifted your legs out of bed, still swollen and weak beneath your weight but you stood up on them anyway. This wasn't the worst of your wounds and you had a lifetime of them. Your scars were a map, a timeline, for each training practice and battle skirmish.

You were draped in new clothes, the rags they had found you in were likely discarded. They had been bloodied and weathered, barely clinging to your body. Thankfully, whoever bought these fabrics, took in mind your occupation. You were wearing breeches and a shirt. A frock coat was slung over the frame of the bed and boots nestled on the ground beneath it.

The bed helped to act as a crutch while you hobbled down its length towards the door. You were hunched over, slow as a slug and exhausted, but you made it out into the warmth of the tavern, caring little about being underdressed.

"Haytham," someone muttered, drawing your attention as well as Haytham's.

They were all sitting together, gathered around a table with their Grand Master standing at its head. He turned around, brows jolting at the sight of you but something else flickered in his gaze. Admiration. He was impressed at your resilience.

They hadn't imagined you would be on your feet so soon.

You mutter, leaning your weight against the doorframe of your room, fingers gripping into the grains of wood, "Where's a girl supposed to go to get a drink in this place?"

One of the men bellowed a laugh. Hickey, you think, as you try to recall his face from the paintings. "Now. That's my kind of girl!"

You grimaced, throwing a daggered look his way but made sure your words were lighter and gentler. "I'm no one's girl, darling."

Haytham stepped towards you, each movement brimming with confidence. "Our thief, requires a little more rest before she's up and about." He motioned you back into the room, expecting you to simply submit to his request, that confidence was blinding him to your stubbornness.

"I've had enough of resting," you retort, shifting your weight from one exhausted leg to the next, the doorframe refusing to be as helpful as you had hoped.

Haytham slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you back into the bedroom against your will. He closed the door easily with his other hand. "If you plan to repay me for saving your life, you will need to be fully healed."

Ah, you think. There it is. He thinks you owe him. To be fair, you did in fact owe him in one way or another. If the commander was telling the truth, that night would have been your last. But Haytham was already smug, brilliantly so, and you weren't planning on legitimizing his claims.

His stifled laughter drew your gaze and you let your eyes drift along his features. The Grand Master was handsome, thin wide lips and an etched jawline. He was well dressed, even wearing his cocked hat indoors, determined to be prestigious. His dark hair was pulled back, tasseled by a red ribbon, and dark gray eyes slyly peeking down at you.

You smiled, turning your head away and grumbling under your breath, "I would have gotten out of there eventually."

"You had an escape plan, all along?" He helped you sit back down onto the edge of the bed. "You were just taking in the beatings until you built up a tolerance, were you?" He kneeled down in front of you, a flicker of delight in the corner of his mouth.

You stifled back a genuine laugh, your ribs cringing at the piercing pain. "Fine. You win this time." At the realization of how close he was, the amber hue of his warm eyes clear than before, your pulse began to speed up.

"Something on your mind, dear?" His fingertips casually brushed along your thigh, a wave of sensation rippling across your skin.

Your gaze jolted between his lips and eyes. Warmth flushed across your cheeks. Your hand slid across his wrist, hesitating in whether or not to stop him. "Mind telling me why someone like you needs someone like me?"

His voice was low, almost dark. "And what exactly do you mean by someone like me?" He rose to his feet to tower teasing over you.

You had to almost force the question out of your tightening throat, "Someone who has a great deal of resources."

Haytham made another step, his knees against the edge of the bed, his belt at eye level. You tried keep your gaze steady, not daring to peek downwards or, worse, upwards. He leaned over, breath trickling along your cheek to your ear. He muttered softly, "I also have... a great deal of talent."

Your breath was caught in your chest, hardly believing what the Grand Master was suggesting. You turned your head, lips just barely brushing across his. His lips quivered, their edges nearly smirking. Haytham closed the small space, pressing his lips against yours, softly almost questioningly. You moaned at the touch, thoughts scrambled, and even went as far as parted your lips. Haytham followed suit, tongue exploring and lips bruising your own, the kiss deepening with need.

Your hands slid across his chest and upwards along the taut muscle of his shoulder. A whimper escaped your throat, an unfamiliar sound that you would have never allowed yourself to make. You quickly pulled from the kiss, rushing to your feet and planting your back against the wall near the bed. "No. We, uh, can't. I'm a thief." Assassin, you wanted to say.

Haytham stood, lips still parted from both the kiss and the shock. He lifted a hand to his mouth, slowly wiping at the glistening of his lips. "I examined your body language. You were receptive, were you not?"

You had been receptive. The knot in your abdomen, the panting for air, the moaning, all of it told you as much. You dug your fingers into the coarse wooden wall and took down a deep breath. "Body language is one thing. I'm saying no."

"Very well." He grinned, dropping his hand to his side and rolling his attention to you. "Should you change your mind, my dear, you know where to find me."

You drew in your bottom lip, sunk your teeth into it. It was tempting. He was tempting.

"Allow me to help you lie down." He strolled forward, each step as confident as the next. There was humor in his words, a small barely noticeable grin on the edge of his lips, "There shall be nothing sexual about it, I assure you." His arms were strong, one slipped around your waist and the other was holding your hand. His thumb surreptitiously brushed along the soft skin atop your hand. He eased you down onto the bed, rolling out the covers over you until they pooled around your waist.

You finally muttered, "Thank you." You gripped the covers, settling back into the softness of the bed.

He turned to the door, pausing for another moment. "I shall return with a hot meal."

"And a drink..."

He glanced over his shoulder, disapprovingly.

"Of water," you clarified, grinning, failing to keep back another chuckle.

Haytham returned sometime later, the smoky smell of roasted chicken wafting into the room. He set the plate down onto your lap before handing over the silverware. It wasn't until after the first bite that you realized how hungry you had been. You scarfed down the meal, not bothering to savor the herbs or the golden skin of the roasted bird.

Haytham chuckled lightly, gingerly sitting in the chair beside the bed. He had a grin, pleased as a Cheshire cat, lounging casually back. "I suppose a thief sees very few meals such as this one."

You swallowed hard on the last mouthful of food. "It's been a while since I've eaten." You darted your eyes downward. Your plate was barren of most of its contents. "It was delicious, thank you."

"I'm pleased to hear it. We want our thief in good health."

"Will you tell me what I'm here for?"

"Other than healing from your near fatal wounds?" He leaned forward in his chair ever so slightly. "I require your assistance in stealing back something that was stolen from me."

You couldn't bite down fast enough on the laugh that broke free. It was hard to imagine someone was able to steal from the Grand Master. "Someone managed to get the drop on you? Did they distract you with their charming good looks before picking your pocket?"

He gave a breathy laugh. "No, in fact, it wasn't stolen off of me. It was taken from another who had been foolishly entrusted with it." His eyes seemed to grow darker, bitter with the event.

"I see. And what exactly was stolen?"

He smirked, chin lifted high. "A discussion for another time, my dear. Gather your strength." He stood up in a single movement and paraded towards the door before turning around. "Until tomorrow."

You gave a nod of your head, a small smile as the Grand Master waltzed from the room. The door closed behind him, leaving you to the rapid pounding of your heart. You hadn't realized how breathy you had become. You weren't nervous, not truly. You trusted in your skills as an Assassin. You didn't, however, trust your heart. Haytham, surprisingly enough, seemed like a decent man. He was treating you kindly, even pampering you. For his own desires, you remind yourself, trying to stay on task.

Chapter Text

Haytham had surprisingly kept you well supplied with food and fresh water. He was an amiable host. He spoke rarely of the other Templars and still refused to tell you about your mission. However, in his last meeting, he mentioned being absent from Boston for a short while. He made arrangements to have someone bring food in his absence.

You had other plans. You were healed well enough to take care of yourself and, hopefully, this meant you could get word out to the others that you were still alive. It would take a great deal of sneaking in and out of the inn but if anyone asked you could lie. It was always fun to lie, if done well enough.

Before heading out of the room, you slipped on the boots and coat, finding that they fit rather well. The Templar's favorite roosting spot was void of company. With luck, the others went with Haytham to wherever it was he vanished to. Downstairs, even in the morning, there was a bustle of customers. It was easy to melt through the crowd and out onto the streets without catching anyone's attention.

Boston hadn't changed in your absence. It was still full of dusty coblestone roads, trash littered about the ground, and the loud rumbles of city folk. Amidst its buildings and alleys there were markets and stores. You headed to the familiar spot, browsed what little wares you saw, not bothering to look at the merchant.

"I'm looking for a specific item," you tell him, gaze jolting over the produce, brushing fingers along your wrist, "a blade that can be easily hidden from view."

"I sell vegetables, sweetheart. Check somewhere else."

You rolled your gaze up, a half grin springing free. "Somewhere like... the markets near the harbor?"

He grimaced but nodded his head in compliance. "Someplace like that, yeah."

You backed away from the stall and headed down the street. You were going to need new supplies but it would have to wait until after the meeting. You lacked any form of coin and, as easy as it would have been, you weren't planning on stealing it. The contact at the meeting would be able to produce enough coin to buy a few weapons.

You went back to the Green Dragon, spent the rest of the day there with enough food and drink to feed three people. Haytham ensured the tavern owners kept you happy. It was odd to think that the Grand Master was spending so much coin and effort on a common thief. You would be sure to ask him about that later. Surely he was skilled enough to steal it back himself.

You couldn't help but snoop around the inn, the customers keeping everyone busy and on their toes. The rooms were empty and you found nothing that might suggest the Templars left anything of value such as letters or notes. In fact, it was almost as if they had never been there. You weren't entirely sure which rooms they had occupied if any at all.

Without wasting anymore time, you slipped back into the dimness of your room, lit barely by the orange candlelight. The bed seemed harder, uncomfortable against your bruised spine. Your memory was still racked with the commander's torture which made sleep especially difficult. The daylight hours couldn't come sooner. The moment the sun peeked passed the curtains of your room, you were on your feet and out the door.

The markets were slow in the early morning, cool mist seeping between stalls, glistening across your skin. It was hours into the day, sun nearly to noon, and your body was exhausted. Your ribs were still tender, your muscles still bruised, and you were eager to get back into bed. You used a bench every now and then to rest before perusing through the market stalls and strolling in and out of stores.

Finally, when you settled against the rails of the docks, a figure approached. "You were missing for a few weeks. What happened?" Nathan was well spoken and, as usual, very formal. He had been born into the order, trained and raised to follow the code. He didn't bother glancing you over. He had done his assessing while you searched the last stall. You had glimpsed him doing so, of course.

You leaned your hip into the post, slightly turning your body towards him. "We were betrayed. The guards knew. They had a trap set up for me and had me prisoner for..." You couldn't stop yourself from crossing your arms over your chest. "Templars rescued me. They think I'm a thief."

His eyes finally jumped to you, leering at you from the side.

"They lost something and want me to find it." You turn to look back out onto the ocean, the ships rocking slowly along its surface.

"We could use this to our advantage." He was silent for a moment, brimming with stern analysis. "Drop off any information you can. Do not compromise yourself. If it gets dangerous, I want you to leave. We don't want your identity to be known. We'll give you a wide berth. I'll alert the others not to address you."

You nodded your head and stepped away. "Oh. I need some coin." You flicked a grin his way and watched as he reluctantly lifted the glinting metal and slapped it into your palm.

You waltzed your way back through the markets, returning to a few stores who sold the items you were looking for. Daggers. Pistols. You needed new belts and holsters. Your clothes were in good shape, snug and comfortable, but you missed having a waistcoat. They were always good at stuffing things into, like paperwork and messages. If you planned on stealing information then it would be good to have one again.

You bought a simple waistcoat, ignoring the leering from the clerk, before heading back towards the Green Dragon. You attracted quite the following of children, their giggling increasing when you gave them the last of your coin. They ran off with eager delight to spend it on something, food most likely. A dog was the last thing to catch your attention, right outside of the inn, it's whimpers impassible. You greeted the scrawny pup, stroking its coarse fur.

Haytham came rushing out of the Green Dragon, skidding to a stop when his eyes met yours. "Where were you?" He prodded forward, eyeing you and then the dog. "You left us no note."

You ruffled the pup's fur once more before turning towards Haytham. "I went to the store and bought a few items." You patted the daggers on your hips, revealing the pistols as well. He didn't need to see the daggers tucked into your boots.

His expression shifted, slight grin returning. "I suppose you simply pocketed a few coins along the way."

"Well." You shrugged a shoulder. "Thief."

"You were well taken care of in our absence?" He walked beside you towards the inn, hands tucked leisurely behind him, his arrogance easily falling back into place.

"I was." You stepped inside of the warm tavern, finding it quieter than it had been for some time. It was late afternoon, everyone likely too busy with work. "I have questions about it, in fact. You're putting in a lot of effort to get my help."

"Your lack of trust is still present, I see." His steps slowed before the staircase and you turned to find him shifting hesitantly. "We made an attempt to find the thief. Our contacts came up empty. I hope you have better connections than we do."

You had connections, quite a few truly. Some were Assassin related and others were ones you'd picked up along your travels. Desperate people are willing to help anyone who lends a hand to them. "So, am I to know what it is you're looking for?"

He lifted a hand, motioning you to follow him up the stairs. "Since you seem eager enough, we can begin today."

Today, you nearly groaned, attempting to not let your eyes roll towards your bedroom. You body still twinged with pain and each muscle was stiff with knots. "Wouldn't have it any other way," you lie, a cheeky smile to cover up your distraught.

You both reached the other Templars, your eyes jumping from one to the other, recognizing them vaguely form the paintings. Thomas Hickey was lounging like a cat in sunlight. William Johnson sat hunched over the table, chin resting upon a curled hand.

Charles Lee was standing impatiently, turning with bitterness as you approached. "You found our thief," he hissed. "She didn't make it very far."

Haytham charmingly retorted, "Thank you for your concern, Charles. She's alive and in one piece."

"Shocking, I know." You flashed a grin at the group of men, taking a spot before the table. They all had their eyes on you, taking in every detail. You know this because it's the same thing you would have done. "Let's get started before you boys realize there's a city full of thieves out there who could do this job."

Charles muttered something under his breath.

"Posh git," hissed Hickey at him as he leaned forward, tankard clutched in his grasp.

Haytham shifted beside you, his hands still clasped behind him, a slight grin on his lips. "As I mentioned before, our contacts found no information on where our items are. Whoever stole it, has yet to make an offer of selling it."

You nod your head. "Did anyone see the culprit?"

Haytham swept his attention to Hickey. "Sadly, no."

Charles leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and fingers gripping hard. "Our besotted friend here lacked the forethought."

Hickey titled his head, slumping in his seat. "It's hard getting a look at something when you've a crowd of ladies around you." He grinned, flashing his gaze to you. "Naked ladies, mind you."

You gave a breathy laugh, pressing fingers into your brow. "You were at the brothel, then. Drunk, I assume." He lost important Templar items at a brothel. How has the order managed to survive this long, you wonder.

He threw a hand up then sucked down the last of his drink. "How's I to know someone would trifle through my clothes."

Johnson finally piped up, words firm but calm, "You left your clothes unattended in the other room, Thomas."

Hickey huffed and you desperately tried not to smile. "The ladies, the five of them mind you, wanted a nice hot bath. I was simply obliging to their wishes, boys." He certainly believed his words, excusing the event entirely.

You cleared your throat. "Did anyone question the women at the... establishment?"

"Hardly," barked Charles. "They would have lied to us either way."

You rolled your eyes down, processing the information, before turning your gaze to Haytham. "That still doesn't explain to me what you lost."

"You won't need to know," excused Charles, muttering, "Thief."

Haytham turned to you, still proud and elegant as ever. "I shall be accompanying you in your search."

You let the corner of your lip curl. "Don't trust me, Haytham?"

He lowered his head, grinning enticingly, "We were both very clear in our lack of trust for others, were we not?" He motioned for you to follow him down the stairs towards the exit.

"There's... something that bothers me about your story." You watched Haytham linger but his confidence was unchanged. You turned to the other Templars, glancing them once over. "How did the thief know about Thomas having the items?"

Johnson finally appeared interested, holding his gaze on you. "What are you saying, lass?"

"How long did Thomas have the items before they were taken?"

Charles pushed off the wall, turning his gaze to Hickey. "I had just handed the items over to him that day..." He pressed his hands firm into the table. "Are you suggesting something, thief?"

You smirked. "As a thief, I find it hard to believe that someone simply knew to steal from your friend rather than you. Either the theft was random or it was planned."

Haytham shifted next to you, feet slowly waltzing forward. "If this was planned, someone knew to target Hickey."

"You suggest there is a traitor amongst us?" Charles huffed, shaking his head in aggravation that anyone could ever think of such a thing.

You made your way to the staircase and waited patiently for Haytham to follow behind. The two of you walked quietly down the stairs and out the door onto Boston's streets. It would certainly leave the Templars wondering. If they were too busy focused on each other, then they would have less time to focus on you.

Chapter Text

"A bakery," Haytham said in a slow drawl. "Had I been aware that you were hungry, we could have eaten before we left."

You smirked, cocky at his assumptions. "This is the finest bread in all of Boston, Mister Haytham. You're pathetic little tavern couldn't compare. And... the owner is also a contact of mine."

He glanced away but you caught sight of his smirk. "How did that arrangement manage to blossom?"

"People tell her things and sometimes she... buys and sells what she hears. Being extra social comes in handy." You stopped outside the door, spinning around to face the Templar. "I think it'd be best if you... stay out here."

Hardly attempting at a smile, he made a brief chuckle in the back of his throat.

"She's a sweet girl and easily... frightened."

"You are suggesting that I am intimidating." Haytham shifted his weight, taking a step closer to you with a slight tug of his lips. He stood inches from you, gray eyes smoldering.

"To me, no." You grinned widely. "To others, yes."

"I can stay out of sight, my dear. Besides, you lack the knowledge of what we are searching for."

You cocked your head before turning towards the door. "Stay back then. At least let me talk to her first." Inside of the bakery there was warmth from stone oven and the wafting scent of baking bread tickling your nose. "Sophie."

She glanced up, doe-eyed and small beneath her large dress. Her quiet cheerful voiced piped up, "Oh my! I hadn't realized you were in town!" Sophie leaned over the counter and took your hands in her smaller ones.

"I'm here on an errand, I'm afraid. An associate of mine is searching for something."

Her eyes caught sight of Haytham, making a double take of the man at the door. Her face distorted from joy to fear, brows heavy beneath concern. Her voice was low, still a sweet chirp, "Oh, what have you gotten yourself into now? That man's dangerous, darling. I've heard such awful things about him."

You tried not to chuckle. "It's alright, Sophie. I can take care of myself."

She straightened up, letting your hands go in order to smooth out her dress. "I know," she said. "What is it you're looking for?"

Haytham was at your side, moving quietly during your conversation. "Someone stole this from me. Have you heard or seen anything of its like?" He held out a piece of parchment, a sketch drawn out along its surface.

"A necklace," you groan, darting your glower at him. "You have me out here looking for a necklace? Is it covered in diamonds? Rubies, at least?"

Sophie cautiously took the paper in hand, eyes looking over it. She handed back the parchment turning her attention to you alone. "I haven't seen anything. I certainly haven't heard anything about someone selling a necklace. But I'm happy to send you word at--"

"The Green Dragon," you quickly blurt before she can say anything that might elude to your real identity. It stunned her for a moment and you quickly added, "It's where I've been staying lately."

Sophie nodded her head and when Haytham left for the door, she quickly leaned over, "Please be careful, sweetie. I don't trust that man."

"I'm always careful," you jest, patting the hand she had placed onto the counter. "I'll come by later so we can chat." You hurried out of there before she could say anything compromising. She wouldn't have heard about your circumstances from the Assassins. In fact, she wasn't even supposed to know about the Order. Sophie was like a sister, however, and you heavily relied on her skills as an information broker.

"Well," Haytham cooed, hands curled back against his hips. "That was uneventful."

"A necklace," you spat. "I hope this thing is worth it."

He smirked, rolling his eyes to you. "The information stolen with it is far more valuable. That would be harder to track, would it not?"

You saw his lie but ignored it. That necklace held importance to the Templars, somehow. You weren't sure quite what the necklace represented or even what it did. Haytham wouldn't waste resources finding it if it wasn't of great value.

"Now that I know what we're looking for," you retort, "I know where we can get a real lead. I've a fence who deals in stolen jewelry."

"Brilliant. Lead the way." He lifted a hand, courteously motioning you forward.

Jones, one of your least favorite people in all of Boston. He was tucked away behind an alley, cast in the late evening's shadow. The flick of a small dagger was glinting off what little light there was. It was easy to sneak up on the poor bastard. Your skills and Haytham's allowed as much.

"Jones," you greeted with as much false enthusiasm as you could, lifting your arms in a mock gesture of a hug. "If it isn't my favorite fence."

He stopped twisting the blade in his hand, frozen between decisions. Either this meeting was one out of business or spite. "What can I do for you this fine evening?"

You leaned casually against the side of the alleyway, hands grasped lightly in front of you. "A necklace was recently stolen from my darling friend here. Have you heard anything about it?"

His gaze skipped between you and Haytham, eyeing the man with poor analysis. He probably only saw the fine clothes and prestigious stature of a noble. He wouldn't have seen the predator. "I don't know, lass. What's this little gem look like?"

Haytham produced the same parchment. "It would have been dark green with a leather cord."

Jones took the paper then spat onto the ground, lips twisting downwards. "This don't look like anything I'd be selling. What the hell's it made of? Cheap metal? I deal in finer things, mate."

"It holds a great deal of sentimental value," excused Haytham, voice turning dark the longer Jones took his time to make a formal reply.

The fence handed back the paper, flipping the handle of the blade in his hands again. "Maybe I've seen someone who's been talking about selling a necklace. Maybe he's having some difficulty finding a buyer. Old man like me has a hard time remembering those kinds of things."

You sighed, knowing this game all too well. "I'd advise you not to upset my friend, Jones. He doesn't take kindly to--"

Haytham moved quickly. A twist of his wrist and Jones' knife was pitched into the earth. He was slamming Jones up against the side of the building before the crook had time to react. His arm held firm against the struggling man, a hidden blade striking free from its sheath. "Well, now... I do hope your memory has begun to return."

Jones starred down the long blade, inches from his eye. "Henry down at the docks. He came here last night, in fact. Probably still has the damn thing. I never saw it for myself though. He's too clever for that."

"I know Henry." You patted a hand on Haytham's tense arm. "If he has it, it'll be easy to get off of him. He's a squirrel of a man."

"Now if you don't mind," spat Jones, teeth bared like a wounded animal.

Haytham relinquished a sigh. He dropped his arm at the same moment of jutting his hidden blade into the man's neck. Jones fell in a gurgle. The kill was quick, hitting the artery with precision and splattering the smallest of blood.

You bit down on your bottom lip.

Haytham wiped the blade clean and casually waltzed down the alley. "Shall we be off?"

You gasped, shocked at his tenacity. "No, no, we won't be off. You can't just go around killing my contacts. He was an ass but he was one of my fences."

Haytham folded his arms, lifting a hand to the side of his face. "I can not afford to have Mr. Jones informing our man down at the docks of our interest in his stolen goods."

You forced your fingers through your hair. "No more killing. I'll get you what you need. But if my contacts start dying then no one will work with me."

Haytham gave a regal nod of his head. "Very well, my dear. You have my word."

You weren't sure how much you could trust him on his word. You led the way down to the docks, knowing all too well where Henry was usually roosted. He was an easy man to find, a creature of habit. He was either at the docks or committing all known acts of debauchery. The sun was dipping below the horizon and Henry was just making his way down the docks passed one of the fisheries.

You made an effort to make your voice even, nearly light-hearted, "Henry?"

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in your face before letting his brows jolt. You hadn't always been kindest to the man so it wasn't too surprising when he made a run for it. Henry raced ahead and you knew he was going to slip around the corner of the fishery.

You Assassin instincts took over. You leapt along the stacked crates, onto the rooftop, and jumped down the other side. You landed on Henry, forcing his back into the hard wooden dock. You pulled back your arm, hand tensed back in trained reflex. You forgot entirely that you weren't wearing a hidden blade. You forgot that Haytham, a Templar, was accompanying you, standing a few mere feet away.

You dropped your hand to wrap fingers around Henry's weathered lapels. "All we wanted were a few answers for our questions." Worse, you were a wounded mess with sharp pain inciting its claws across your chest.

He trembled beneath you, a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. "Last time you said that, I walked away with a black eye."

"You cheated me out of my money," you barked, standing up before pulling the scrawny man onto his feet, forcing him back against the closest wall and letting him cower there.

Haytham haughtily chuckled, averting his gaze, cocky that he wasn't the only one between the two of you with aggression. "We were informed that you are making an attempt to sell an item that isn't yours."

Henry swallowed hard, steadying his ragged breath. He shook his shoulders and head in combination. "Uh, well, there are a few things..."

"A necklace. Probably looks cheap and worthless." You throw a wicked smirk to Haytham, a pitiful attempt at revenge for his arrogant laugh earlier.

"It is priceless." Haytham pulled out the parchment, describing it once more.

"Ah." Henry's shoulders were hunched up around his neck, fingers fumbling over each other. "Yeah. Yeah, I seen it."

"Where is it, Henry?" You nearly pace in front of him, containing your impatience.

He lifted his hands quickly, desperate to make a truce. "Ah, no, no. You see... I never had it. Seller contacted me about it. Wanted me to see if someone was willing to make a buy. I never actually had it on me, you see."

You shoved him and snapped up his shirt, a searing pain shooting across your upper torso from reopened wounds. "Who was the seller, Henry?" You hoped to keep Haytham at bay, showing him that you took this job serious, that you'd find his necklace with as little bloodshed as possible.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes downwards. "Probably long gone by now..."

You growled, "I know when you lie."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek before muttering, "Some madam, you see, down at the brothel. She contacted me. I don't know if she's got it or not, though."

"It would appear our story has come full circle," jested Haytham, all too calm and pleased about it all.

"That wasn't too difficult." You all too happily let go of Henry, turning your hands to the sharp twinge of pain in your ribs. You made a quick glance to Haytham, finding that his eyes were locked onto you. You hurried off down the walkway and towards the street ahead. "Off to the brothel, then. The place we probably should have started." 

Haytham approached in a single silent step, hand hovering over your shoulder. "Perhaps tomorrow morning, after we've had a decent hot meal. You appear to have harmed yourself, my dear."

You heaved down a short breath, finding it difficult to stand upright. The pain was piercing every muscle and bone, bitterly across your skin, each movement intensifying it. "If I didn't know any better, Haytham, I would say you were starting to care about me."

"I should certainly hope not. It wouldn't bode well for my reputation."

You cautiously took a moment to look over your shoulder. Henry was still alive, surprisingly, hunched against the wall, frozen with fear. "You let him live. I was certain you'd kill him once my back was turned."

"Yes, well, I've recently begun to make attempts at being merciful."

You laughed, unable to hold it back even when it ached your ribs.

He slipped a firm arm around you, fingers taking in the softness of your hand. The two of you strolled down the cobblestone streets back towards the Green Dragon. His warmth and his strength were a welcomed comfort and you leaned towards it, relishing in the support. Haytham, for being painted as a monster by the Assassins, was hardly such.

Yes, he had killed Jones. But in similar circumstances, wouldn't an Assassin do the same thing? If this necklace held importance to the Templar cause then it was hardly surprising that Haytham wanted to kill any loose ends that might prove a problem later on. It weighed on you for a moment that Haytham might consider you a loose end. When would your services turn from helpful to hazardous? Thus far, he had been nothing but generous and respectful. He had let Henry live, hadn't he? That was some sign of his kindness.

Haytham helped you up the stairs towards his room at the inn, which surprisingly was across the way from yours. He eased you down onto the edge of the bed. "Shall we take a look at those wounds?"

You sighed, smile playing across your mouth. "Trying to see me naked, Haytham? I thought you were slyer than that?"

"You forget, my dear..." He pulled a chair to the bed, sitting down into it with practiced grace. "It was I who helped the doctor dress your wounds in the first place."

You pulled your lips between your teeth, biting your smile but unable to stop your blush.

Haytham helped ease you out of the jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. Beneath were the tight wrapping of bandages, stained with a fresh coat of blood. "As I suspected. You've managed to reopen a wound." He began to unravel the white wrappings, slowly exposing your bare skin.

Your breathing was caught in your throat as you admired Haytham's brief shyness, his quick glances away. You quickly blurt, "To be fair, I blame you."

He huffed, turning to the cluttered medical supplies laid about the bedside table. "I do not recall asking you to leap from a building's rooftop. In fact, I am entirely curious where you learned such a skill." He placed your hand onto his shoulder, exposing the deep gash slithering across your rib cage.

You choked on your next breath, both the question and Haytham's hand brushing your skin caused such. "I, uh..." Your fingers dug firm into the muscle at the base of his neck, unable to pry your eyes from his expression. He was attentively focused on the wound, respecting the boundary you had placed. "Well, I am a practiced thief."

His lips twitched into a brief smile. "I would suggest more practice." He began to rewrap a clean cloth around your chest, forcing you to place your other hand onto his shoulder. He worked with such professional casualty that it made your blush burn with all the more embarrassment. "All done." He lifted those grey eyes to yours, pausing them there, letting them drink in your presence.

You leaned forward, breathless and hopeful, a softer grip on his shoulders. You watched his eyes lower to your lips, half-lidded and contented. He closed the small space, soft brief kisses and fingers skimming down across your thighs. He slid his fingers behind the bends of your knees, pulling your lips with his own. Slowly, Haytham leaned back, eyes still closed and lips still parted, savoring the fleeting moment.

You dropped your hands into your lap, clenching them there, cursing yourself mentally. "I probably shouldn't have done that." You looked towards the door, finding it easier to look at than Haytham's expression. One glance at him and you'd find yourself kissing him again, slipping your fingers beneath his layer of clothes, desperate for him...

"I certainly can't complain..." He was smirking, even without looking you knew. "Unless you think our kiss was otherwise."

You finally turned your eyes to him, letting them flicker across his face before dropping them to your hands. He'd been examining your expression, analyzing you with gentle concern. "It's not that I didn't enjoy it. I am..." An assassin, you wanted to say, to tell him the whole truth of it right there. "I'm a thief and once this job is over..."

Haytham leaned forward in his seat and he certainly didn't have to lean very far. He was inches from you, keeping the distance but needing to be close. "You are highly skilled for a common thief. In time, you could be well trained. You could be an asset to our order."

"Your order..." You chuckled, turning your gaze upwards to him, enjoying the admiration you found there. "I think it might be a bit too cloak and dagger for a little thief like myself." It was a little too Templar, really.

Haytham opened his mouth to speak but there came a quick knock and the door was being pushed open. Charles peered in, speaking regally, "Master Kenway, the dinner is on the table." His eyes caught sight of you, shirtless and bandaged, ducking back out of the room.

You blurted, "He was just dressing my wounds, Charles." You choked on your laugh, enjoying in the idea that the poor Templar might have been mortified at seeing his Grand Master in a compromising situation.

"I think we've earned this meal," Haytham snarked. He was on his feet and moving towards the door before glancing back over his shoulder. "Our order shall have a place for you if you decide to change your mind."

You grinned, finding Haytham's charm as alluring as ever. Damn that man.

You pulled on your shirt, letting your eyes wander about his room as you buttoned up your waistcoat. Haytham had a desk against the wall, placed centered between two windows. Papers were cluttered about its surface. Templar related papers, you were certain. You shimmied into your jacket before creeping over and peering at his elegant handwriting.

It would have been easy to take a few, to slip something into the snug waistcoat. But you didn't. You walked away, boots banging hard against the floorboards. It was difficult, the decision you made, but Haytham had helped you. Could you truly betray his trust? But by doing so, you would betray your order.

You hesitated at the door, hand hovering over the handle. A few papers? They couldn't do too much damage, could they? You clenched your eyes closed before pulling the door open and stepping out.

You pulled out your best smirk, "Starting dinner without me? I'm insulted."

Chapter Text

In the morning, it was the glint of the sun that woke you. The curtains were sprawled wide, letting the early light flood into every corner of the room. You swore you'd left the damn things closed, hoping to finally get a decent night's sleep. You rolled out of bed and onto your feet, gathered your gear before heading out of the door.

The Templars were gathered at the table, practically in the same place you left them last night. Although, they looked a little more sober now and Charles certainly looked a little less flustered. You couldn't stop the cheery words from rolling off of your tongue, "Good morning, boys."

Johnson cheered, lifting his tin mug, "There's our bonny lass."

Haytham had turned ever so slightly in his chair at the head of the table, eyeing you over his shoulder. "It would seem our food finally wafted you from sleep."

"I never could pass up a good meal." You sat down at the other end of the table, passing the wide grinning Johnson along the way.

Charles scoffed, a breathy but bitter laugh, "And anything else for that matter."

You chewed on your first bite of crisped bacon before leaning back in your chair and smirking wildly. Charles' desperate attempts to be regal and proud were starting to grow on you. He was becoming to be more humorous than annoying which would probably have upset the poor man. "Oh, Charles. You know me so well." You wriggled a brow at him, unable to resist.

Hickey barked a laugh, slapping his hands onto the table. "Posh git, don't have a reply to that one, eh, Charles?" He leaned towards you, breath already laced with drink, and whispered, "I'll slip you a few coins so longs you keep taunting him."

You winked. "I'd do it for free, Hickey, but coins are always appreciated."

Haytham chuckled lightly, cleared his throat to regain his composure. "We have a full day ahead of us. We should take delight in our meal before it grows cold."

"Full day?" You reached out and took a roll from the basket in the center of the table. "We just need to pick up our little jewel and be done."

"We hope, my dear. Nothing can be certain."

You watched his eyes capture yours while breaking off a small piece of the roll, nervously feeling it's softness between your fingers. "Always prepared for the worst. How do you manage?" You took the morsel of bread into your mouth, savoring its freshness and the light crunch of the golden crust. It was delicious, melting against your tongue and drawing your attention. You looked over the bread.

"I stopped by your friend's bakery early this morning." Haytham was eying you, steady and unnerved. He was slowly taking his next bite of food, a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

You worked your next bite cautiously between your teeth, painfully swallowing it hard. Your throat suddenly felt dry, desperate to see any form of expression on Haytham's face. Had he simply visited her out of curiosity or because he had to kill someone who knew too much.

Haytham had seen your analysis, your hesitation. "Do not worry, my dear, she is still alive. I had no cause to take her life."

Johnson set down his fork, wiped his mouth clean with a cloth napkin. "A friend of our lass's?" He eyed the bread on his plate. "She a fine baker?"

Haytham turned his gaze to his meal. "So I have heard."

"Yes, she is." You kept your eyes on Haytham, finding truth in his words but something worried you deep in your gut. He had not intended to alarm you. He had only wanted to taste the "finest bread in all of Boston", just as you had claimed. It bothered you for some reason that Haytham had talked to Sophie, had been so close to her, and could have heard any number of things about you.

He hadn't killed Henry yesterday as you had requested but you weren't so certain he could be so easily trusted. You'd heard so many horrendous things about the Templars. And Haytham Kenway was their leader, their driving force. It was hard to trust them but the more you spent time with them, it was becoming clear that they were no more evil than the Assassins.

You finished your meal, hardly listening to the laughter of the men around you. Hickey was the loudest of them all, his words likely carrying out into the streets. Johnson would laugh at his words, sometimes attempting to suppress a smile. Charles seemed too dignified for their conversation, turning instead to speak with Haytham about Templar related matters. You only caught a few of their exchanged words.

"Well, shall we be off?" Haytham stood up, pushed in his chair and was down the stairs before you had time to process his actions.

You didn't hurry after him, even when your nerves rattled at losing sight of him as he headed out of the tavern door.

He waited, however, tall and proud on the edge of the sidewalk, standing calmly as he observed the passers-by. "I believe it's going to start raining soon."

"Well, we better hurry our search."

He glanced over his shoulder at you before strolling off towards the brothel. "Have you considered my proposal?"

You didn't look at him. You knew you'd only find his typical reserved countenance. "You've barely told me anything about your... order. We were clear in our... mistrust of others."

He made a sound of hummed approval. "We bring order and peace to Boston, to this newly developed colonization. Without order, there can only be chaos among men. It is in human nature to cause chaos."

You didn't reply, too worried your ideals might cause too much concern. You did listen to his words, you heard them and mulled over their meaning. You compared them to previous knowledge and to the beliefs of the Assassins. You still held firm in your belief that freedom, that the people, were more important than the forced order the Templars sought after.

Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Would it not be wise of you to understand his reasoning, to understand the Templars? They were your enemy, after all.

The brothel, this early in the morning, was ghostly quiet save for the cracks of thunder outside. It reeked of perfume, smoked tobacco, and beer. Inside the tables were empty and the women lounged around, exhaustingly waiting for a customer to pass through. Some rolled their gaze to you, a spark for coin in their eyes, while others hadn't bothered.

"Fancy a drink, love?" She placed her delicate hands onto your shoulder then let her gaze sweep across Haytham. "I wouldn't mind time with both of you."

"We are here on business," clarified Haytham, all too tactful about it.

You pressed your smirk to the side. "Is the lady of the house upstairs?"

She sighed, grumbling something incoherent. "She's been in her office all morn. She don't like to be bothered in the mornings. It's your life, love."

You walked passed, betting your life was perfectly safe from the hands of a madam. Sure, the woman probably had weapons hidden all about the place. Any smart woman on the streets did. But she still stood little chance against an Assassin and a Templar.

You pushed open the double doors at the end of the walkway, entering the madam's office as cautiously as possible. It was empty, your eyes still trailing across the scene for any details. Outside the sky had grown dark, clouds stampeding across as the first drops of rain began to fall. It made the room nearly impossible to examine.Then there it was, blood, pooled at the bottom of her desk and seeping out across the floor.

"We're too late," you muttered, striding the distance to find her crumpled on the floor.

Haytham moved passed you, examining the clean wounds. "This is worst than previously imagined. Those wounds are from the blade of an Assassin."

"Assassin..." The word jumped from your lips and you hoped it didn't hold the amount of shock you felt. You hoped it sounded more like confusion to Haytham's ears.

He stood there, observing quietly before saying, "The enemy of my order. They must have been tracking our information and decided to kill off any who might give us what we need."

You flicked your gaze to Haytham. "Why would they kill the madam? If she had the necklace, they could have easily taken it."

"The same reason I killed Jones, my dear. She knew too much." He tucked his hands behind him, brows drawing together. "They have likely gone through and killed everyone we've spoken with."

Your heart clenched inside of your chest. "Sophie."

You didn't wait to listen to Haytham's words of consolement. You hurried passed the desk, pushed open the balcony doors, leapt over the railing with fluid grace. You landed into the puddled streets, drawing shrieks from the pedestrians. Their horrified glances followed you in your sprint pass horses and carriages.

You knew the rooftops would be slick with rain but it didn't stop you. You scaled the wall of the closest building in sight, raced along its sleek surface and dodged around each smoking chimney. You palms were swollen and red from catching yourself each time your boots slipped out from under you.

Sophie. Sweet, naive Sophie who rarely ever spoke a harmful word to anyone. The young, little sister who knew too much and understood too little.

Finally, you reached the bakery, vaulting the distance to land onto its roof, finding that there was another standing there. An Assassin, you knew as much from his drawn white hood. He spun away speechless, stepping off the roof and returning back into the shadows.

"Wait a minute!" You lunged, feet falling out from under you and with the last of your energy, you rolled with enough skill to catch the edge of the roof. Your fingers lost their grip, dropping your weight dead onto your ankles.  You bit back any sounds of agony that threatened. There was no time for such weakness.

It was relatively dark inside of the bakery, only flickers of orange hued candlelight helped to outline the store. You shuffled against the pain in your foot, whispering breathlessly her name. Your eyes darted between shadows, between the flamboyant movement of flame created by light. You followed along the counter, fingers gripping its surface for support.

The door of the store clanged open, Haytham escaping the heavy rain, banging his hat against his thigh. "Treacherous downpour..." He turned his eyes to you before trotting forward and grabbing your shoulders hard. "Hold a moment, my dear. You should not see her like this." He let his hands fall away then walked ahead, rounded the counter to peer behind it.

You drew in your bottom lip, dug your teeth into it until you thought it might bleed. His expression told you all you needed to know. You slid down onto your knees, clenching your fists even when your nails bit into your palm. "She didn't know anything. Why would they do this? Why would they kill her?"

Haytham's steps were somehow heavier, more determined than before. He reached down, pulled you up onto your feet, and silently herded you towards the door.

"She didn't even know anything," you muttered it, mind brokenly repeating those words over again and again. You were hardly aware that Haytham was dragging you back to the Green Dragon, that your clothes were soaked, clinging to every inch of skin, and that you were pressed against his side, his arms braced protectively around you.

Did he worry about the Assassins coming for you as well? Was that why he hurried you from the bakery? Why was he always so kind to you? You were a thief, and worse, secretly an Assassin.

"Mister Douglas," Haytham ordered in his usual snarky drawl, "I believe we need some water boiled. Please have Miss. Kerr bring it to us."

He gave a quick nod, eager to be of service for the wealthy man. "I'm right on it, Master Kenway. It'll be right to you in no time, sir."

Haytham led you up the stairs, meeting Charles at their peak. "Charles."

"Things did not go well, I take it, sir?"

"No, indeed not." He moved passed, opening your bedroom door and letting you walk mindlessly inside. "Hot water will be with you soon, my dear. It is best to take off those drenched clothes lest you catch cold."

The door closed behind you almost hesitantly. It clicked shut but it took you a few breaths before you slunk out of the jacket and toed off your boots. Your waistcoat was easy to remove. It was the shirt that took effort. It clung to your skin, forcing you to peel and pry it off before slamming it into the floor. Your breeches followed slowly behind.

A few lumbered steps and you reached the bed, pulling the thick blanket up around your body. You sat down on the edge of the bed and brought your icy legs up and beneath the blanket. Outside the world was dark and gray, rain snaking down the glass window. You stared out there at the dreary city of Boston, viciously mulled over the events that occurred.

The Assassins had killed Sophie. They had killed the madam in hopes to find the necklace that the Templars were searching for. What reason did they have for killing Sophie? Did they somehow believe she had answers to its location? And if she had, did they truly need to kill her for it? What threat could a simple baker have posed?

The door clicked open behind you and your eyes fell away from the window to the floor. Beneath you, near the bed, there was a bucket of water likely left there by the owners of the tavern. You couldn't recall her leaving it there for you or if she had even spoken to you. Your hair was still damp but not drenched, meaning some time had passed since returning to the tavern.

Haytham stepped into view, hands gripped behind his back. He stood by the window and gazed out at the sky, observing the twists of tumultuous clouds as if they somehow were written in an archaic language.

You finally dared to test your voice and it sounded more bitter than you intended. "I don't want to talk."

Haytham hummed, a quick glance over his shoulder, replying with just as much sass as before, "I did not come here to speak."

You pulled the blanket around you tighter, wishing you had a bottle of something good nearby to warm your belly and to cloud your mind. A sigh slipped free, your eyes clenching closed at the mixture of sorrow and hatred merged inside of you. "I was living on the streets when Sophie's family took me in... It was years later when they gave birth to her. Like a sister, she was. Stupidly sweet. Even after her parents died." You grimaced, lips cringing. "Murdered," you corrected. "They were murdered."

Haytham finally shifted, turning in his stance, not entirely facing you. "There will always be cruelty brought about by others. I wish there were words of comfort that I could provide you." He finally turned to face you, taking his place next to you on the bed. "I will see to it that the Assassins pay for their crimes."

Crimes... Murder was a crime, was it not? What did that make you? How were your crimes somehow any better than a common thug? Because you had some form of justification?

He slipped a hand past your face, cupping it against your cheek and turning your head to look at him. His stormy grey eyes held yours. He opened his mouth to speak, words caught between his teeth, pausing a moment longer. "I left some clean clothes on the table. Meet us outside for a hot meal."

After his hand drifted away, you returned your gaze to the window, admiring the wildness of the fuming sky. "I need some whiskey."

He chuckled a soft sound. "Yes. I shall get the whiskey."

Chapter Text

After donning the new set of clothes and finding that they fit just as comfortably, you stepped out of the bedroom. "Gents," you greeted cheerfully. The boys were gathered around the table, none of them turning to look at you, not even Charles with his usual snide remarks.

Haytham finally took a step back and held out a small piece of parchment. "Mister Douglas dropped it off with me. He forgot about it during the chaos, earlier."

Your brows knitted together, confusion gripping your expression. You recognized the handwriting immediately, snatching the letter from his hand. It was Sophie's, you were certain of it. She scribbled that she had information about the necklace. It was being sold through the madam at the brothel by a man who frequented the establishment. Jack Davis. The name was unfamiliar but Sophie, that sweet and clever girl, wrote down his residence.

You finally lifted your eyes, snapping up the chance to have a purpose again. "We will need to act quickly. If the Assassins are on the hunt," you pushed passed Haytham, taking the steps two or three at a time, "they could already be there."

Haytham was at your heels, you could feel his presence and heard his feet pounding behind you. "There is a chance that we are already too late."

You crumpled the paper, stuffing it into your jacket pocket. "I'm willing to try."

Outside, mist kissed your skin, the rains letting up ever so slightly. Haytham took your hand in his, abruptly halting your steps. "I do not intend on letting you die. Do nothing irrational while we're there."

You chuckled, peering over your shoulder. "I'm always careful. I won't let my emotions interfere." It was mostly the truth. You wouldn't have lashed out at the Assassins, not in front of him. You would seek answers after this whole mess was over. For now, you would focus on receiving the necklace. It was easier, ignoring your emotions, than thinking about Sophie. You always were good at ignoring things, pretending that situations weren’t getting worse.

Jack Davis lived in a two story home made of shambles and squalor. You were just approaching the building when your eyes caught the ever so subtle movements of an Assassin. It was a mere shadow, a darkened stain against the side of the building, but your training had alerted you to the presence.

"I will distract them," Haytham arrogantly ordered. "Find my necklace as promised."

Your steps wavered but you let the job take precedent knowing that Haytham was just as equally trained as you, if not better. You didn't bother knocking. There was little time for such decorum. You kicked down the door, easier since it was already rotted at the hinges. There was heavy scurrying upstairs, Jack startled into making a run for it. You leapt up the stairs, a cat light on her feet, catching sight of the man as he stuck his head out of the slightly opened window.

You snagged his shirt just as he squeezed his shoulders through. With all of your trained skills, you knew how to throw a body heavier than you, to use their own weight against them. You swept him off his feet, tumbling his across the floor onto his back. The wind was knocked from his lungs. He gasped down a breath as you sashayed over, a smirk splayed across your lips. It was hard not to get cocky about your work.

"Mister Davis," you greeted, kneeling down next to him, words tender as a mother to her child. "Darling, let's make this quick and easy. You stole something that belongs to a dear friend of mine and he wants it back. Hand everything over and I'll let you live."

His face distorted with rage, furious no doubt that he had been bested. "You'd have to pry it from my fucking fingers."

“Very well.” You shrugged a shoulder, tossing your head to the side. "I did warn you."

He threw his first punch, awkward and reckless, easily dodged. He took too long trying to get his weight off of the floor which gave you ample amounts of time to unsheath your daggers and rest their blades gingerly across his throat. He swallowed, Adam's apple scraping across the metal.

"Is it worth it, Mister Davis? A necklace and some parchment?"

He licked his lips, rolling his eyes to the dusty table by the door. "Stuffed it under the drawer. It's all in there, I swear it.”

You grinned, letting it reach your eyes, but felt none of it. "Thank you, darling. You've been a great help." You stood, withdrawing your weapons before making your way over to the small desk. You looked back at Jack, catching him as he moved to his knees, as he glared with hatred. You jerked out the drawer, allowed it to hit the floor, before gathering the brittle notes and the cold circle of evergreen stone.

It was strange to think these few items, these few meaningless items, had cost so many lives. You stuffed them away, checking instinctively on Jack's location as he stiffened with anticipation, before heading back down the stairs to the cold drizzle of rain. He didn’t need to die. You had what you came for and that was enough.

Haytham was pushing a few strands of his dark hair out of his composed face, resting his hat back onto his head. He straightened out his clothes, the regal pride still strong in his actions. "Well... this has certainly been exciting."

"The Assassin?" You couldn't help but inquire, curiosity and worry and bitterness.

He lifted his brows, turning his gaze to the side. "He is... indisposed."

You weren't sure how you felt. Or even how you were supposed to feel. Or really, what he meant by “indisposed”. Dead or just unconscious? Did you really want to know?

"We're you successful?" Haytham looked you over before finally resting on your face.

You were an excellent liar. You could have lied, given the items to the Assassins, handing them off to be used or hidden away whichever the Order saw fit. It would have been easy to say that Jack had already sold the items to the madam, ending the game right there. There were so many viable options.

But, you didn't.

"Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?" You reached into your jacket, lifting the pendent into view, tossing it into his hands.

He caught it with ease, looking over its surface with relief. He slipped the jade stone into his jacket before resting his gaze on you, locking onto your eyes. "My dear lady, I may just find myself trusting you."

You laughed, unable to contain it, looking away to anything but Haytham. You handed over the crumpled and folded papers. "I suppose you'll be needing these, as well."

"Ah, these would have been detrimental in the wrong hands." He held them firm, folding them and tucking them into his jacket. He gripped his hands behind his back while strolling down the street towards the Green Dragon. "The Templar Order owes you a great deal."

"Oh, I'll be sure to remember as much the next time I'm in a pinch." You walked slowly, boots splashing in the shallow puddles, uneager to leave behind the strange acquaintances you’d made within the last week.

"Shall you be joining us for dinner?" Haytham stopped, looking over at you but you didn't meet his gaze. "Or has your thieving blood called for you to return to the shadows."

You tried to smirk but your lips protested. "Something like that." You stepped away, further down the street but not towards the tavern. "Perhaps, we'll meet again, Haytham."

He didn't reply, too busy analyzing your actions or too consumed with his own actions.

You didn't bother hiding where you were going. It wouldn't have mattered now. You weren't planning on seeing the Templars again, at least not under such kind circumstances. Lying to Haytham had been too much to bear. He had been kind, his actions throughout the ordeal even kinder.

You returned to the Assassin's Bureau, tucked behind buildings away from the street. The door was through an opening in the rooftop, found by scaling its high walls. You dropped down and lifted your gaze to the only Assassin there tonight, the same you met with days ago, Nathan. He had been waiting, likely seen your approach. Likely, he had been keeping tabs.

He walked further into the building, motioning you to follow. "What news do you bring?"

You walked quietly behind, still feeling the clench of harbored resentment. "I am finished working with the Templars."

He turned on his heel, head held high and eyes narrowed. "You have information, then? What did you bring with you?"

You watched him wait patiently, waiting for you to have something to hand over. You kept your face neutral, falling back onto your training. You were a master at lying and concealment. "I didn't bring anything."

His brows drew together, his words spittingly harsh, "Then you are not finished."

"I returned the stolen items to the Templars. I am done working with them." You tried to step past him, to find a comfortable place to rest for the night before leaving Boston for good. You never wanted to look upon the city again.

He snatched hold of your arm, fingers firm in their grip. "Your objective was clear. You were to infiltrate the Templars and bring back something of value to our cause. The stolen items you speak of, what were they?"

You didn't have to reply but the words fumbled from your mouth. "A necklace of some kind. A few documents."

His face was stern, eyes darkening with irritation. "Yes and we watched plainly as you gave it to him. That necklace was a key to one of the Precursor Sites. In the hands of the Templars, it can cause great devastation."

You pressed your lips thin, your teeth hard against each other. Hadn't Haytham said something similar? Templars and Assassins... Your rage spilled over, destroying whatever composure you had left. You twisted your arm free from his tight grasp. "And the baker? Sophie? What exactly did she do to warrant your wrath?"

His mouth screwed downwards. "Return to the Green Dragon. Bring us that necklace and the documents that went with it. You are young and naive. You do not understand the implications of your actions."

Your steps were hard against the ground, pounding in rapid succession as you headed back to the roof. You mindlessly found your way through the maze of Boston, stepping before the tavern that had been a home for the past few days. Haytham's room was dark and likely empty. You could sneak in there and find what you were looking for. It would have been more than easy to get in and out undetected, to grab any amount of information for the Assassins and be done with it all.

But did you even want to anymore?

You walked through the front door, taking in the lurid heat of the fireplace crackling in the far back. Haytham sat at the bar, hunched over with a drink sitting tauntingly before him. Mister Douglas stood on the other side of the bar, cleaning a tankard when he cheered, "Well, look what the cat dragged in. Hope you didn't want your room back. I already gave it away."

Haytham turned in his seat, taking in your sight before a small smirk touched the corner of his lips, something flashing in his eye. "I had not expected you to return so quickly."

You waltzed forward, making each step as lively as you felt. "I believe you promised me some whiskey, Master Kenway." You took a seat next to him, brushing your shoulder against his and rolling your gaze to peer over at him.

"Mister Douglas, bring us a bottle will you?" Haytham pushed his glass your way. "If I may inquire, what brought you back here?"

You took the cold smooth surface of the glass into your hands, swishing the amber liquid around. "Have you ever held onto an ideal... and then have someone shatter it in a single day?"

Haytham watched your expression, watched as you kicked back the drink and cringe at its taste and tingled burn. He took the bottle that Douglas placed down, filling both his glass and yours. "Are you speaking of the events that transpired today?"

You swished your next swallow, letting it coat every corner of your mouth before letting it slide down your throat. "Something like that. Tell me Haytham: do you truly believe your Templars can change this world for the better?"

He still nursed his drink, leaving it somewhat untouched.

You giggled before sloshing back another glass full. "They killed Sophie." You wanted to mention how indifferent your contact had been about her death. You wanted to mumble that you too had killed people in the name of freedom and peace. It was different now, all of it, this game that the Templars and Assassins played with the lives of civilians.

Instead you reached out and slid the bottle of whiskey closer, putting its mouth to yours and taking a long drag. You grinned, pressing your head into your hand before leering at Haytham who had been silent through the whole internalized ordeal.

"The whole of humanity has been conflict," Haytham finally spoke, his tone seemingly darker than it usually was. "Imagine that world without anyone to bring about order. We want peace and we could accomplish as much."

"If humans can't be trust... how do we decide who is best fit to bring about that order."

Haytham analyzed your expression, his eyes bobbing across your features, a twinge of worry or guilt sparking to life. “My dear, something has managed to unhinge you.”

You slowly stood up after pushing the whiskey bottle towards Haytham. You gripped his shoulder, your legs wavering in the thrall of drunkenness. You giggled uncontrollably. "Don't worry, Master Kenway, it won’t be me leading people. Not anymore." You were finished with the Templars. And the Assassins. It didn't matter which side was right.

Haytham moved quickly, held you before you staggered forward. "I believe you've drunk quite enough for one night, my dear."

You pressed your dizzied forehead into his shoulder, turning your head until you could rest it against the bend of his neck. "I should probably... get out of the city..."

"After you have slept." He got to his feet, angling your weight against him, shuffling you towards the staircase. Surprisingly, the Templars were not haunting the upstairs table. In fact, the whole tavern seemed quieter, the few patrons sulking over their flagons. You let Haytham lead you into his room and set you onto the edge of his bed.

"I'm a good person," you muttered as he slipped off your boots. "Am I? Am I a good person, Haytham?"

He lifted his gaze before setting down your boots at the foot of the bed. "You are indeed, my dear. Better than most." He peeled away your jacket and hung it on the bedpost before easing you beneath the cold covers of the bed.

"I killed people..." You clenched the covers, heart feeble and wavering. “I’m a murderer.”

"We can speak more when you are sober."

They had sent you to kill people. How many 'Sophies' had you killed? How many people out their lost a loved one because of you? They had convinced you that their death was necessary for the greater cause.

Your eyes were heavier, drooping across your vision. "Everything... is permitted…”

Chapter Text

You pried your eyes open, the gleam of the morning sun stroking your eyelids. You lifted your head, letting it roll off of your pillow before jolting in confusion. You weren't in bed. Your head had been on a pillow, yes, and a blanket was draped across your lap. But you weren't in a bed. The sun burned softly at your back, filling the room with light. You were in a wooden chair, arms tied down, and sitting across from Haytham.

Completely unlike himself, he was slouching in his chair. He was stripped of his jacket, hat thrown carelessly onto the bed with it, and his knuckles were pressed against his lips, eyes staring off past the wall. His eyes finally flickered to you and there they rested, an emptiness in them that you had never seen before.

Your stomach was twisted tight and breathing was more difficult than you'd ever remembered it. You swallowed, readying yourself to speak, but you couldn't open your mouth. What would you even say to him? He didn't look like he wanted to hear your words. Surely he already knew you were an Assassin. Why else would he have tied you down? It was hard to focus on the details from last night, mind still buzzing from the whiskey.

His lips were hard pressed. "I had considered it," he finally said, voice darker and emptier than before. "You left so many hints to your true nature. Oddly enough, I forced myself to put those thoughts away. I convinced myself you were a well trained thief who mastered her skills in order to survive."

"I can explain," you quickly blurted.

"Yes. Let us start in the beginning. At what point did you think it wise to deceive me?"

"That wasn't my intention." You shook your head, painfully shifting your weight. "I was sent to kill the captain and steal important documents from the compound. I was betrayed. That much was true. Most of what I told you was true."

He smirked, but it was filled with spite and bitter resentment. "Did you recognize me? Did you know I was a Templar? Was it an enjoyable game, deceiving me?"

"I knew who you were." Your eyes shifted downwards. "And I knew you would have killed me. So I lied. It wasn’t a game..."

Haytham leaned forward, sleeves rolled messily up to his elbows. He clutched his hands together, eyes glowering into yours. "I nursed you back to health. I ensured you were well taken care of. I trusted you."

"I know." Your brows bowed beneath your sorrow at the sight of his agony. It lingered behind his expression. "I know. That's why I stayed. That is why I helped you. Otherwise, I could have left. But the Assassins. I thought I could help them without harming you."

He gave a bitter laugh, grinning in anger as he leaned back. He turned his head away, lips hard pressed. "Ah, of course. What did your precious Assassins command of you? Were you planning to kill me?"

"No!" You tried to lean forward, mindlessly tried to reach out to him, but the rope shredded against your wrist. "I was just supposed to steal information and bring it back to them."

"Supposed to..." His expressions were nearly unreadable even for your trained eyes. And for some reason, it left a pang of guilt in your heart. Guilt or maybe something altogether stranger.

"I didn't. When I returned without the necklace they..."

"Ah." He lifted a curled hand up to his mouth, sliding his eyes to glare at you. "Then that is why you returned. And here I thought... I hoped that I had been..." Something painful flickered across his expression, his eyes glazed over with it.

"No. I came here like they ordered. I saw your room was dark... I could have slipped in there and stolen an innumerable amount of things. I didn't. I don't want the necklace. I don't want... I should have..." You rolled your eyes closed, clenching them tight as they burned. "I should have stolen a horse and left Boston."

Haytham dropped his hand, slouched in his chair with his arms lounging lifelessly, and turned his intense glare to you. "I want the truth now."

"That's the truth." You drew in your lip, finding your throat dry and scratchy. "I did not steal anything for the Assassins. I did not come back here for the Assassins. I came back here because I--" You lowered your head, finding it heavier to hold. Yes, it wasn't guilt. It was affection. It was love. Maybe you had fallen for him. Maybe you cared for him. Your eyes burned when you clenched them closed, the words a hard knot in your throat.

You loved him.

There was a knock on the door and it flew open. Charles walked in confidently and greeted rather happily, "Master Kenway." He stopped mid-step, his eyes wandering over you then moved to Haytham. His face distorted a little. "Should I even inquire what's happening here?"

You were certain everything would be over the moment Haytham explained who you truly were. You would be cast out into the cold, or worse, he would have you killed. Surely, Charles wouldn’t put up with an Assassin for an ally. He could hardly stomach the idea of you being a thief. Hickey and Johnson might be a little more merciful but they would likely never wish to see you again. You were their enemy. You were Haytham’s enemy. And this thought alone broke you.

Any chance you had to be with him were gone. Any trust you had gained was now gone.

Haytham held his gaze firm to yours, a brutal stare. "Our thief stole some papers from my desk last night."

Yours eyes fluttered, holding back the sting of tears. He lied.

Charles scoffed, dropping his weight back on his hips with a cocky sneer. "I did try to warn you against this, sir. She is a thief, after all."

Haytham rolled his head, a soft chuckle. "She was generous enough to return it afterwards. I am merely... questioning her in how much she knows about us."

“She… returned it…” He cleared his throat before ashamedly muttering, "Shay Cormac has stopped by to visit with us before leaving. He wishes to speak with you, sir."

Haytham straightened in his seat, beginning to smooth out his sleeves. "Allow me another moment, Charles, and I shall greet Mr. Cormac."

Charles spun away from the room, softly closing the door behind him.

"You lied to him?" You shook your head, hardly believing it, hardly understanding his actions. "Why?"

Haytham stood up and ran his hands down along his clothes, shifting them into something presentable, before donning his jacket and hat. "Do you still serve the Assassins? Are you here under their orders?"

You tilted your head, shifting your gaze down to his boots. "I don't know anymore."

Haytham gave a confident and pleased huff. "We will speak when I return."

"Haytham, I--"

He sauntered off, shoulders stiff and steps heavy. "When I return."

You threw your head back just as the door was slamming closed. He was good at hiding his emotions but you were certain that he was furious. He had lied for you but he was angry. Either because you had betrayed him or because he let himself be betrayed by you. He didn't hate you enough to kill you. Not yet, at least.

The window behind you creaked, the harsh sound of wood sliding up and clamouring. You tried to turn in your seat, to look over your shoulder. But the ropes had been tied firmly and the pillow blocked your vision.

Nathan came into view, draped in his Assassin's garments and walking confidently past you. "What am I to think of this? You refused my orders last night. I watched you walk in here and throw away another good opportunity. You compromised your identity."

You gritted your teeth, jaw jutting as your nibbled on the corner of you lip. "You killed Sophie. She was innocent. She had nothing to do with any of this."

"The baker?" He leaned forward, face inches from yours, hands landing hard against your arms. "She was selling Assassin secrets. Her death was to the benefit of peace. Or have you forgotten your oath? Perhaps you even sold secrets to her."

You wanted to argue, to spout your hatred, but he quickly pulled away and drew his hidden blade. You hardened your expression, almost eager for his punishment, eager for it all to be over with. "You plan on killing me, as well?"

"No. I will let the order decide your fate." His blade moved to the ropes but there was shuffling behind the door, a groan from the hinges as it opened. He shifted in one quick move to stand beside you, blade glinting in the corner of your eye.

Haytham strolled confidently into view then halted stiffly.

"I am sorry, sister," stated Nathan coldly, pulling the blade away, the muscles in his arms stiffening for the attack.

"No! Don’t!" Haytham shouted it, but it was already too late. The hidden blade lunged forward just as your instincts took over, your feet pushing into the ground until your chair teetered to the side. The blade missed your heart, sinking deep into your arm instead. It was removed in a quick rush, Nathan jumping back out of the window, your chair thrown hard onto its side.

All of the noise had caused quite the gathering. Charles stood in the doorway while another pushed his way passed, one you could not recognize.

"Shay! Go after him!" Haytham hurried to you, falling onto his knees.

Shay slipped out of the window with the trained skills of an Assassin, movements fluid and agile.

Haytham gripped your bleeding arm, the heat of blood and the sting of metal was nothing compared to the realization that a fellow Assassin had made an attempt to kill you. He would have preferred you dead rather than listen to your explanations.

He pulled the chair off of the ground, shouting over his shoulder, "Charles, grab the medical supplies."

Charles rushed out of the room, face distorted with fear or worry. It was shocking to think the Templar who had teased you and mocked you was suddenly concerned about you.

You chuckled, torn between bitterness and disbelief, lips grinning but in agony. "I'm not sure what's worse. That I betrayed my people or that they betrayed me."

Haytham gripped your arm tighter, dark blood seeping between his fingers. "In what way did you betray them, exactly?" He jutted out his hidden blade, letting the metal cut the ropes away, freeing your wrists from their bindings.

You nibbled on your lip, sinking your teeth into the skin in order to ignore the pain in both your arm and in your chest. You had betrayed the Assassins. Your inaction was a betrayal. Haytham couldn't convince you otherwise. But to know that they killed Sophie, to know that they had murdered her, made your betrayal all the more easy. To think that Nathan had dared to call you sister before trying to kill you... It was unnerving and sickening. They were just as much traitors as you were.

"I think I need another drink," you muttered, dizzying head rolling forward, bringing your body with it.

Haytham caught most of your weight, letting your head rest on his shoulder. "Charles!"

"Here, sir." He clamoured his way into the room, a wooden chest tucked beneath his arm. He dropped it down onto a table in the corner and trifled through different small vials as well as bandages.

"It went through cleanly," Haytham tried to reassure you as you dug your fingers into his back, an attempt to keep down any sobs that might threaten. Your arm hurt, seared with pain, of course, but it wasn’t why you were crying.

"It's still bleeding," you retorted, knowing all too well what that would entail. "Just get me something strong to drink. I'm ready for it." You were ready for anything that would take your mind off of the events from the past few days.

Charles threw you and Haytham a stern glance then sauntered back out of the room. He returned with the hardest liquor in the bar and started pouring glass after glass. You swallowed each one as quickly as possible, letting it scratch down your throat and heat your belly, body and thoughts beginning to slowly tingle.

Shay returned, silent enough that you didn't hear him enter the room. "He got away."

"We will find him." Haytham's voice was all but neutral but you knew he was annoyed. He meant those words.

"I will f-find him," you muttered, your drink taking its toll. "I will... find him." You grinned, head rolling back against the pillow behind you.

"Help me hold her down, Shay. We need to cauterize her wound." Haytham slowly stood up, fingers still gripped tightly around your arm. Shay shuffled to the other side, lifting your weight and carrying you over to the bed. They lied you down gently just as Charles was approaching with another glass of that sweet liquid.

You weren't quite sure what happened after that. There must have been screaming, your throat was hoarse and sore, dry as sandpaper. Your skin was laced with a fine sheen of sweat, dampening your hair and clinging to your clothes. You were breathing heavily, each gasp of air tainted by the smell of burning flesh. You vision sought out something to rest upon, anything of comfort.

Haytham came into view just as he was sitting down on the edge of the bed. "We are finished, my dear." He placed a hand onto the side of your face, the other brushing back the soaked strands of hair. "It is over now."

You closed your burning eyes, tears traitorously leaking free.

"Would like to fill me in now, Master Kenway?" Shay was soft spoken, his tongue accented with an Irish drawl.

Haytham flickered his gaze over his shoulder, the room empty now of just the two of them. "Close the door, would you, Shay?"

The Templar did as asked, closing it shut quietly before walking back towards the bed, weaponry clanging along the way. He stood there for a moment, watching Haytham's back and your dazed expression.

"She is an Assassin." Haytham finally stood up, moving to take a seat in the wooden chair beside the bed. "And she, like you, was betrayed by her own people."

Your brows jolted as you looked over the man at the foot of the bed. Yes, he was definitely an Assassin at one point. His movements had hinted at it. His stance and his hidden blades were obvious signs. If you had been in better health, you'd have picked up on it sooner.

"Those precursor sights," Shay whispered. "They aren't what the Assassins would like you to believe them to be. They're dangerous."

You swallowed, throat scratchier by the second. You voice came out as a hoarse whisper, "What are they?"

"They hold the world together," he stated it matter of factly, as if it were a normal thing. "If the Assassins make it to another site..." He closed his eyes and you admired the long scar that slithered down his right brow and onto his cheekbone. "They could topple whole cities and murder thousands. It's already happened."

Haytham leaned forward, eyes burrowing into yours. "Shay informed them of this. They have decided to continue forward with their plans."

You let your gaze move between the two of them before finally settling on Haytham. "You want me to help you? To openly betray the Assassins and the Creed."

"I live by my own creed," Shay informed, pressing his hands onto his hips, drawing your attention to the pistols and sword. "They would see us dead before letting anyone stop them."

Sophie, you almost muttered her name aloud. You chuckled, choking on the bitterness of it. "Templars. Assassins." You clenched your eyes closed, turned your head away from both of them. "I don't want anything to do with your war. You both think that the lives around you are expendable."

Haytham took hold of your hand. "If we do not stop them in their endeavor then who will, my dear?"

It was an awful truth, a statement that held more meaning than any creed.

"I will take the Morrigan as planned." He eyed Haytham, waiting patiently for approval or orders.

The Grand Master rested his mouth against his hand, nodding as he mulled over a few thoughts. "We shall meet you at the docks."

You swallowed hard, regretting the idea of having to move.

Shay stepped back, eyes lingering on you, before walking out of the room.

"Support us or don't." Haytham leaned forward, squeezing your hand ever so slightly. "I don't honestly care which one you choose. I would, however, enjoy your company on this journey."

Your heart skittered, those words alone made it happen. "To where exactly?" You examined his expression, searching for his reasons but he was well guarded in his facade. Did he mean those words? Did he want your company or did he have ulterior plans?

"We sail for New York." He slowly got to his feet without letting go of your hand. "I would... very much like it if you came with me. Not as an Assassins or a Templar. As..." His attention wandered off, glancing about the small room.

"I'll go." You took down a deep breath, pushing yourself off of the bed. Haytham was quick to help you, an arm wrapped around your waist, and your arm hooked around his neck. "Charles is going to be so disappointed. He won't have anyone to sneer at."

Haytham laughed softly as the two to you jostled through the room. "He will always have Hickey. I doubt they'll ever see eye to eye."

You grinned, leaning onto him as you left the room, towards the rickety staircase.

"Sir?" Charles easily followed behind at his heels.

Haytham helped your down each step, your body racked with fever and pain. "We are leaving earlier than planned, Charles."

"I can see that. You're taking... the thief with you?"

Haytham gave a wicked smirk, making an attempt not to chuckle at the poor lad's disdain. "That is correct, Charles. I may require her services."

"He misses me already," you chided. "Don't worry, Charles. I'll write to you everyday. I'll always love you, you know that."

He huffed in disgust, tossing his head away. "I will manage things here, sir."

"I know you will." Haytham pulled you out the doors and onto the cobblestone streets. An uncharacteristic sigh escaped past his lips.

You tried to sound sassy, to put energy into your words,"Something the matter, Grand Master?"

Haytham stepped towards a carriage, averting his attention elsewhere. Once the carriage door was open, he helped you inside, making sure you were comfortable. He sat down stiffly in the seat across from you. He waited until the driver latched the door firmly closed before speaking, "This was not how I planned our relationship."

"Had a plan, did you?" Your lips never wavered in their smugness. But your gaze fell away from his expression, ashamedly admitting that you hadn't planned any of this. It simply happened.

"More or less..." Haytham moved too quick for you to register. He was leaning across the small space, hand against your cheek, drawing your attention to his gray eyes. "Whatever the events that have occurred recently, I hope that we can... start anew."

You placed your hand on top of his, swallowing down the hard knot that formed in your throat. His expression was still unreadable, carved stone in exquisite but emotionless detail. "You're going to simply overlook my being an Assassin?"

"So long as you overlook my being a Templar." He lifted a brow, the corner of his lip curling ever so slightly.

You tried to keep your lips from grimacing but they did all the same. "I don't know if I can."

His hand slid down your cheek to return to his side. You regretted the gesture, regretted the loss of his touch. "Let us see where this takes us first, shall we?"

You laughed softly, smile small but still there, an ache deep in your chest.

Chapter Text

The Morrigan was a simple ship but still very glorious in her construction. Shay had taken good care of it, treating her like any good captain would, adding onto her hull and armory. He walked across her deck, commanding her sailors with bolstering confidence, his voice carrying over the shouts of his men.

"Ah, the refreshing sea air," Haytham stated all-too sweetly, and you weren't entirely sure if he had intended it to be sarcastic or not.

You rolled your eyes and smirked all the same, because Haytham always seemed to draw out your snarkier side. "Smells like fish, Haytham."

"Yes, well..." He shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, walking up the steps towards the captain's wheel. "I was making an attempt at being optimistic, my dear."

You strolled further onto the deck, standing towards the bow, hands pressed into her railings. Haytham had been right. The sea air was refreshing, cold against the lungs and perfect for a feverish body. Your wound was sealed, albeit painfully, and you were just beginning to feel your strength return. You weren't sick, per se. Your stomach clenched from the overwhelming stress of recent events, your thoughts clouded by Haytham's convincing words and ideology. You were sick with worry. And fear. And anxiety.

There was a great deal of commotion amongst the sailors, ropes being pulled tight and others loosened. The sun gleamed down, a brilliant heat that contrasted with the chilly breeze. The ship made way, cutting sharply through the harbor, the surface of the water splitting before the large vessel.

Haytham called your name, your head jolting towards the other end of the ship, looking past scurrying sailors. He stood with Shay and another, the three of them gathered around the large steering wheel. You made your way over, hearing the scattered bits of a conversation that was hardly noteworthy.

"Boys," you greeted, eyes weaving between the three of them.

"You've already met Shay. This is his quartermaster, Mr. Gist." Haytham motioned towards the large man, his attire somewhat extravagant, his feathered hat most of all.

You gave a nod of your head. "It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine!" He reached out and snapped up your hand, energy beaming as he held onto it with both of his own. "Welcome aboard the Morrigan. I hear you'll be sailing with us to New York."

You didn't have to force yourself to smile. Gist was jovial enough to make it contagious. "I've heard the same rumor. We must have excellent sources, you and I."

Shay chuckled, turning his attention to steering but darting a shy glance back to you.

Haytham placed a hand on the small of your back. "You are looking a little pale. Perhaps you should head below and rest."

You clenched your eyes shut, rubbed fingers weakly across them. "Yes, perhaps." If you looked how you felt, you were a walking zombie.

Shay slapped his quartermaster in the shoulder. "Gist can take you to your quarters. You both look like you walked through hell."

Gist grinned wide, all too pleased with the opportunity. "Follow me. I'll give you a not so grand tour of our fine ship. She's small and modest but she can take down just about anything floating on these waters." He continued talking, words running together, and you weren't entirely sure he was stopping to take a breath. It was hard to focus on his energetic, one-man conversation. Especially not with Haytham slyly ghosting fingertips down your spine, slowly taking in each vertebrae, and each curve of muscle.

Calmly you breathed in a deep breath, settling your desire. You wanted Haytham, that was undeniable. You wanted him naked, pleading and begging, crying out your name. You wanted his body to envelop you, the heat of his tongue against your skin.

Haytham all but chuckled under his breath, noting your paced breathing and your chewed lip.

Your threw a daggered glance, knowing very well what he was doing.

The three of you moved past crates and barrels, past the crew's hammocks, and towards a nook in the back of the ship. It was lined with doors on either side, surprisingly uncluttered.

The quartermaster turned on his heel, grin unwavered throughout the small trek. "Here we are. I do not doubt that you'll find your beds for the journey more than acceptable. Master Kenway, your room." He motioned towards a door and then to the door across the way. "And for you, my darling friend."

Haytham tucked his hands behind his back. "Thank kindly you, Mr. Gist. We appreciate your guidance."

"It was an honor, Master Kenway."Gist turned and left, his steps just as chipper as before.

Before Haytham grabbed hold of his quarter's door and disappeared inside, you blurted his name, catching his attention. You swallowed your pulse, mind riddled with various word choices, hardly believing you were about you ask such a question. "Tonight... perhaps after dinner... after nightfall..." You stepped back, motioning over your shoulder towards your door, averting your attention towards anything but the man before you. "You could come to my room. Weaponless."

Haytham shifted his weight between his feet, his body turning to face you fully. "You are suggesting something, my dear?"

You rolled your eyes about the space, seeking an appropriate word, a less embarrassing way to say "meet me in my room for a bit of fun". None of the words sounded at all polite.

"Ah," Haytham breathed a laugh, eyes glinting. "I see. And you want me to simply walk in there without any weapons to defend myself?"

You rolled the inside of your cheek between your teeth, mulling over what you had asked. You were asking him to trust you, completely and fully. "Alright. I'll walk into your room then. If you are weaponless, I'll stay. If you have weapons on, I'll leave."

He tucked his hands behind his back, head tilted down as he stepped forward. "Very well, my dear, let's consider this. I will come to your room, both of us with weapons. We both, at the same time, take them off and place them into a chest of sorts. That way, neither of us is walking into a trap."

You parted your lips, ashamed of the way you had to go about this. It wasn't that you didn't trust Haytham... Well, to be fair, you didn't trust anyone. Even fellow Assassins were becoming a part of your growing list of 'untrustworthies'. You took down a deep breath, realizing you'd forgotten the simple action.

You finally stated firmly, "Alright. Tonight, then."

"Tonight?" Haytham ambled forward, closing the small space between your two bodies. His thigh was pressed against you, positioned teasingly between your legs and against the flourishing heat that tingled at your core. "Why not now?"

You almost leaned into him, his presence alluring and his thin grin all the more kissable. The closeness of his leg was tantalizing. You could easily press forward, firmly grind your hips and take pleasure from the firm touch. But you pressed your back against the door, creating a small distance. "Last night and this morning didn't exactly go that... well for us. I think we both need some time to think."

Haytham was devilish, the sneer and the smoldering in his eyes. "I have already spent enough time thinking about touching you, my dear. I have thought about it for far too many nights already."

You sucked down a breath of air and choked on a laugh at the same time, hardly expecting the stern but snarky Templar to make such a bold statement. He stepped forward again, pinning your body between the door and his firm figure. His hands fell onto your hips, thumbs caressing the protruding bone, pulling them forward until your two centers pressed.

Your eyes were enraptured by the flick of his tongue, wetting his quivering lips as they hovered over yours. You muttered, found yourself nearly tilting your head into a kiss, "Tonight. I'm... still a little... wounded."

Haytham let his eyes slip closed, hesitating another moment before stepping back. He opened his eyes and gave a minor nod. "Very well. I shall wait until then."

You reached behind you and fumbled with the handle of the door. It was hard to take your eyes off of Haytham, not with him looking at you like that. He was impatient, the eyes of a hungry beast clenching before the pounce. You stumbled backwards into the bedroom and clicked the door closed.

Your breath gushed out of you, whistled past your lips.

Tonight, you weren't entirely sure you were ready for him... Oh, you wanted him but you'd never seen anyone look at you like Haytham looked at you. Could you even handle his need for you, your name on his lips? Could you handle your own need for him, an insatiable thirst that you'd never experienced with anyone. It was clouding your judgement, he was clouding your thoughts.

You fell back onto the bed in the corner of the room, the heat of a blush sparking across your cheeks as you thought about his words. He had spent nights thinking about you... You paced the small space, shaking your hands fervently at the idea of Haytham finding sleep difficult, his fingertips gliding downwards across his stomach... No, no, you chased the thoughts away.

Sleep, you needed sleep. And whiskey. Lots of whiskey.

You settled stiffly back onto the bed and tried to sleep, the swaying of the ship doing very little to help quell your thoughts of a naked Grand Master... A naked Grand Master swaying against you...

Tonight, you reminded as you turned onto your side. Tonight.

~:~

A knock finally cracked against the door, jolting you from half-sleep. Gist cheered all too joyfully on the other side of the door, "Join us for dinner! It's already on the table!"

You sat up, somewhat groggy with exhaustion. You raked back your hair, straightened your clothes, and headed towards the door.

Outside were the jovial cheers of sailors and you passed quite a few drunk ones along the way. You weren't sure how anyone managed to stay upright on the ship. It was constantly jostling beneath your feet and with any amount of alcohol, you were certain you'd find yourself stumbling into things.

Shay, Gist, and Haytham were gathered at a table that was chained securely to the ceiling above. It wasn't a glorious meal but there was meat and vegetables. And that much on a ship should be praised. Luckily, the cook had opportunity to shop while he was in Boston's port.

You joined the empty space next to Haytham, giving a slight nod to all of them, "Gents."

"Decided to join us, my dear." Haytham lifted his tin mug to his lips, those gray eyes sweeping across your body and that alone sent a shiver down your spine. You still hadn't forgotten his words from earlier.

"I was just telling Haytham here quite the tale!" Gist leaned forward, his deep voice boisterous. "The day I first met Shay, he was rescuing me from the hangman's noose."

Your brows jumped half-expecting something like that. "Quite the first impression."

"Good lord," Shay muttered, accent rolling from his tongue. "I've heard you retell that story too many times, Gist. It's not was not brilliant as you think."

You chuckled while pouring yourself some of the ale from the center of the table, being sure to lean across Haytham for the large bottle, a surreptitious brush of your breast against his shoulder. "Then you should tell us the truth, Captain."

Haytham stiffened. He cleared his throat before shifting in his seat, eyes rolling down towards your chest before lifting to your face.

You gave a wry smile before turning towards Shay and his story.

"It was nothing," Shay demanded, his eyes bashfully darting into his drink, "Gist would make me sound glorious. I just shot a rope."

"And infiltrated a fort full of gang members," excused Gist. "It was a rather good show, I'll say. Then he managed to steal his ship back from them."

You grinned, throwing back a mouthful of drink. Their conversation continued, one story after the next, followed by a few more drinks and bites of your meal. But your thoughts always wandered towards Haytham. You flickered a glance to him, taking in the features of his profile. The corner of his lips tugged ever so slightly, knowing you were watching him without even having to look. His hand ducked beneath the table to squeeze your knee, an encircled stroke across the bone.

You softly cleared your throat, tilting your head towards him. "Haytham," you muttered.

"Feeling suddenly tired, my dear?" He turned his head as well, eyes locked firmly onto yours. His hand slowly moved up along your inner thigh, fingertips pressing firmly the higher they moved, the closer they became to your center.

You glanced at Shay and Gist who were both very deep in conversation. "Meet me in ten minutes," you whispered it, hardly certain he even heard it. You stood up, taking down the last from your tankard. "Well boys, it's been fun but I think I'll call it a day."

"Awe, come now, lass." Shay grinned, lifting his cup, somewhat swaying as he did. "The night's still young."

"It's been... a rough day." You patted the bandaged fleshy, charred wound.

Gist laughed a deep, rumbling sound. "Rough is an understatement."

You chuckled, knocking the table a few times before walking off. "Good night, boys!" You tried to walk calmly, to be the embodiment of ease, but it was damn near impossible. You were anxious and that slight touch from Haytham sent your body through a flush of heated desire and trembles.

Once in your room, you found yourself pacing again, your lip growing sore beneath the gnashing of your teeth. Removing your weapons would leave you exposed. In fact, you couldn't remember the last time you ever trusted anyone enough to take off your weapons. Most nights you slept with your hidden blade on your wrist and a dagger beneath your pillow. Lately, things hadn't been quite the norm.

Haytham opened the door, a glance over his shoulder before stepping inside and closing it behind him. His hands unbuckled his belts as his eyes wandered playfully over every inch of you, head to toe, tossing them onto the floor with reckless consideration.

You gripped the desk against the wall and in your other hand its chair. "This is a bad idea..."

"Oh?" He smirked, tilting his head, tossing his cape with the rest of his items.

You slowly began to remove your weapons, setting them down onto the desk, daring a glance to Haytham. You clenched your last dagger. "I'm not sure I can be completely disarmed."

Haytham swayed where he stood, his face smooth with neutrality. "What do you propose we do about it?"

You averted your attention to anything but him, to anything but those kissable lips. You wanted him, naked, every inch of him exposed. You wanted to trust him. You wanted to give yourself fully over to him.

He chuckled, closing the small expanse, gently prying the chair from your grasp and setting it between the bed and desk. "You still do not trust me."

"It's not that I don't trust you," your words trailed away, making them less believable.

He sat down in the chair and rolled up his sleeves. "Fetch some rope, my dear." He removed the hidden blade and slapped it onto the desk. "If it puts you at ease, tie me down."

You glanced him over, finding that he was indeed serious. "You're just going to let me tie you to a chair?"

Haytham slowly removed his hat, he held it firmly for a moment before setting it onto the desk as well. "I find that I trust you enough, yes."

You slid your eyes shut for a moment, breathless at Haytham.

He trusted you.

You placed your last dagger onto the desk, reached out to the red ribbon around his neck, fingers fumbling to untie it. Your eyes glanced at his, finding them locked onto yours, gentle but determined. You slipped the ribbon slowly from around his neck. You stepped behind him and tied his wrists carefully to the wooden chair before standing, swaying in your next choice.

Your hands fell onto the chair, too nervous to touch him quite yet. "You're certain?"

He tested the tightness of the bindings then rolled his shoulders. "I am very certain, my dear. Now..." He looked over his shoulder, those gorgeous lips of his curling at the corners. "Can we finally begin?"

"I could kill you right now..." You rounded the chair and even boldly took a glance to his hidden blade resting plainly in sight.

His eyes followed yours before looking back at you, arrogant and cocky, "You've had many times to try. Surely whatever stayed your blade before now hasn't dissipated."

"We shouldn't do this. I shouldn't..." Your shaky hand lifted to the side of his face, hovering delicately over it until he turned his cheek into your palm, encouraging your touch.

His eyes slipped closed, tilting into the caress of your fingertips and the brush of your thumb across his cheekbone. His words were gentle, far more than they ever were. "Give me a reason why we shouldn't."

"What if this doesn't end well."

He laughed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, wetting it with his tongue. His eyes pried open only a small amount. "I wouldn't mind. We have to start something for it to end, do we not? And should this in fact go badly like we plan it to, we will have moments like these to enjoy."

You pursed your lips, a failed attempt to keep yourself from smirking. Your hands gripped the edge of his collar, tugging it forcefully as yours legs moved to either side of the chair, his chest teasingly against your hips. The flourish of heat pressed ever so tenderly against him. "Do you plan on this going badly?"

He threw his head back, craning it until he could look up as you stood over him. "I'm somewhat fatalistic, my dear. I don't plan on anything going well." He lowered his chin, your breasts inches from his face. He shifted his weight against you, somewhat groaning after taking down a deep breath of your scent. "Now, please, toy with me no longer."

You reached between the both of your bodies, tugging at his jacket's buttons, your eyes locked on his as each one was snapped free. His lips parted, chin tilting with the anticipation of another kiss. You denied it to him, smirking at the power you held over him. "You're tied up, Grand Master. I'm afraid you've given me all of the control here."

He gave a huffed laugh, rolling his head away. "I hardly had you pegged as the torturous type, my dear."

You leaned down, scraping the corner of his bottom lip between your teeth, soothing it with a brief kiss, whispering against him, "Only when that torture involves you, Mister Kenway."

His lips pressed forward, capturing yours, molding hard in desperation. You forced your lips against his as well, delighting at the flicker of his tongue's exploration. And damn, could Haytham kiss, drawing the air out of your lungs.

His body arched against you, fighting against his bindings to kiss deeper, inadvertently grinding against the center of your hips. He muttered against your lips, hot breath slithering into your mouth, "I could do so many things to you if I weren't tied up."

You chuckled, your arms wrapping around his head, your lips brushing across his cheekbone and into his hair, laced with citrus and spices. His body shuddered beneath you, a breath sighing free. Your tongue found the curved shell of his ear before peppering kisses down his neck, nipping against his collarbone. His chest heaved forward in his next gasp, your body taking that moment to firmly press downwards, to sink into his lap, to grind your clit into his hard body.

"Haytham," you chided, feeling his hips grind forward instinctively to meet yours.

"Untie me," he whispered his plea, his head rolling forward to nuzzle the curve of your neck, his tongue sweeping across your skin. "My fingers know just what you need."

You leaned your upper body backwards, denying him the touch of his kiss against your skin, taking in the glorious sight that was Haytham. His eyes were glazed, his lips parted, his dark hair loosening from its binding.

You gripped his shoulders, making sure your ass pushed playfully against the hardened bulge of his pants, shuddering a moan from him. His head fell forward as your wriggled in his lap, each twist encircling around his erection, taunting the opening of your cunt. You rolled slowly forward then eased back, his head thrown back and his mouth opening to groan. Even through layers of clothes, you could feel him throbbing.

"Haytham," you whispered, making sure to coat it in your desire for him.

Your name choked from his throat, a strangled plea. "Untie me."

"Give me a reason." You pecked a kiss on his lips, another on his chin and down along his neck until meeting with his collarbone.

He half-growled, "Untie me and I'll show you."

You pushed his jacket open, examining the linen shirt. You leaned forward, lips against his ear, "I really hope you don't like this shirt." One hand grabbed a dagger, the other slipped beneath the cloth to find feverish skin, the touch of coarse hair on the rim of his waistband.

The muscles in your body quivered, the idea of what might be below the edge of his pants. You gripped Haytham's shirt, shearing it open to reveal the firm body of a trained killer. You tossed the dagger, unable to wait much longer, repositioning your hips until your throbbing clit pressed into the curve of his body, your hands splayed out across the silky skin of his chest. You rolled your body forward and backward over his clothed cock, eliciting growls from deep within Haytham's chest.

"Oh dear God." His body slunk down, his hips grinding into yours at a deliciously enjoyable angle as you rocked against his heated desire. Haytham sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. His legs clenched and his heels dug into the floor causing the chair to groan beneath the pressure.

You clenched your eyes at the sudden twist of tenderness between your bodies. You leaned against him, arms snaking up around his head, nails raking against his scalp and pulling his hair. You held your hips firmly forward, clit pinched against him, your body jerking erratically in a desperate plea for satisfaction, a wave of tightening pleasure curling your toes.

Haytham's body arched off the chair to meet with yours, his voice strangled as he spoke, "I could do... so many things to you. I could--" He groaned, his hips desperate to make contact with anything to ram against, to start a pleasurable rhythm. But he forced himself down into the chair, each muscle flexing beneath your hands with restraint.

You could feel the tension tighten deep in your abdomen, a bundle of tender nerves between your legs, your body still unsatisfied. You were breathy, cheeks flushed with a blush, words a harsh whisper, "I have yet to get to the best part." You let your fingers walk downwards along his chest, towards the trail of dark hair leading past the rim of his pants.

His stomach jolted at the feathery touch. "Please, for the love of God."

You twisted each button free, rolling your eyes up to meet his when the last button snapped loose. You parted the cloth, easing his heated erection into the palm of your hands.

Haytham let out a whimper that he quickly tried to swallow down. His body trembled, hips bucking mindlessly the moment your thumb ran over the head of his cock. Beads of pre-cum glistened and smeared with each stroke of your thumb. His breath staggered out of his lungs, his gray eyes rolling upwards into his skull. "No more games. Please, no more. I need you now." He gritted his teeth the moment your fingers wrapped around the scorching heat and tugged. Your fingers caressed upwards along the length of his cock, tenderly along top and bottom, taking your time to enjoy each of Haytham's whimpers.

"I'm having far too much fun watching you." You lifted your head to peer at Haytham's expression, finding that his lips were quivering. His head was heavy, eyes lidded over but they managed to gaze up at you, pleading all on their own.

You moaned slightly at the idea that you had managed to break the Grand Master, that he pleaded and begged for you. You were close to another orgasm, to another blissful release, and truth be told you wanted his hands all over your skin and his pulsing heat deep inside of you.

You leaned against him and kissed the pounding pulse in his throat. Your hands reached around behind him to untie the thin cloth. The moment his hands were freed, Haytham impatiently grabbed hold of your hips and threw you both onto the bed. His body was against yours, forceful hands pulled your thighs around him, his exposed erection pitched between your warm bodies.

Haytham growled in his kiss, lips bruisingly kneading, his teeth clattering into yours. His tongue forced its way deeper, tasting sweet with lingering hints of spice. He broke away from the kiss, tongue rolling across his reddened lips, a growing smirk upon them. "I sincerely hope you don't like this shirt." His hands ripped forcefully at your jacket, buttons scattering across the bed and floor, turning to shred your shirt open down the middle.

He released a deep throated moan, his mouth sinking onto one breast, suckling the soft mound. His tongue flicked across the hard nipple before giving a long, slow taste across it. He lifted his mouth, his gaze strolling down across your body, the look in his eyes alone making your back arch. His hands followed the trail he had visually mapped across you, flat palm down along your ribs and across your stomach.

He jerked and tugged until your pants were pulled downwards to your knees, quickly divesting you of both your boots and pants. He shrugged his jacket and shirt off of his shoulders, launching it hard across the room.

He was too impatient to rid himself of his pants, leaving them a disheveled mess upon his thighs, his curving cock exposed. His fingers dig in your hips, his weight dropping against you, pinning his erection between you.

His lips found your exposed breasts again, tongue scraping across your nipple, a playful nip from his teeth. "I have needed you for so long." Haytham shifted his weight downward then swayed it forward until the head of his cock found your entrance. He rocked forward, the whole of his heat sinking deep.

Your hands found the carved muscle of his back, fingers clinging into place. Your body welcomed it. He twisted inside of you and rubbed against your inner walls, drawing pleasure from every inch of your body. Your nails pierced into his skin, raking downwards in his next eager thrust. He pulled out teasingly, just his tip against your entrance before sliding it back in, filling every inch of you.

Haytham released a heavy breath, his damp mouth dropping onto your shoulder, but his pleasure consumed him and his mouth lazily fell away, his eyes slipping shut. His hips pounded faster without rhythm, flesh slapping into flesh, bone rolling against bone until a cry was forced from your throat. You knew your body would be bruised in the morning, his fingerbones digging into your thighs, holding your body in place as he pounded against you.

All of it felt too incredible. Bruises or not, you didn't care. His scent enveloped you and his heat thudded inside of you. You moaned his name, eager for him to pound harder.

Haytham pressed his forehead into the nape of your neck, sweat beading against his skin, his rapid breathing whispering across your neck and breasts. Haytham muttered curses under his breath, a hand reaching up to grip the edge of the bed to increase his speed and angle, his cock hitting further than before.

His scent filled your lungs in your next gasp. Your hand gripped the back of his head, fingers lacing through the strands of his thick hair. Your thighs clenched around him, raw from his fingers and the friction between each other's skin. He rolled his hips forward against your clit, knowing expertly where it was most sensually pleasing, locking them into place the moment your body spasmed beneath him, your entrance tightening around his cock. Your moist orgasm spilled around him, his earnestly following behind.

His body continued the senseless rhythm until finally falling limp against you, hot panting against your ear. He moved his hands up across your body, caressing each curve and mound of your skin, his thumb sliding across the nipple of your breast. Haytham lifted his head, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw before resting against your chin. He was slow to kiss you, his lips a gentle massage, each one brief and tender.

"Haytham," you muttered against his next kiss.

He placed his fingertips against your lips, his gaze moving across each of your features. "I'm afraid I've acquired a weakness for you, my dear. A terrible weakness..."

You giggled and rolled your head away.

"You laugh." His tone was serious, not at all the sass you were used to. "I'm certain now. Even had you betrayed me, sold away all of my secrets, I think I would have still allowed you to live."

You looked at him now, saw the fragments of terror in his eyes. You placed a hand against his cheek and felt him nudge into the touch. "I couldn't... There were times that I could have done it, plenty of opportunities..."

His hand fell on top of yours, pressed your palm harder against his cheek. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, moving until he could rest most of his weight against your side. "Tonight was..." He glanced down at his pants still tangled at his knees. "A little rushed."

"A little..." You moved your free hand up along his neck and into the thickness of his black hair.

"I will do far better next time." He leaned down and kissed you once more, long and breathtaking, far more softer than his early desperation. "Slower. More patient."

"Haytham." You pulled him closer, drawing his head into your neck, your arms encasing around him. "Tonight was more than enough."

He kissed your shoulder, moving his lips across your collarbone, his tongue dipping into the curve of skin. You shivered beneath his touch, the sweat against your skin turning chill. He lifted off of you, toeing off his boots and shimming out of his pants, before tugging down the covers of the bed. He motioned you to slip beneath the blankets next to him. You happily joined him, all too pleased to rest your head into his chest, his warmth against your skin. His arm curved around you, fingers caressing across your shoulders and lulling you into sleep.

Chapter Text

You had slept on your stomach, the pillow shoved up above your head and your arms curled beneath you. The light of day just barely made it through the small cabin window. You pushed your head up off of the bed, arms supporting your weight as you looked over at Haytham resting on his side.

His gray eyes, speckled with flecks of black and blue, were watching you. His thin lips ever so slightly smiled, his fingertips fltting down across your spine. "Morning, my dear."

You settled your head down onto his pillow, rich with his delicate scent, inching just a fragment closer until you could press your shoulder against his chest. "I don't suppose we could just live here in this room for the rest of our lives..."

He hummed a sound of approval. "At least until we reach New York." His body slid onto your back, fitting tightly against yours, his hot breath lacing over the bend of your neck and along your spine. His legs forced yours apart, his weight sinking down until his already hardening cock could press between both of your heated bodies. You gasped at the feathery touch of his fingertips dipping down across your hips and inner thigh, slipping over the edges of your clit.

He released a delighted moan as his fingers dipped into the hot moisture, knowing just where to thrust and flick against hardest. His thick fingers worked into reaching deeper inside, his mouth massaging the skin between your shoulder blades, his tongue sweeping upwards to the base of your neck.

You buried your breathy moans into his pillow, nails digging into the bed. Your back arched towards his clenched abdomen and your hips bucked into his enticing fingers, desperate for his skillful ministrations.

His body joined you in the motion, the both of you rocking slowly, each stroke from his fingers bringing you closer to the edge of bliss. He slipped out of you, using your own wetness to quicken each stroke that he played over your hardened nub, fierce circles that made your legs widen further and thighs clench as he heightened your pleasure.

Haytham chuckled against your spine, a sigh following when your body quivered through the thralls of your orgasm, a heavy groan leaving your throat. He gave a few tender caresses before lifting off of you, leaving your sweat laced backside to endure the slight chill in the air. His calloused hands gently gripped your waist, rolling your limp, aroused body onto your back.

Your body stretched, arms folding upwards above your head.

His eyes skimmed across you appreciatively, letting them move from your face downwards until a smirk played on his lips. His eyes locked onto what he desired the most, licking his lips as he moved downward across the bed. He ducked beneath the covers, hot mouth tickling across your stomach. His tongue dipped into your belly button, a nip of his teeth, before moving closer to his true craving.

You gasped, fingers snapping hold of his thick hair when a firm tongue pressed slow and harsh against your already sensitive clit, tugging and dancing deliciously. His tongue delved deep inside you, knowing just where to focus his attention. You couldn't stop your next groan. Haytham was an expert, dizzying your thoughts and shuddering your entire form. Your toes curled, thighs gripping firmly around his head as your body flustered through another wave of sensual release.

A knock clattered the door but it was impossible to stifle your gratification, even when Gist stepped through the door, cheerful as he said, "I apologize but have you--" His joy drained into shock, mouth agape as he struggled to decide whether to continue his sentence or duck out of the room. "I-I didn't mean..." He bowed his head away, covering his eyes. "Shay was looking for Master Kenway and..."

Haytham released your clit, each of your tightened muscles melting into the mattress. He moved his way up out of the covers, taking down a shuddered breath, his lips pink and plump. "Give me a moment, Mr. Gist."

Gist snapped his attention upwards, brows high on his forehead as his gaze bobbed between you and Haytham. "I will wait outside, near the stairs, outside. Outside." He fumbled as he grabbed the door and slammed it shut.

Haytham was impatient, slipping his arms back around you and burying his face into the tender spot of your neck. "Tonight. We will continue this tonight."

You were breathy, still languid with the masterful work Haytham instilled on your body.

He placed a soft kiss on your cheek before making his way through the room. He slipped on his pants but as he lifted his shirt, he remembered that you had sheared it in half.

You chuckled, knowing the proper and dignified Grand Master would be forced to go without a shirt. "Next time, I'll be sure to cut your pants instead."

He flashed you a smolder as he snapped up his jacket and cape. "If I recall, you as well are without a shirt."

"I don't suppose they have a few extras lying around, do they?"

Sadly, he slipped on the last of his clothes and weapons, taking away your marvelous view of his body. "I may find time to look." He glanced you over, standing in the center of the room with hesitation. He looked as if he wanted to speak, to say something on his mind but he only turned away. "I shall return soon my dear."

"Sooner, I hope."

He casually opened the door, stepping out and shutting it quietly.

You released a painful sigh, a longing that still wasn't sated. If only Gist hadn't walked in, if only Shay hadn't needed him... If only Haytham wasn't a Templar and you weren't an Assassin... You would take that man and run, far from any disturbances, never once looking back.

You wanted to wait for him to return but you needed some air, the cabin suddenly suffocating as your mind darkened. You dressed rather quickly, each muscle tender from Haytham's desperate touches last night.

Up on deck, the salt of the frigid sea clung in the air. The winds were strong, nipping at any exposed skin, seeping down passed the layers of clothes. The sailors around you seemed unphased, having spent most of their lives out on the open waters. You would endure the cold if it meant you could get some fresh air, to see the sunlight through the haze of thin clouds. You moved up the stairs towards the wheel, passing it to lean against the stern's bannister, winds fierce at your spine which was better than having them against your face.

You heard familiar chuckling behind you, turning to find the wide smile of Shay as he worked his way up the steps. Gist was at his side but you saw no sign of Haytham. You assumed he went below deck, seeking you out which set your stomach swooning.

Shay patted Gist's shoulder, letting the cheery quartermaster take the wheel as he waltzed over. "Finally came topside, love. I hope you'll join us for more drinking tonight." He gave a wink as he leaned sideways into the rails.

You leaned your elbows into the hard grains of wood. "Of course. I never could pass up good food and good drinks."

Shay made a step forward, fingers sliding down along your spine. "I hoped you'd say as much, love." His voice was lower now, smooth as he spoke, "There isn't anyone who's happened to catch your fancy, is there?"

You replied just as softly, "There is, actually."

"Now come, lass. Be fair and let me know who my competitor is."

"Haytham," you replied, his name a comfort to your tongue as you spoke it.

Shay cleared his throat, stiffening a little. "Master Kenway..."

"I suppose you'll be giving up now." You laughed at his expression, smile on your lips as you were turning around, catching sight of Haytham as he stood on the deck, eyeing you warily. He stepped away, something bitter flickering across his features.

Shay gave a slow nod. "I suppose so, aye." He patted your hand, still smirking devilishly as he made his way over towards Gist.

You hurried down the steps and across the deck passed busy sailors. "Haytham."

He glanced over his shoulder briefly, and for a moment you thought he was going to ignore you. He halted in his steps, lifting a hand at you. "I cannot speak now. There are matters that need my attention."

"Later then?"

He made no reply, only tried to plod down into the cargo hold.

"Haytham," you grabbed hold of his arm but he pulled firmly from your grasp as he continued onwards. "Talk to me," your voice trailed away from you.

Something had happened, something that must have bothered him. And if you had half a mind geared towards comforting others you would have chased after him and forced him to speak his mind. You stood there, wavering, wordless and thoughtless. Earlier that morning he was loving, all smiles and kisses. What changed? Did the meeting with Shay go unwell? He said something required his attention. Perhaps Shay knew? Perhaps Gist?

You shook yourself mentally, wondering why you were so worried. Haytham was a grown man. But there was an aura, a feeling about him, that made you fret. You jostled down the steps, into the dark inner belly of the ship, back towards Haytham's quarters. You stepped into his room, pushing the door closed behind you.

He glance at you then flicked his gaze away. "Not now. I cannot do this now." He was slouched over at his desk, scribbling fiercely, hardly making an effort to look at you. In fact, he seemed to lean closer to his writings, eager to block your presence from view.

You stepped further into the room, towards his desk in the corner. "I'm not leaving. Tell me what's going on?"

"How could you not know? Or do I mean so little to you?"

You shook your head, heart pounding fiercely. You had never seen him this furious except when he found out you were an Assassin. "Know what?"

He slapped down the feather pen and stood up, body rigid and shoulders tight. "I am afraid I took our relationship far more serious than you intended it to be. With that in mind, I believe it is best you leave me."

"Wait." You moved your weight between your feet, shuffling anxiously. Your heart was racing, hearing him say these things made your whole body cringe, and illness that shook your entire being. "Wait, a moment. I don't understand." What did he mean by that? Of course you took the relationship serious.

He laughed bitterly, rolling his eyes along the ceiling beams. "I understand your lack of trust. We both declared that in the beginning." His jaw clenched. "But, I cannot handle you being with another man. I cannot endure that."

"Another man?" You nearly shouted it, nearly threw your hands into your hair.

"I witnessed the way you spoke with Shay. He had his hands all over your back. He was stroking you. I am not blind." He finally turned the weight of his gaze on you, the hard pressed frown and the stern gray of his eyes. "You cannot deny what I saw."

You shook your head, brows bending downwards. "No, Haytham. Shay and I..."

"Please, just leave. Your presence makes it... difficult for me to think straight." He returned his focus back to his desk, shuffling parchment and scribbling down more notes. "I make reckless decisions when I'm around you."

You stepped towards him but forced yourself to take steps back. "Shay was flirting, yes. But I told him the truth."

"The truth," he harshly muttered it. "Leave, now. I have work that I have been putting off because I was too busy foolishly indulging myself." He was breathing hard, chest heaving as his shoulders tensed painfully.

You hurried from the room, desperate to seek the one man who might be able to explain to Haytham what truly occurred. You pushed your way through crowded sailors, hardly considering their annoyed grumbles. "Shay!" You took the steps two at a time towards the captain's wheel.

"Back already, love."

You sucked down a heavy breath, shoving a finger hard into his chest. "Stop calling me 'love'."

Shay's brows jolted, his hands flying up in surrender. "It's an old habit, lo-lass."

"I need you to go and talk some sense into Haytham." You grabbed his arm, clinging to it desperately as you pulled him away from his conversation with Gist. "He thinks that we were flirting, that I was flirting."

He gave a lopsided grin, a small chuckle in his throat.

"This isn't funny." Your voice nearly cracked, the verge of tears wetting the rims of your eyelids.

"Talk with him, aye. I'll explain to him everything. But then you owe me a drink, lass." He gave another wink, unable to resist. "With Haytham, of course."

You sighed when Shay walked ahead, passing crates and chatting sailors. You watched him close the door behind him, nibbling fiercely on your lip as you reached the closed door. You pressed your ear firmly against it, fingers digging into your stomach.

"Master Kenway," Shay greeted weakly.

"I would advise you to leave, Shay. Before I feed you your teeth."

"Hold on, now." You could hear shuffling on the other side. "The lass thinks you're under the impression that she was flirting with me."

Haytham released a heavy groan. "She leaned into you, Shay."

"Aye... and she told me quite plainly that she was interested in you, sir."

There was a moment of silence, your ears straining to hear anything.

"Master Kenway. I was the one flirting. I hadn't any idea that she and you..."

"Tell her... I need some time to think." You heard Haytham's distinct sigh. "This is a difficult matter."

"For what it's worth, sir, I don't think she's the type to be unfaithful." The doorknob twisted and you jumped backwards, holding your breath as Shay walked out and gave you a weary nod of his head.

You caught sight of Haytham hunched over his desk, hat tossed recklessly, and his head in his hands.

Shay closed the door behind him, shutting away the room from view. "I tried my best, lass." He gave a shrug of his shoulder. "He just needs a little time. He'll come around once he sees how foolish he's been." The Templar captain slunk away, back to speak with Gist.

"Thank you..." You gave a nod, your arms snaking around you, clinging your edges together just in case you fell apart. You slipped into your room, finding the disheveled sheets untouched from this morning, the chair lying on the floor where Haytham knocked it over.

You slid down the door and threw your head back into its hard surface.

He had valid reasons not to trust you. You had lied to him from the beginning about who you were. To be fair, Haytham was more honest with you than you ever were. In fact, Haytham had very good reasons to doubt you. There had to be some way to prove yourself, to prove the amount of love you held for him.

It could have been hours, or days, before someone knocked on the door. You startled from where you fell asleep. Your neck cringed and your back prickled with pain. You rose onto your feet and cracked open the door.

Gist stood there with a weak smile and lifted a plate of food. "I thought perhaps you were feeling hungry since... Well, since we didn't see you for dinner last night."

"Last night..." You opened the door a bit further, letting Gist step inside to hand over the plate. "I must have fallen asleep."

He looked about the room then turned his attention to you, placing the wooden plate into your hand. "We will arrive in New York this evening. Is there anything I can get you before then? Some water? Perhaps, I could--"

"No." You shook your head. "But, thank you anyway."

He stood awkwardly in the doorway, uncertain if he could help, before finally leaving and sliding the door closed.

You set the plate onto the desk and started to clean the room, pushing the chair to the desk and the covers neatly straightened. You adorned all of your weapons, checking and rechecking them until you were certain they were ready for anything New York could throw at you. You paced your room like a pathetic beast, trapped in a cage, shrouded in self-loathing.

There had to be some way to prove to Haytham how you felt. The both of you were similar creatures, both untrusting and cynical, both having reasons to doubt the relationship. But many times, you could have left him, many times you could have betrayed him... Whether he realized it or not, you cared for him too deeply to simply give up.

Finally, when you couldn't stand the solitude any longer, you headed out onto the windy deck. You tucked yours fingers into the warmth of your folded arms, anywhere to keep them out of the harsh wintry chill.

"Lass." Shay slapped a hand into your back as he was walking by. "New York, right there in the distance."

You moved towards the rails, glancing at the large city as it spanned across the harbor. Sails were being rolled away, easing the large vessel passed other ships and boats. Shay called out orders that you half understood and as you looked back across the deck, you could see Haytham making his way towards the wheel, hands clenched behind his back. He walked confidently but his shoulders were stiff and his expression somehow sterner than you remembered it.

You nearly found yourself strolling to his side to make a sassy remark but then you recalled clearly how broken he had looked the last time you spoke with him.

The ship groaned, the waves lapping at its base as it slowly pressed its body towards the docks. You leaned back, sitting against the bannister as Haytham led Shay and Gist towards the plank that was being hoisted down.

Haytham stopped before reaching the plank, his steps somewhat shifting. "Take Gist with you to meet the others. They can give you the details and the specifics of the area. Afterwards, meet with me and the others."

"Master Kenway." Shay seemed to tense, a certain worry clutching his throat. "If the Assassins are behind the gangs..."

"Assassins," you blurted and regretted it once Haytham turned his attention to you. You had hoped to avoid him a little longer. At least, until you could find the proper words to speak to him.

"Yes." Haytham tucked his hands behind him. "The gangs throughout New York are being supported by one of your own. The people have been terrorized ever since."

"I've witnessed it," confirmed Shay. "It's hard for me to swallow, as well, lass."

"Haytham, if that's the case, let me go... I can go to the Assassin's Bureau."

Haytham turned away from you, motioning towards the city. "Go on then, Shay. Gather what information you can."

Shay gave a nod of his head and a meager wave of his hand as he walked with Gist down and across the docks.

"Haytham." You finally pushed off of the bannister.

"The Assassin's Bureau." He strolled down the plank, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. "Have you already forgotten that you were branded a traitor?"

You huffed. "By one man in a different city. Let me go there and see what I can learn. There has to be..." You stopped yourself short, suddenly realizing that you were defending the Assassin Order. An old habit but... How could they support gangs? How could they support such violence and chaos?

He gave a weak, bitter smile, stopping his way down the docks to turn and face you. "There has to be an explanation?"

"I only meant that..." You pressed your fingers into your skull, the sharp pain of a headache emerging. "Let me find out what I can then I'll return to you with what I know." You saw his hesitation and a brief ache hit your heart. "Please."

Haytham gave a weak nod and a shrug of a shoulder. "Very well."

"Haytham." You grabbed his arm, pulling him off to the side as others walked down the rickety wooden dock. "About Shay... I need you to know that I wasn't flirting."

"I know, my dear." He gave a sigh. "That is not what has been bothering me. What bothers me, is that I trust you far more than you trust me. Even still to this very moment."

You shook your head. "You keep saying that and yet... Didn't I take off all of my weapons for you? I untied you. I slept with you!"

He sighed your name, a sound that nearly broke your heart. Haytham took a step closer, closing the small space between you until his body was very nearly pressed against yours. "And yet, every time I am near you, every time I step close to you... your entire body tenses. If you were wearing a hidden blade... My dear, it would be drawn."

You followed his gaze down to your arm, finding that your hand was in fact clenched, your body reflexing naturally. You were tense, a programmed response that had been trained into your blood and bones. You slipped your eyes closed, your lips twisting into a frown. "I had no idea."

Haytham stepped back, allowing you some space. "You were too busy analyzing me to analyze yourself."

You flexed your fingers, desperate to be rid of any strain that lingered. "I'm sorry."

"It is something we will have to work on."

Before he could step away fully, before he could work his way into the city, you hurried forward and snagged hold of his collar, pressing your lips forcefully into his. You breathed deeply his scent, enjoying the vibrance of the citrus and richness of spice.

He moaned, hands skimming across your thighs and up along the firm muscles of your back. Your tongue darted out, encouraging his lips apart until his tongue could explore fervently with yours. His body leaned forward into yours, fitting perfectly against your shape. He tilted his head away, breathless and quite flushed.

You spoke the words against the angle of his cheek, "I trust you. It may not seem that way but I do."

Haytham rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, tasting the kiss once more. "Where is the Bureau located?"

You gave a lopsided grin, a tilt of your head. "Don't trust me, Mister Kenway?"

"My dear."

You chuckled, seeing the strain in his expression. "I apologize. That was a poor joke. It's on the northwest side, southwest of the lake. It's tucked behind a store with an entrance on the roof."

Haytham softly took hold of your wrist. "If you do not return I will assume the worse and find you."

Your lips widened into an uncontrollable smile. "Give me until tomorrow to get what I can from them. Then you can stage a rescue."

"Take my hidden blade." He rolled up his sleeve and unbuckled the contraption, not an ounce of hesitation.

"Haytham..." You made an attempt to stop him, to let him reconsider it. "Are you sure?"

He held your hand gently, strapped it down onto your arm, while his thumb caressed the softness of your skin. "You may need it more than I."

"Thank you, Haytham."

His hand, calloused but gentle, cupped the side of your face as he placed one more kiss down onto your lips. "Be careful with the Assassins. Now, go... before I change my mind."

You grinned, hand on top of his to feel another moment of his touch. "I am always careful." You stepped back, eyes locked on his, then turned to make your way down the docks and into the vastness of New York. You forced yourself not to glance back at him, worried that if you did, you might rethink your decision.

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.

Chapter Text

Soft, a gentle caress that slipped across the silk of your cheek. "My dear, please." His voice was pleading, a desperate whimper as his hot breath rolled across yours lips, a brief and chaste kiss. "Please, open your eyes."

You took down a deep breath, swallowing hard the rancid taste in your mouth. Thick blood drizzled from the corner of your lips, rivulets that thinly snaked to the bone of your jaw and carressed down your neck. "Haytham," you begged, your head leaning into the warmth of his touch.

"I am here. I should have come sooner, I apologize." His other hand cupped the side of your face, gently almost fearfully. He was afraid that touching you might strike pain across your swollen wounds. "I should have come sooner."

You grinned, eyes trying so hard to open, to get one last glance at his features. But your eyelids were so heavy, your body so tired. "I told you... we wouldn't end well."

"Hush." He peppered kisses onto your lips again. "This is not the end. Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me."

Your brows began to arch, a whimper across your lips as you opened your eyes. You could barely see, your face swollen and bloodied. Your vision bobbed uselessly, catching faint images of the Bureau and the sunlight that pooled from outside. And then you found his face, those storm grey eyes gripped in the most painful of sorrow. Hot tears pooled over your vision before glistening your seared cheeks.

"You will survive this," he spoke, lips forming each word carefully.

Your eyelids drooped over your vision once more. You sighed, hearing him call your name but you were far too weak to reply. Your mind became muddled with distant thoughts and memories, of dreams that felt like returning home after a long absence.

You could feel it now, warm sunshine dappling across your face and the delicious smell of fresh baked bread, the hushed sounds of grasses in the wind, the sweet music of songbirds chattering all around.

Sophie beamed, a wide smile on her lips, her small petite body overwhelmed by the length of her dress. She took hold of your hand, her skin unscathed and soft against yours. "Oh, I'm so glad the two of you could make it."

A hand fell onto the curve of your back, drawing your attention to Haytham who stood at your side, thin lips somewhat grimacing as he spoke, "Yes, well... We certainly couldn't decline the invitation after you sent so many."

Your laugh bubbled out of your throat, leaning into his warmth, his gaze softening when it fell on you. "Haytham." You sighed into him, your entire existence melting with his. "It's her wedding day. Be kind."

He said your name, a whisper that fumbled out and echoed. He spoke it again, this time more desperate than before, this time pleading and hopeful. You moaned, a sharp twist of pain that wracked your entire body, burrowed across your skin, teeth stripping flesh from your bones. You heaved down a deep breath that was laced putridly with infection and burnt flesh.

His voice, weak and shaky, a sound you never thought he could make, "I am sorry. Forgive me--"

The rest of his words were drowned out by awful screams, ear-shattering screams, a burst of fire that burned every inch of you. Skin cracked and popped under the hot metal. Your body writhed, convulsed and contorted, beneath the merciless torment. Your fingernails clawed sharply until they cracked and split, bitten by sharp agony.

Haytham's voice carried over your cries, "Help me hold her down Gist!"

Your body quaked, the shuddering touch of fever and sweat. Your thoughts fell away from you, the whole world dissipated until you were once again watching as Sophie walked away, a lively energy in each of her steps, the sun reflecting off of her hair. Her laughter was as sweet as spring, the blossoming of flowers and the vibrancy of renewed life.

Haytham stood before you, leaned his entire form against you until you were shuffled backwards against a wooden column. His carnal hunger for you was evident in his gaze as it traced the edges of your figure. "You are my greatest weakness..."

Your hand found his hat, lifting it from his head, tossing it aside, and pulling the ribbon that bound back the dark strands of his thick hair. Your fingers delighted in its softness, intertwining until you could pull his head down towards yours. "I love you," you muttered.

He stepped forward, only the layers of your garments to separate the two of you. His mouth captured yours, his fingers tilting your chin upwards, a savory taste with a hint of sweetness upon your tongue.

You delighted in the taste, in his warmth that encased you, until his kiss turned bitter. Blood, tart and sour, coated your mouth. You coughed and gasped for air. You folded over onto your side, the thick liquid drizzling from your lips. Your stomach cramped, cringing. Another cough ripped through you, shredding through your throat all the way down into your lungs. Large hands fell onto your shoulders, supporting your weight as you heaved the burning contents of your stomach.

You breathed down a long, raspy breath, hot tears in your eyes. You whimpered, a feeble child reduced to sobbing and pleading, "Haytham. Haytham?"

"I am here." He was warm against your back, arms firm around your torso.

You finally dared to look around you, to take in the contents of the room. You were on the edge of a bed, your head aimed over a wooden bucket. You placed fingers on his, taking in the softness of the top of his hand.

The room was lavish, unlike any room you'd ever seen at a tavern. It was too richly decorated, you decided, wondering who's home Haytham barged into. You could almost see it, the Grand Master threatening the house right out from under the tenants. It made you laugh weakly, lips widening across your face, if such a scenario had actually occurred.

Haytham eased you back safely onto the bed, ensuring a pillow was beneath your head. He leaned over you, hand against your cheek to guide your attention towards him. "Are you in pain?" You'd never seen him look so wounded, so broken. His expression was distorted and if you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was the one with an injury.

You admired the gray of his eyes, the specks of soft blues and the white that intricately twisted across. "Kiss me," you muttered it weakly.

"My dear... you just disgorged your stomach's contents into a bucket." He closed his eyes and pressed his lips onto your forehead. "I do not believe this is a moment for romance."

Your face was still swollen, your vision blurry and your whole body quaked. A thin layer of sweat covered your skin and your muscles quivered around you. "It is when you're dying."

"You are not," he snapped, locking his eyes with yours, determined to keep your attention. "You are not dying."

Your vision bobbed away from him, finding it difficult to focus on any one thing at a time. "I... I don't feel so well..."

"That would be the medicine. It's going to dull your senses for a while."

Your lips widened, finding Haytham's eyes again and the broadness of his nose, the mouth that always looked so hard pressed and scowling. "Have I told you that I love you?"

"Well..." He gave a shrug of his shoulder. "To be fair, you've been telling me that for days now."

"Days?" You almost giggled it, your head rolling away from him for a moment, a blush burning your face more than the wounds, the room starting to spin away from you.

"Nearly every time you've regained consciousness. The last time, I believe you promised to marry me." His thin lips widened considerably as you turned to face him.

Your eyes softened, admiring the tilt in his head as his hand caressed back the strands of your hair. "And what was your reply, Master Kenway?"

"Sadly, you fainted before I had the opportunity to make a reply."

You gasped, chest tightening as another wave of coughs strangled your breathing. You buckled onto your side, blood heaving out of your chest and into your hand. Haytham wrapped his arms around you, keeping you from falling off of the bed. You sighed before taking another raspy breath. Just that small amount of movement drained all of your energy.

Haytham snatched hold of a cloth from the bedside table and wiped your mouth and hands clean. He laid his head down on top of yours, his body curled at your back. There was a tender moment of silence, his soft breathing in your ear, before he said, "Yes. I would marry you the moment you wanted to."

Your heart shuddered, nearly halted, at the sound of his words. You took hold of his hand, lacing your fingers carefully with his. An uncontrollable giggle bubbled out of you as your eyes took in his features. "You... have better hair than me..."

Haytham took down a quick breath then sighed. "I see your medicine is kicking in again."

"I love when you... talk that way... so snarky." Your eyelids drooped lazily, each breath a labored effort as you eased into slumber, thoughts peacefully hazy with Haytham's face, that last glimpse you had caught of him. Something had been in his gaze, something so soft and sweet hidden beneath his defensive sarcasm.

Chapter Text

You slept hard into your pillow, your eardrum throbbing and the entirety of your face bristled with pain after being smashed against it all night. You lifted your head slowly, feeling the room spin around you briefly, your hand reaching up to feel the puffy swollen skin.

Someone shouted outside of the bedroom, "Shay could have used your help finding de la Vèrendrye."

"Shay is perfectly capable," snapped Haytham, knowing his voice better than your own. "He certainly managed Hope Jensen without my coddling. Was I supposed to hold his hand? Should I write him a letter of encouragement?"

There was a deep groan, "And will you simply ignore the events in Boston?"

You unfurled onto your back recognizing the name Hope Jensen and de la Vèrendrye. They had been well known and recognized in the Assassin Order, some of the more highly regarded Assassins.

"If you would foolishly call sending aid as 'ignore', then yes. Yes, I am." There were heavy footsteps across floorboards, stomping that made its way closer. "I have already made it perfectly clear that I am not leaving her."

"Your role as Grand Master is far more important than this... woman. She's an Assassin." He followed behind Haytham, both of their voices louder by the moment. "I'm beginning to question the depth of your loyalty."

There was a great commotion, something slammed, the door rattling fiercely on its hinges, pictures shaking against the walls. Haytham's words were a harsh growl, a rage that you had never witnessed from him, "You are questioning me? Let me remind you that I have killed men for far less than that!"

"Haytham," a new voice stated cautiously. "Let's be calm about this, shall we?"

"I would suggest you take your man from this house, Mister Weeks." Weight slid across the wall and footsteps pounded once more. "Leave my sight before I truly lose my patience."

The bedroom door was thrown open, jolting you because your ears had been so strained to hear any sound coming from the large house. Haytham barged inside, the door slamming shut behind him, his body rigid as he froze there.

You whispered rasply, "Grand Master?"

He took down a short breath, eyes sweeping towards your face. "You were awake." He stepped forward and slowly eased down onto the edge of the bed. "How much of that did you hear?"

"I'm not sure." You grinned, your head tilting as you took in his features. He looked exhausted, eyes worn and weary, darkened bruises forming beneath them. "I guess it depends how long you were arguing for."

He lifted his hand then cautiously placed it onto your cheek before settling on brushing your hair out of your face. "My dear... Get some more rest. I'm not leaving anywhere."

You took a breath, knowing well that Haytham couldn't be convinced otherwise. "I need... a bath." You felt the dried sweat layered on your skin and the acrid taste of blood and vomit on your tongue.

"Afraid not, my dear." Haytham gave a small shake of his head. "The doctor must see if you are ready... After the fever..."

"Haytham." You reached out and placed a hand against his chest, feeling the fierce thudding of his heart speed up. "Please, just, help me get a bath. I really need to feel clean and... human."

"I will make some warm water then." He took hold of your hand and stood up. "Stay in bed until I return. You are far too weak to stand on your own." Haytham slowly left the room, a quick glance at you before he left.

It took him a great deal of time and whenever someone stepped passed the door, you trembled. Never in your life had you ever felt so vulnerable. The door opened and you flinched away until Haytham strolled into view. He slowly eased your back off of the bed, his arms slipping around you. "Let us take our time, shall we?"

You gave a slight nod as you eased your legs over the side of the bed and then a sudden gasp as your chest twisted, a sharp burn piercing until you nearly heaved over.

He took most of your weight, pinning you against him until you stopped cringing. "Perhaps, this was not the best of ideas."

"No. I'm okay." You held your breath as Haytham helped you onto your feet. The leg wounded from the throwing knife throbbed and it was nearly unusable as the two of you hobbled for the door. You released your breath finally, huffing and panting.

Haytham stopped in the doorway, letting you gather your strength before the next bit of walking. "A little further. I set it up in a vacant room with a clean bed."

You dropped your head, giving a little nod before stepping forward. He helped you stagger down the hallway towards another room, a set of stairs nearby as you passed them. You must have been on the ground level.

"Haytham." A man approached, draped in a light brown jacket and gray waistcoat. You could hardly discern his expression beneath the large brim of his hat. "Another missive for you. This one arrived from Philadelphia."

Haytham didn't even make a glance at him. He was too preoccupied with helping you make another step. "On my desk, Jack. I will tend with it later."

He eyed you, lifting his chin slightly so that you caught sight of his tinted bifocals. "Jack Weeks, ma'am. I've heard quite a few things about you from our Grand Master." He stuffed the parchment into his jacket before taking your hand in his. "Anyway I can help, Haytham?"

You stopped walking, taking a moment to catch your breath, to analyze both of the men standing before you. They were familiar with each other, both of them somewhat letting their guards down.

Haytham stood taller, chin a bit higher. "I think I can handle this if you would fetch the cooking staff. She is going to need a proper meal soon enough."

"Will she require help with her bath or..." Jack grinned slightly, his dark skin shimmering beneath the candlelight.

Haytham's gaze moved about the space. "It would not be wise to have a stranger do such a thing." He flicked a quick glimpse at you, knowing well that you lacked trust towards others.

Jack touched the rim of his hat, giving a gentle nod as he turned and paraded down the hallway.

The two of you shuffled into the bedroom, the large wooden basin resting in a corner all on its own. The bed was just as luxurious, ridiculously large and draped along its posts were thin linens. The sunlight dappled across the room, the trees outside casting soft shadows that swayed in the light breeze.

"My dear?"

You lifted your eyes to him, realizing that you had stopped your movements to admire your surroundings. You stepped forward, each movement slow and meticulous, determined not to strike up any pain. You finally reached the washtub, catching sight of your reflection in the warm water. Your face was swollen, stained in varying shades of bruises from blue to yellow, lingering touches of red hues and scrapes.

You swallowed hard, realizing the daunting task of stepping into the tall basin.

"Here's a chair. I'll go secure the door." Haytham pushed a chair towards you and waited for you to ease down onto it. He spun around, cape sweeping behind him as he strutted towards the door, sliding it shut and locking it.

It wasn't until then that you realized what you were wearing. It was a male's linen shirt, long enough that it reached the tops of your knees. It almost made you chuckle, the idea that Jack and others might have seen you so exposed, but you felt a sharp pain in your ribs which silenced any notion of it.

Haytham returned to your side, helping you back onto your feet and slipping the shirt over your head, baring in mind the soreness of your upper body. He folded it up and placed it onto the nearby table. "Now the difficult part..." He anchored one of your arms around his neck, then gathered you into his arms so that he might gradually place you into the water.

Your feet dipped into the water first, relishing at the touch of warmth. The rest of your body, however, quaked at the sharp prickles that needled across your tender skin, causing you to pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Haytham strained, his clothes becoming drenched as his arms followed your body into the water just to ensure that you were resting comfortably before pulling away from you.

"So much trouble for a simple bath," you muttered, your head rolling to the side.

Haytham shimmied out of his jacket, tossing it onto the back of the chair. "Well worth it, I'm sure." He rolled up his sleeves then took hold of the sponge and bar of soap.

You remembered the vague moment, or perhaps it was a dream, when you confessed your love. And then, there had been that mention of marriage. "Haytham..." You didn't dare peek at his expression as he sponged the soap across your arms and shoulders. "Did I say anything unusual? While I was bed ridden?"

He replied rather casually, "Nothing that I can recall."

Perhaps it had been a dream.

"How long was I in bed?" You looked at him now, his eyes focused on gently patting the old wound on your arm.

He finally looked at you before dipping the sponge into the water. "A few weeks. We managed to cauterize your wounds. Your leg proved the worst of them." He patted the sponge across your neck, drawing a gentle sigh out of you as he slowly moved down across your chest, a wave of goosebumps across your skin. "It had been laced with poison."

"Poison?" You darted your attention to it, running fingertips over the callous and rough scab.

He set the sponge down and cupped water in his hands, patting it against your cheeks and forehead. "Ironically, the poison is what saved your life. It slowed down your heart rate and thus your blood loss."

Your lips widened, a giggle jumping out of your throat. "That bastard. He wanted me to die a slow death." You looked at Haytham now, enjoying every detail in his features. "He didn't realize someone was coming to rescue me."

He turned his head away, turning to focus on grabbing a soft towel. "A late rescue, I am afraid."

You snatched hold of his sleeve, tugging it until he looked at you. "I'm alive thanks to you. You came right on time."

Haytham didn't argue but you saw that he wasn't convinced. He took your hand and pressed it to his lips for a slow, chaste kiss. "I'll fetch something for your teeth."

You didn't let his hand go, grasping it with both of your own. "Haytham."

He pulled his hand free, brushing it across your cheek before lumbering across the room towards the door.

"Don't be gone too long." You grinned, shifting a bit deeper into the tub. "I might drown."

He sighed disapprovingly, a disdained glimpse back which only provoked a laugh from you. The door hushed behind him then clicked shut, the room filled with unnerving silence.

You leaned your head back, sinking down until the water lapped around your neck. Of course Haytham blamed himself for what happened. He was foolish to do so, wracked with unnecessary guilt. There was nothing he could have done to prevent it. If anything, it was your own fault. You were the one to walk in there.

"The cooks will have a broth ready," Jack said somewhere down the hall, heavy boots pounding across the floorboards, another set of boots joining his own.

"Thank you, Jack. Any word from either Shay or Gist?"

"I'm afraid--" Jack gave a heavy groan, scolding when he spoke, "Daniel, no."

"Master Kenway." There was shuffling before the door. "Here are the reports I took from yesterday's meeting."

"Ah. Thank you, Daniel... Anything of note?" You could see Haytham's shadow as he stepped in front of the door, pausing briefly as the papers were flipped through.

"The treasury report, mostly. A few matters about Johnson's expeditions were brought up but were decided satisfactory." He cleared his throat before muttering, "Uh, a m-matter about... the lady."

"Daniel," hissed Jack once more. "You're pushing your luck, boy."

Haytham gave a deep hum, another flutter of pages as they were flipped through. "So I see." Something was lightly slapped closed, papers finally quiet. "This matter was brought up by yourself?" There was a very brief moment of silence. "Have you seen these notes, Jack?"

"I was there." Jack didn't sound all that pleased. In fact, he sounded bitter. "And I warned them that it wouldn't end well."

"Well, since you were fairly warned." The door was shoved open causing you to jump up slightly in the bath. Haytham had a firm grip on the back of a young man's neck, shoving and dragging him across the room to kneel before you. His voice was calm, complacent, but you knew Haytham far too well. He was furious, his rage masked with trained acuity. "Go on, Daniel. Explain to her exactly what you were planning on doing."

Jack plodded forward although he didn't look like he was going to stop Haytham in the least. "Haytham, the boy was stupid..." He eyed you then respectfully stepped back, taking off his bifocals and rubbed his eyes. "This isn't going to end well."

You whispered, "Haytham? What's going on?"

But his hatred was too focused on the man for him to hear you.

"Tell her, Daniel. Tell her you were planning on relocating her away from here without my knowledge." He gripped his neck tighter, drawing out stifled cries and grunts from the young man. "You were going to take her from her bed in the middle of the night and hold her captive in some house on the frontier. You were going to kidnap her until I proved my worth. My worth." Haytham half-dragged him, pulling him up onto his feet. "Do you even know the amount of work that I have accomplished for the Order? Do you know who I am?"

"Master Kenway," he groaned, his hand reaching back to the firm grip on his neck. "We would have only taken her for a time--"

"Haytham, wait." You turned around slightly in the tub, watching as he pulled Daniel towards the double glass doors. That small amount of movement made you wince, catching your breath in your lungs for a long painful moment.

He threw the doors open and stepped out onto the back porch that overlooked a large garden. Haytham shoved him into the balustrade, forcefully turned him around before growling words against his ear, far too inaudible for you to hear them. Daniel's body jolted and you knew, from experience, that a hidden blade had been thrusted forward. Haytham shoved the dying weight over the side of the balcony before striding back into the room.

He closed the glass doors behind him and looked fiercely on Jack. "Mister Weeks, would you kindly take the report and file it away somewhere. We will review it at a new meeting tonight. Be sure to gather the others for me."

Jack tilted his head, bifocals firmly back onto his nose. "Haytham, you can't kill off everyone who disagrees with you."

"Disagreement? That was not a disagreement, Mister Weeks." He tucked his hands behind his back and strolled forward casually, chin high as if nothing had occurred, lips thinly pressed. "That was utter insubordination that of which shall not be tolerated."

Jack gave a light chuckle and a shake of his head but he walked away without arguing. "I'll contact everyone. And I suppose we'll need a new Secretary."

"Haytham Kenway," you scolded once the door was closed.

He paced the room, silent and stern. It had been such a long time since you had this much difficulty reading his expression. "They would have taken you and killed you." He finally faced you, those sharp eyes of his burning into yours. "They would not have considered your health."

"You really think they would have killed me?"

"That is beside the point."

"That is the point." You relaxed in the bath, resting your arms against the rim.

"Yes, they would have killed you. Your life is nothing to them if it interferes with the Order's plans. I've sacrificed a great deal for them. I shall not lose you." He paced away then finally spun back around. "You are mine to protect. If someone dares to threaten my power or you then I shall not hesitate to do what I must."

You sighed, his argument weighing on you. "Did you really have to kill him?"

He rolled his eyes about the room, collecting himself before settling on you. "Perhaps, not. It will, however, persuade others not to make the same mistake."

You shook your head but you found it hard to come up with a good argument. Normally you would have protested, retorted that taking a person's life was inexcusable. But you didn't. Perhaps a part of you had become more cynical, perhaps more realistic. "Alright, Haytham. I understand."

He stepped forward, pulling a chewing twig out of his pocket and down onto the chair he had been sitting in earlier. "Let's get you in bed before you take on the daunting task of cleaning your teeth."

You looked over his thin linen shirt as a smirk curled to life. "You don't want to ruin your shirt like you ruined your jacket, do you?"

His mouth opened to speak but he couldn't find any words. He slowly tugged the shirt out of his breeches, letting you glimpse the taut muscle of his tan abdomen. "Do not think you are in any condition for anything passionate."

You rolled your eyes away but your grin was still going strong. "I made no suggestion towards it..."

He huffed, working his way out of the shirt which allowed a lovely long view of his muscles as they rolled and flexed. He draped the shirt onto the chair with his jacket before reaching into the cooling waters of the bathtub.

You gladly wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him lift your weight into his arms. You placed a kissed beneath his ear, sweeping your tongue across it. "But now that you mention it..."

"Absolutely not." He couldn't stop his brief twitch of a smile, the breathy gasp of pleasure. "You have a broken rib and the lingering effects of a harsh fever." He delicately placed your feet onto the ground, his eyes unable to resist a slow gaze across you. He snapped up the towel, wrapping it around your body before your convincing finally destroyed his composure. He gathered you into his arms and carried your weight over to the bed, setting you down onto it with utter ease. "I will fetch your food from the kitchen."

You took his hand when he rolled the blankets up over your body. "Haytham--"

"No, no. Please, do not ask me again."

You chuckled, seeing the true disdain in him. "I only wanted to..." You placed his hand against your cheek, closing your eyes as you leaned into it. You tried to mutter it, to desperately blurt the words across your lips. I love you, you thought, I love you.

"I know." His thumb caressed the bend of your cheekbone. "I will return quickly."

You watched him walk away, regretting the loss of his touch and his presence, regretting that you hadn't told him then and there.

Chapter Text

You weren't certain how much time had passed. The room was in softer colors, ambers of a sunset that cast gentle shadows along the walls, the wall of windows at Haytham's back which put much of his expression in darkness. He sat in a wooden chair, his shoulders slumped around him as he leaned forward. Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose and you stared at him for a long moment, watching him as he glared.

"When was the last time you slept?"

He jolted, half expecting you to be awake. "I will sleep tonight after the meeting."

"Is that what you're brooding over?"

"You think me so weak that I would brood?" He stood up, his attention elsewhere as he strolled across the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. He sighed, finally resting his eyes on you. "You have come to know me too well. A great weakness that others are eager to exploit."

"You're that worried about the meeting tonight?" You looked to the windows, noting how close 'tonight' actually was. "You're the Grand Master. Surely, that counts for something."

He lowered his head and leaned forward into his hands, grasping tightly onto the footboard. "Does it? I am not so certain any of this matters anymore."

"Order. Peace. Those were things that you spoke for, fought for." You examined how worn he looked, how his palms rubbed over the smooth wooden surface. "What's happened to change them so suddenly?"

"I am doubtful of the Order. My ideals remain but..." His shoulders hunched up around him and you couldn't see his face clearly anymore. "The thought of losing you to them. The thought of--"

"I'm not dead."

"You nearly were." He finally shot his heated gaze to you, his brows pinched together and his anger suddenly flaring. "You nearly died!" He shoved away from the bed and paced towards the window. "There were nights that even the doctor..." His voice cracked, you were certain of it, and his breathing staggered in his lungs.

It was suddenly hard to breathe, your thoughts returning to that dark room where Nathan had whispered harshly, blood staining his teeth, "After I've killed you, I will hang your carcass before the Grand Master himself. And then I will kill him in his hours of grief." You gripped your chest, fingers clawing at the sharp pain in your heart.

Haytham looked across the floor behind him, unable to look directly at you. "My purpose... It is not as clear anymore."

You took down a deep breath and gathered yourself. You had to focus for his sake. You had to focus for your own sake. "Right now, it's going to that meeting and making sure they remember who is in charge."

He gripped his hands onto his hips then dropped them as he turned around. "Shall I post someone in the room with you? In case you require something?"

"I'm going with you. Some cold New York air will do me some good." You forced yourself up, your elbows hoisting most of your weight.

"Absolutely not." He marched forward, determination in each step.

You tried not to cringe, tried not to let any of the pain register on your face. "Take me to the meeting with you."

"No, that would be inadvisable." He pressed you onto the bed, ensuring the covers were pulled up over your naked skin. "You aren't even a Templar yet."

'Yet'. You almost chuckled. But your ribs ached and every organ felt as if it had been bruisingly squeezed. "Oh, very well. Leave me here then. And if the Templars kidnap me while you're away--"

"Are you using my own fears against me?" Haytham pressed his lips thin.

You grinned all too pleased with yourself. "No. Unless it's working, then, yes."

He shook his head ever so lightly. "You truly do know me too well." He swept his gaze to you all the same, something soft and loving there. "I will fetch your attire. I had a set tailored for you while you were mending." He moved across the room towards a vanity set where a small pile of folded clothes rested.

You hoisted yourself up, forced yourself to swallow any groans of pain that threatened. You put every ounce of effort into smoothing out your expression, to ease your brows and draw out a slight smile. Calm, you reminded yourself as you raised up onto your feet.

Haytham hurried towards you with the clothes, wrapping an arm around your waist when he thought you might stumble. "Do not pretend you're not in agony."

"I'm alright," you said it with a deep breath. "My very first Templar meeting. We better hurry up or we'll miss all the juicy secrets."

He lifted a shirt into view and pulled it over your head. "Shall you join the Order then?" He gently guided your arms through before turning his attention towards the thickly, woven pants.

You sighed, not even sure what your answer was. "Shall I?"

"That is... a matter only you can decide." He tugged and tied down the remainder of your garments, buttoned up the waistcoat, and straightened out the intricate frock coat. "What reason do you have not to join?" He eased you to sit down, turning to work the boots onto your feet.

"In all honesty..." You took down a few steady breaths. "I'm not sure I want anything to do with either Orders."

"After everything you would simply prefer blissful ignorance?" Haytham stood up and let his eyes roam across your figure until finally settling on your face.

You slowly lowered your gaze. "Are you going to kill me if I don't join?"

He seemed to gasp, his body frozen still. And when he made no efforts to reply, you looked at him. His face was stern, brows fallen flatly over his eyes and his lips pressed hard into a frown, his jaw jutting outwards with disdain. "Is that what you think of me? That I would be capable of throwing away everything I felt for you?"

You rolled your eyes closed, realizing too late what you had said. You had meant to ask if he would be forced to kill you but the question had come out garbled and unpracticed. "I only meant that..."

"I do not wish to hear it." Haytham took hold of your hand sharply. He roughly helped you onto your feet and guided you towards the door. "You won't have to travel very far. The meeting will be held here. This is our headquarters in New York."

Your lips tugged slightly into a meager smile. "And here I hoped you had seized some rich fop's home right out from under him."

Haytham was unnervingly silent. Your words had upset him earlier and that hadn't been your intention. You simply didn't want your presence to make things worse for him. He was already struggling because of you. If turning down the position made it worse then... You'd do anything for him, anything so long as he was happy.

Someone approached as you passed through the home. "Master Kenway..." His eyes trailed between you and the Grand Master. "Everyone has been called for." He motioned the two of you into the dark room, only the various candles providing enough light to see the people in the dining room. There was a long table, three chairs on each side and a chair at its head. Everyone remained standing, watching as the Grand Master led you inside.

"Sir, this is..." Another glanced about at the other members, silent expressions exchanged for outwards conversation.

Haytham helped you sit down on a chair against the wall near the end of the table, his eyes locked on yours, before standing at his place at the head of the meeting. "Continue, Mister Roberts."

The door to the room was closed and everyone but Roberts took their seats. He was standing to Haytham's left and across the table on Haytham's right was Jack Weeks. The remaining four were still unfamiliar to you.

"She is not a Templar, sir. She is an Assassin, albeit, a former one..." He ran his hands nervously down his clothes, his gaze unable to meet his master's. "It would be inappropriate for her to be here--"

"She, unlike yourself, has proved her loyalty to me. She took down a master assassin and rendered their safe house here in the city all but useless." Haytham tucked his hands behind his back and turned his attention towards the others. "Are there any other objections to the matter?"

Roberts added weakly, "She has already taken time away from your duties..."

"My duties?" Haytham began to pace, his eyes strongly on the man who questioned him. "Would you clarify what task it is I am meant to complete but have failed to? As I recall it, the vice president of this little enclave, which would be you, was supposed to attend to those matters. Is that what you were referring to, Mister Roberts?"

He began to stammer, a fine sheen of sweat upon his forehead. "Th-that is correct, sir, yes."

Haytham towered over the man inches away from him, anger emanating in the rigidness of his stance. "My greatest failure, Mister Roberts, was allowing you fools to become lazy and complacent. I shall not perform your obligations for you."

He lowered his head to stare into the grains of the table, fingertips rocking into its surface. "Y-yes, sir."

"Master Kenway, she betrayed her own people." Another slowly stood up, fingertips tapping onto the papers before him. "What is keeping her from betraying us? Other than you, sir. Perhaps your relationship with her does not go well? Could we still trust her?"

Haytham strolled back towards his chair, posting himself before it. "Fair point, Mister Tailor. Let me demonstrate how this works." Haytham rolled his gaze from him to the man across the table from him. "Stand up, Mister Alexander."

Alexander hesitated for a fraction of a second but rose to his feet all the same, his eyes on the Grand Master, eager to please.

Haytham slightly tilted his head back as a small cheeky, smile began to form. "Mister Alexander, I want you to shoot Mister Tailor."

Tailor all but gasped, his body gone tense, words stumbling from his tongue.

Alexander wasted no time drawing his gun from his belt.

"Hold a moment, Mister Alexander, I believe I've changed my mind." He rolled his eyes once more between the men before him. He leaned forward, hands placed flatly onto the table and stated bitterly, "I have power over whether or not you live or die. I give orders and you follow them. That is how this works. If I determine someone worthy of our trust, then they are worthy of our trust. Mister Daniel forgot this and now he is dead."

"May I?" You slowly got to your feet, desperate not to show any pain or any amount of weakness, not in front of this judgemental lot of Templars.

Haytham cautiously sat down, his eyes locked on you, his hands clenched around the chair's arms. "You may." It looked as if he was fighting himself, his entire body taut, his meager attempt to keep from running over and helping you.

"I didn't betray the Assassins for Haytham. I betrayed the Assassins because they were wrong. And if they committed the same crime in front me again, I would make the same choice." You looked at each of them, determined to let them see your confidence. "I will, however, stay for Haytham. Even should our 'relationship not go well'... I will stay for him. I stay because Haytham is correct and he will always be correct."

A few swallowed their pulses, their eyes lowering to anything other than the situation that was unfolding before them.

Haytham droned, "Are there any other questions or may we move forward?"

The room fell silent for another moment. The men who were standing slowly took their seats again. You followed the action, sinking stiffly against the chair and almost groaned to have it support you.

"Brilliant." Haytham stood up, straightened out his spine and turned his attention to Jack. "Mister Weeks, since you are in charge of New York now, you will preside over the proceedings tonight."

"Thank you, Master Kenway." Jack gave a nod of his head as he stood. "I shall begin with introducing our new secretary, Adam Tailor."

Mister Tailor gave a meager nod of his head. "Evening."

Jack shifted where he stood, lifting a paper in hand. "Let's focus now on the repairs we need to make to the city. After what occurred with Hope Jensen, we need to begin work on rebuilding. Treasury? What's your standing?"

You stopped listening after that, your eyes on Haytham as he sat confidently in his chair, hands clasped before his mouth, his eyes burrowing into the wall across the room. His expression was unreadable, a well placed and neutral mask. There was a deep need in you, a craving, to hold him and soothe away whatever it was that plagued his thoughts. Haytham would likely never share them. He would be too well guarded for that.

Then again, he trusted you more than most.

His gaze didn't meet yours until the meeting came to an end. He stood up but before he could even leave his spot, Jack and Roberts were at his side striking up a conversation. You watched him speak calmly, watched how he had one hand behind his back as the other motioned this way and that throughout his responses.

You slowly stood up, glimpsing from the corner of your eye as one of the men from earlier approached. Tailor, you think, remembering how he had been worried about your loyalty.

"Adam Tailor, ma'am." He gently took hold of your hand and kissed your knuckles. "I apologize if I insulted you earlier. It wasn't my intention to say that you were a woman without character."

"Of course not." You laughed, falling back on social instincts that you had learned at a young age. Survival instincts. "Only accused me of being an Assassin who might steal away your Grand Master."

He gave a breathy laugh and bowed his head a little. "You will forgive me, I hope."

"I forgive you." You gave a weak smile, desperate to focus on anything but the twisting tightness in your chest. "But I think it's Haytham you should be more concerned about..."

He gave a weak nod of his head and swallowed hard. "Yes..." He swept his gaze to where the Grand Master had been speaking earlier to see that he was now making his way over. "Master Kenway, I was just making my apologies. She is sweet and full of smiles."

Haytham stood at your side, an arm delicately wrapped behind you. "Not the villain you were searching for, Mister Tailor?"

"Not at all." He gave a respectful bow and stepped back. "It was an honor, ma'am."

Haytham slowly led you from the room before anyone else had a reason to approach either of you with questions or apologies. He led you back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and locking it.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes to him. "Keeping me in or someone out?"

Haytham seemed to relax, the well placed walls falling away and his stance easing as he moved towards your side. His callous fingers skimmed the curve of your neck, resting just below your jaw. "Both the former and the latter."

"You don't trust them." You admired the slight curve on his mouth, feeling it reflect in your own.

"This should be no surprise to you. I trust no one...." He placed a brief kiss on your lips before another. "Except... perhaps, you."

"Perhaps?" You laughed a little, draping your arm around his neck and resting your head against his chest. You were thoroughly exhausted, eager to lean against him. "I'll become a Templar but not for them. And not for the Order."

Haytham's warmth enveloped you, his arms wrapping around you until you were pressed firmly against him. "I have no desire to make you join--"

"I know." You tilted your head back, examined the soft gray of his eyes. "I'm joining because it'll be easier for the both of us. My loyalty stands with you alone. I will not take orders from anyone else. You understand this, don't you?"

"I would have it no other way." He turned and guided you over towards the bed. "Tomorrow then. I will discuss it with some of the others."

You sat down onto the edge, allowing Haytham to help remove your jacket and boots. You laid down and slid beneath the varying layers of blankets. You watched him round the foot of the bed towards the wooden chair. "Don't you dare think about falling asleep anywhere else but beside me."

Haytham looked over at you, another one of his small smalls but you could see it better in the corner of his eyes. He was awash with different emotions from worry to relief. He removed his hat and jacket, placing them delicately into the chair, before toeing off his boots. "You are still not strong enough..." He lied down beside you, shifting until comfortable beneath the covers.

You whispered, curling up against his side, "You could always just be really gentle."

"No, my darling." His arm curled up behind you, holding your warmth with his. "There will be plenty of other nights together."

You grinned conivingly, all too pleased with yourself. "You realize once I'm healed... I'm going to have my way with you. I believe we have some unfinished business and maybe some revenge in store."

Haytham rolled his eyes to your face, a rusty and unpracticed laugh chuckling free. "What sort of revenge is this exactly?"

You rose a challenging brow, smirk all the stronger. "I recall you being unjustly jealous of Shay and thus leaving me alone in my cabin room... Alone."

He groaned, head pressing flat against his pillow and his other arm draping across your waist. "I give you full permission to do what you please with me. Only until after you are healed, that is."

You closed your eyes, humming in approval. "We shall see."

Chapter Text

Haytham was awake long before you were. He sat hunched over at his desk, shuffling through paperwork and scratching down his scribbles with a feather. You watched him for some time, silently admiring the man, until the door creaked open and Jack Weeks stepped inside. He handed off a sealed letter, stating softly that it was from Shay Cormac.

Haytham broke the seal and quickly perused through the information, expression remaining expertly neutral. "Very good. Have a ship readied for us. His next letter will arrive in a few days with the coordinates."

Jack gave a nod of his head and silently left the room.

"Another adventure?"

Haytham smirked, not at all surprised that you were awake. He looked over the letter's contents once more as he rose to his feet. "So it would seem, yes. We have a few days until then."

You grinned, mischievously as always when it came to Haytham. "Ah, whatever shall we do with our time, I wonder."

Haytham set the letter onto the desk and strode forward. He directed your attention towards the nightstand where a pair of pretty gauntlets rested, hidden blades just begging to be worn. "I took the liberty of having these cleaned up for you."

You rose a brow, examining the craftsmanship. "Where did you get those?" You slowly sat up in bed, your body feeling less sore than usual. You weren't in the peak of health but you didn't feel as many aches and pains as you had yesterday.

He tossed his head back, a haughty gesture as he spoke rather casually, "An Assassin. And to be fair, he certainly won't be needing them anytime soon."

"Nathan?" you guessed, trying not to smirk at him.

He gave a meager shrug of his shoulder, not completely denying your assumption. "While you adorn those, I will inform the others that you are awake. I'd like to have your ceremony before noon."

"Ceremony?" You lifted one of the vambraces, turning it before slipping it over your hand and securing it onto your arm.

"You are still becoming a Templar, I assume." He strolled across the room, flashing you a brief smile before disappearing from sight.

You pulled taught your fingers, a flick of the wrist, and the hidden blade sprung forward. You slid the other one on, testing it out before trying to release both blades as silently as possible. They weren't yours, not truly, but they would be just as effective.

It had been nearly a month since you'd lost yours in the ambush, the traitorous ally having set you up. It was a familiar comfort and a bitter reminder. But either way, you were going to use them relentlessly to protect Haytham and to repay all of his kindness. He had been loyal to you even when you weren't to him.

You shuffled out of bed, determined to work through the pain as you clumsily slipped into your coat and boots. It would pass away eventually. It could be ignored, even the sharp stabs in your ribs and the twists of throbbing that snaked around your leg. They could be ignored. Mind over matter, just as you had been taught all those years ago during training. Besides, you had more important things to worry yourself with.

You ambled through the house, down hallways and towards the vestibule where two grand staircases rested. Haytham was standing with another and motioned him to enter into the room where the meeting had taken place last night. With the sunlight spilling in, it looked less foreboding and instead a rather cheery little dining room.

"Take a seat here, my dear." Haytham's supportive hand against your back, led you to a dining chair outside of the room. "Wait here for a moment whilst we speak. I shall send for you when we are ready."

"Dont make me wait too long." You smirked, delighting in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "I might change my mind and make a run for it."

Haytham leaned forward to kiss you but stopped to let his lips hover. "Should I remind you clearly why you will stay?"

You jolted a brow, a tilt of your head, your words whispering across his skin. You careened a hand up along his chest, following the cloth and feeling clearly the firm muscles flexing beneath your touch. "It certainly couldn't hurt."

He tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes still locked with yours until his mouth captured your softening lips. His kiss forced your head back, his tongue begging permittance and you granted it with a moan. He tasted of sweet cinnamon and nutmeg, the lingering tart of red wine. He pulled away just as quickly, cockily smirking as he swaggered into the dining room, the door closing shut behind him.

You took down slow deep breaths, steadying your racing heart. Haytham always seemed to do that to you. He left you a mess of bundled nerves and rattled bones. Most of the time, you didn't know quite what to expect from him. But you were far more than certain that he would never cause you any harm. He had never hurt you, not even when he thought you were a traitor. Tied you up, certainly, but he never caused you any physical harm.

The double doors to the dining room opened. The curtains had been drawn closed, the darkness softened ever so slightly by the orange hues of candlelight. The new secretary, Adam Tailor if you could recall his name correctly, gave a slight nod of his head. You slowly got to your feet, following him into the dimness of the room, the curtains thick enough to chase out any drop of noon sunlight. It was a difficult task to see the features of the men before you but you could guess that they were the same Templars from the meeting just last night.

Haytham stood at the other side, posted in the same location at the head of the long table. He began speaking, a discussion towards the whole group that you hardly paid any attention to. You focused on every detail about Haytham, knowing that he would settle your nervousness: the stern expression that he adorned, the loose red ribbon tied around his neck, the glint of the gold buckle strapped across his chest, the way his lips moved as he enunciated each of his words.

Haytham finally focused his full attention towards you and you tried to focused on his words rather than his mouth. "Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order and all that for which we stand?"

You swallowed the tightening knot in your throat and gave a firm nod of your head, "I do."

Haytham seemed to still a little, his eyes never leaving yours but something had clearly unnerved him. "And never to share our secrets nor divulge the true nature of our work?"

You analyzed him a bit longer, the corner of your mouth curling when you finally understood why he was suddenly so anxious. You spoke the words with a little softer and a little more intimate tone, "I do."

Haytham pulled his hands behind his back, grasping onto them with all of his strength, his entire body rigid. "And to do so from now until death, whatever the cost?"

You were so tempted to added "until death do us part" but you decided against it, Haytham's skin already fluttering with shades of red. You gave a slow nod, never letting your eyes leaves his. "I do."

"Then we welcome you into our fold." He took down as slow, deep breath. "You are now a Templar, a harbinger of a new world."

The entirety of the group recited in chorus, "May the Father of Understanding guide us."

"Now that all that ceremony is out of the way," his slight Scottish lilt was familiar to the ears, pulling your attention from the Grand Master. "Welcome, sister." He finally approached, the candlelight flickering his features far better.

"Johnson." You stepped towards him, gathering the great bear of a man into your arms.

His returning hug was warm and strangling, his arms like thick iron bars. He finally stepped back, smile as wide and charming as you remember. "I was passing through and heard about what happened." He tossed his head towards Haytham, watching as the Grand Master worked his way through the room, his flock of Templars demanding his attention.

"It's too bad Charles didn't make it. Could you just imagine his disdain?" You gave him a wink, leisurely folding your arms over your waist and pressing a hand against your chin.

Johnson grinned like a giddy child, resting his gaze on Haytham when he made his way over. Haytham looked relieved if not still a bit flushed. "Well, shall we dine together before Johnson leaves us for his own task?"

"We should." You beamed between the two of them, feeling at ease to have two people who were familiar to you. You didn't entirely trust Johnson, you didn't know the man well enough, but he surely gave you no reason to question him.

Johnson ran his fingers over the coarse curls of his bead. "I am needed elsewhere at the moment. Tonight, perhaps?"

"Very well. Tonight, then." Haytham's warm hand rested on the curve of your back before he began his walk towards the door. He led you out into the foyer towards the double doors and out into the cold air of New York City.

You turned to him and eagerly jested, "So, does this mean we're married now?"

Haytham turned sharply. His arms snapped hold of you and his mouth aggressively captured yours, lips pressed hard until you submitted to his demand. His tongue roved against you, leaving behind a tingling bruised sensation. He tilted his head, relenting the brash exploration for a few gentler kisses. His firm lips tugged and his teeth gave a nip at your bottom lip before he finally pulled away, his eyes still closed to take in the moment for just a little longer.

Haytham gave a sigh and stepped back, turning his eyes out onto the grays and browns of New York. He pulled a circular ring from the chest pocket of his waistcoat, the bright red Templar insignia glistening upon its surface. He looked it over before holding it out to you, his attention lingering on it before looking you in the eye.

You dipped your head away, noticing the tension in your body and the quaking in your nerves. Haytham left an odd assortment of emotions in you, feelings you didn't understand. Your training had kept people at a distance, rarely ever allowing anyone to touch you and certainly never to hug or kiss you. So, it was no wonder why you were tense. You weren't used to affection. Even Sophie rarely wrapped her arms around you. She too wasn't a very openly affectionate person.

You reached out and took hold of the ring, the metal warmed by Haytham's body while it was resting in his pocket. "What happens now?"

He watched you slip the ring onto your finger before reaching into his coat pocket and removing a piece of folded parchment. "I had someone research into your sister's death. I wanted to be certain about the details." He took a quick glimpse at your expression. "I hope that it wasn't too invasive for me to do so?"

"No, not at all." You could feel your throat tightening from both fear and delight. Haytham had cared enough to research your sister's death for you, cared enough to find out what really happened. You were afraid because you yourself had no idea what truly happened that night. You had no idea what information he was about to lay out before you.

Haytham handed over the worn paperwork, wrinkled from being folded and unfolded numerous times. He must have spent hours if not days considering what he was going to do with it. "Nathan was not the one to kill her. There was another."

You opened the letter but you didn't bother reading it. You looked to Haytham for answers, looked over his expression and his body language. "Who was it?"

Haytham let the name roll off of his tongue, each syllable haunting, "Frederick Smith."

A rage swelled inside of you. You tightened your hands into fists. You turned away from Haytham and plodded forward to the edge of the sidewalk then turned and faced him once more. "Are you sure?"

"His name is familiar?"

"Familiar?" You laughed bitterly, unable to meet his gaze. You glanced about the large Templar headquarters, a richly estate before finally resting on him. "He was the one who sent me on my mission in Boston. He was the one who set me up with my supposed ally." You looked down at the material of his boots, prestigiously kept but still dusted with dirt near the bottom. "If he killed Sophie..." You narrowed your eyes and shook your head. "I don't understand why he did it. Nathan made it seem like an order from someone important."

"Then we will simply have to ask him." Haytham stepped forward, hands tucked behind his back and beneath the long cloak.

You snapped your attention to his eyes, a burst of determination sparking to life. "Do we know where to find him?"

"Oliver Finn can tell us where." He placed a soft hand onto your shoulder and caressed downwards along your arm. "Apparently, he's a man that many Assassin's go to for safe harbor when making an attempt to leave the city."

You gave a slow nod of understanding. "During times when it isn't safe, yes. Where is this place?"

"I took the privilege of finding out where Mister Finn resides. We will go there together." Haytham set off down the street while hooking your arm with his. His hands, calloused but gentle, smoothed away whatever tension he could by rubbing the top of your hand and massaging your fingers.

You tightened your grip onto the crook of his elbow, feeling the thick muscle roll over bone. "Thank you, Haytham. This means more than I can--"

"We will be leaving New York to meet with Shay and it would be best to take this time to find out what truly occurred that night." He glimpsed your expression before daring to continue. "You are not yet strong enough to deal with this matter on your own..."

"I know." You slowed your steps and peered down at the hidden blade, its leathers and metal gears barely visible beneath the length of your frock coat. "I want your help. I'm not too proud to dismiss it."

"When we do find him..." Haytham squeezed your hand until you looked him in the eye. "I will go by your judgement. You alone will determine his fate and punishment."

Your jaw tightened and your stomach clenched into a knot. You couldn't shake the foreboding anxiety or the anger that was blooming inside of your chest. If you found him, you would torture every bit of information from him. He owed you an explanation.

Chapter Text

"We are nearly there, I believe." Haytham slowed his steps, a few leisure glances about the streets before stopping. That part of the city was cast into dark shades of grays and browns, the buildings worn and weathered from age. The sun was still making its slow descent towards the horizon but the cluttered homes made it seem even later in the evening than it actually was. You'd remembered cowering in a place like this as a child, the people who raised you had kindly shelted you from this sort of life.

Haytham tucked his hands behind his back, another quick glimpse before focusing on the shadows of an alleyway. "Stay here. I shall take a cursory look around."

You leaned your shoulder against him, an attempt to find some comfort in the turmoil of recent events. "I'm surprised you hadn't already scouted the area."

Haytham lifted his chin a tad bit higher. "What led you to believe that I hadn't already?"

"Of course you did." You smiled, but it was weak and fading.

Haytham lingered for a moment, his eyes locked with yours. He were fully aware of what sort of state you were really in. He knew well enough that your smile was fake and that the truth earlier had unsettled you. But he slowly stepped away into the shadows of an alley and up onto the rooftops.

You released a heavy sigh, pacing back and forth in his absence, weary of the constant waiting. You were sick of waiting for things to happen. You wanted to make them happen instead. For once, you wanted to be ahead of the the game, the one in charge of its outcome. You wanted this whole matter to be dealt with so you could move on with your life. But how could you move on until you had proper answers and some resemblance of justice.

You stopped suddenly, turning towards the distraught sounds of a woman. She was whimpering, a screech of fear every now and then. You marched towards the noise, curious and determined to find out exactly what was happening. There she was, cowering against the wall as a man loomed over her. She was cupping the side of her face, nursing it from the blow that he had dealt.

"Fucking whore," he spat, snatching hold of the collar of her dress and forcing her to face his rage. "Thought you could gip out on having to pay me?"

This woman was weak and defenseless, she survived as best she could with what she knew how to do. Whoever she was and whatever she did no longer mattered to you. You knew she wasn't Sophie. You were highly aware of that. But your anger was strong as you continued down into the alleyway, mulling over what choice you would make.

Haytham was close at your heels, his boots scuffing into the cobblestone to come to your aide. He was quiet enough not to alert the man but your ears had been trained and practiced to be acute to even the smallest of changes.

It was easy, slipping your hand over his mouth just like all the other times you had killed. You brought the hidden blade forward and tightened your fist, without missing a beat, without batting an eyelash the metal slid through flesh and flimsy cartilage. It was quiet and quick. You pulled your hands away and let his body sink to the dirt.

The woman before you no longer nursed the black eye. She cupped her hands over her mouth to muffle any whimpers that might have broken free. She was more terrified of you than the man until she finally realized that you weren't there for her life. You bowed your head at her then walked past Haytham, your eyes just barely meeting. And there was worry in his, an uncertainty that he wasn't able to judge your character anymore.

Upon reaching the mouth of the alley, he snatched hold your hand. He pulled you to a quick stop, waiting a silent moment for any amount of explanation. He spoke confidently, noting that you hadn't felt any remorse, "You were once very adamant about not killing."

You raised a nonchalant shoulder. "He was hurting her." You peered over at him, taking in the way the shadows cast his expression into darkness. "Someone had to defend her."

He reluctantly let go of your hand, his warmth vanishing and the cold air of New York shivering you down to the bone. "Shall we be off then? The house is around the corner and thanks to our luck it is void of all company but our Mister Finn." He stepped forward without waiting for your reply. He knew it already, anyway.

Haytham took the lead all the way up to the house and he would have knocked on the door had you not stopped him. You exchanged a glance before stepping between him and door, rapping a soft knock against the wood. "You're the Grand Master. I'm sure even he will recognize you."

"Ah." Haytham tossed his head to the side as if he were throwing a few ideas around. He turned his attention towards the street, putting his back to the house, clenching his hands together with anticipation. "Keep in mind your newest accessory, darling."

You rolled your eyes down to the red and silver glint of the Templar insignia. You hid your hands behind your back just as the door was groaning open. "Mister Finn?" You rose an inquisitive brow at him, pulling out the easiest of your masks. Sweet, naive, slightly afraid. "I was told by..." You dropped your voice down into a whisper. "Well, Nathan told me that if anything ever happened to him that..."

Mister Finn was an older gentleman, stout and rugged looking. He smelled of the harsh stench of ale and onions. He shoved his fingers into the greying hairs of his beard, scratching away as he gave you a quick look over. He wasn't an Assassin and he lacked the acute training one of them would have. "Come on in, then. Don't need you freezing to death out there." He waved you inside, a glimpse about the street before carelessly putting his back to you.

You looked over at Haytham who was already moving to your side. The both of you entered into the shambled house, Mister Finn none the wiser to what was happening. He still had his back to you as he hobbled off towards the small kitchen. Haytham didn't wait for a signal or even a request. He jerked a wooden chair into the center of the room. And with quick reflexes, he grabbed Oliver Finn by the throat and shoved him down into it.

Finn gave a grumbled snort, eyes wide and mouth screwed into a frown. "What the hell's the meaning--"

"Mister Finn." Haytham leaned forward, those grey eyes sharp as ever and his voice darker than you'd ever heard it. "It would be wise of you to not speak another word until you hear our offer." When Finn looked like he was thoroughly frightened, Haytham stepped back and allowed you to take over.

Your hand snapped hold of Finn's throat, feeling the flexible cartilage of his esophagus bob as he swallowed. "I'm looking for someone. He owes me answers and you're going to tell me where he is."

His lips thinned and his nose flared. "I don't know anything. I swear."

"I'm going to give you the opportunity to live. If you do everything I ask then I will allow you to walk away from this. If you don't..." You swept your attention towards Haytham who was returning after going out in search of something to tie the older man up with. "My darling Haytham here is going to do terrible things to you."

A flash of rebellious hatred sparked across his expression. Before he had the opportunity to get the best of you, his attack on the very verge as he jumped forward, you pulled back your fist and rammed it against his throat. Finn heaved and wheezed down each breath which gave Haytham plenty of time to encircle the man with rope.

You stood taller, stepping away from him as he coughed out a few more breaths. "Frederick Smith." You put your back to him for a moment, trying to keep whatever composure you had left. You balled your shaky hands into fists. "Where is he?"

Finn took down a deep breath of air, hoarse and raspy. "I haven't seen him in weeks. Think he told me he was heading to Boston..." His voice trailed away at the end and you turned to face him, analyzed the sweat that rolled across his brow and the pulse that jolted in his throat.

"Mister Finn." You leaned forward, your eyes unblinking as you stared into him. "I mentioned that Haytham would do terrible things to you, right? He's the Grand Master of the Templars. Do you think he will feel any amount of remorse when hurting you?"

His teeth clenched, grating across each other.

"Actually..." You tilted your head, a smile torn between innocence and mischief slid free. "I've decided that I might want to do it myself. Shall I begin with plucking off... your fingernails?"

Finn's entire body trembled as he shook his head. "He said he was heading to Boston. That was ages ago. He should be back here any day now. He'll stop by here. Usually does, I swear it."

"Why?" You lifted a brow. "Why does he stop here of all places?"

Finn's vision swept between you and Haytham, finally settling on his hands. "I harbor Assassin's in times of crisis. I also sell items they bring me. Smuggle other items. I do whatever the Order needs me to do."

Haytham finally spoke up, his charming voice soothing the tension that had thickened the air. "We must deduce you are linked to the gangs here in the area."

"What little's left of them," he muttered, shoulders hunching up around him.

You stepped away from the older man and linked your arm with Haytham's. The two of you walked to the other side of the room, remaining quiet until you were certain Finn's ears wouldn't listen in on anything. "Smith might show up here. If he hasn't already seen us."

Haytham tossed his head to the side. "Or, perhaps, another Assassin who would have far better information." He turned and slipped an arm around your waist, pressing you up against him. His tone suddenly grew serious, "Darling."

Your narrowed your eyes. "Haytham? If you're worried--"

"I can handle this matter. I don't enjoy seeing you get your hands dirty." He raised his chin up, glowering down at you as if it would somehow make you reluctant to continue with the mission.

"My hands have always been dirty." You reached up and curled your fingers around the lapels of his jacket. "Don't worry. I wasn't actually going to hurt him. Just... frighten him."

Haytham didn't seem convinced, in fact, he looked about ready to argue.

But Mister Finn suddenly spoke up, perhaps the whispers between the two of you and the anger unsettled him enough to blurt out, "Tonight! There's someone supposed to come tonight. Check my desk, if you like. Missive's still on it I think."

Haytham tucked his hands behind his back and strolled over towards the small writing desk tucked away in the corner of the sitting room. He quietly riffled through the piles of papers as you silently watched Finn's fretful attention sweep between Haytham and you. You saw Haytham lift up the parchment and peruse through its details, his boots clattering against the floor as he paced to your side.

Haytham handed over the letter. "I shall be certain to make Mister Finn comfortable whilst we wait." He walked over and untied the ropes, nudging the man to walk through the hall towards the back of the house.

You read the contents for yourself. Finn was informed of a man's arrival into the city. He would need a place to sleep and food to eat. All accommodations would be paid for by the Order. You didn't recognize the Assassin's name. Whoever he was didn't matter so long as he led you to Frederick Smith.

Haytham returned, dusting his hands against each other. "Our Mister Finn has been safely secured in the cellar beneath the house." He glanced about the small sitting room before looking over towards the kitchen. "I don't believe we'll make our dinner date with Johnson tonight."

You sashayed towards him, slipping your arms around his waist and drawing his attention. "I do hope he isn't too disappointed..."

"He will understand our reasoning," Haytham whispered, the softness of his gaze finally focusing on you. "Mister Finn will also, no doubt, understand quite reasonably if we sit down and eat a little something."

You couldn't stop your grin quickly enough. "I don't think he has much choice, really." You looked at his expression, your smile fading as you noted his obvious concern. "I'm fine, Haytham."

He didn't believe you. Haytham saw you clearer than most. He had known you were a liar long before you'd given away that you were an Assassin. And he knew a great deal about your feelings far better than you ever did. But, like always, he was respectful and allowed you to speak when you were ready.

He gave a quick smile. "Tea, then? I shall make us some."

You stepped away from him, your hands falling at your side as he walked towards the kitchen. "I'm angry," you finally blurted, freezing him mid-step. "I'm furious. That bastard sent me straight into a set up, with a traitor for a source, and then killed my sister. And I can't seem to think of a single reason why."

Haytham glanced over his shoulder then slowly turned around. "You have every right to be furious. I would not argue with such. But shall you toss aside all of your morals and beliefs because one single person--"

"Yes." You clenched your fists, hatred rippling through your entire body. "I want revenge. I don't care if it's good for me or not. I want it."

Haytham opened his mouth but closed it when he realized his words weren't going to persuade you. He gave a firm nod of his head. "Then you shall have it, darling. Whatever you require of me, it is yours."

Your voice was softer, weary as you muttered, "Thank you, Haytham."

"Tea?" He smirked, hands tucking behind his back as he swirled towards the kitchen once more.

You closed your eyes, chuckling at his sassy charisma. "Yes, please."

Chapter Text

You were dropping the Templar ring into your pocket when Haytham brought over the tin pot and a set of cups. He had been silent for some time, a tense and unsettling silence but you were more focused on getting yourself ready for the Assassin to say much about it. You tried to somehow make yourself look more feminine, to make ready a disguise, unlacing your shirt and loosening your jacket.

Haytham poured the tea into both of your cups before sitting down. "When our target arrives, I shall sneak around to the front of the house. I can then dispatch him."

You grinned, taking the cup into your hands and allowing the heat to seep into your bones. "Let me handle this. I can get more information out of him." You took a long slow sip, feeling the tea warm you from the inside out, slipping across every organ.

"You are wounded," he clarified, thinking you were unaware of it. "You don't need to do this alone."

You licked your lips before letting them slip wide into a smile. "It's better for us if he thinks I'm on his side. If he knows we're Templars then he won't tell us anything no matter how much we torture him." You set down your tea, focusing more seriously on the conversation.

"You suggest what, darling?" He rose his brows, face hardening into a haughty scowl. "I leave you alone with him?"

"Haytham, I'm an Assassin. I was one of their best spies. Tricking people and killing them is my specialty." You leaned forward, slipping your hand over his. "I can do this."

"It is not so simple." His voice grew louder with each word, his tone turning bitter. "I fully believe you could do this without me. I know you're capable. I simply hate seeing you lose yourself to them."

"I won't lose myself." You tilted your head, hardly understanding his reasoning. He must have known that you'd killed before, that you weren't as innocent as you had made yourself.

"At what point will you walk down this road and realize you've become them?" Haytham pulled his hand away from yours, only so that he could clasp hold of it and squeeze. "You once placed a bit of hope in me. I hope that I can do the same for you."

You slid your eyes closed. You held the small cup in your hand, took a sip of the tea and set it down. "Let me get what I can from him. Then he's all yours."

Haytham reached into the inner folds of his jacket, removing a few items and sliding them across the table. They were darts, small pieces of metal that took time and dedication to smith. "These are filled with a sedative should things... go awry."

"Always planning for the worse." You let your fingertips caress along his palm, feeling the roughness of skin and a spot where a scar trailed.

His thumb brushed across your skin, eyes focused on his tea rather than you. He had more words to argue with but he kept them to himself, kept them in the hard pressed edge of his lips. "Nothing ever truly goes as planned."

You had barely just finished your tea when a knock rattled the front door. You swept your eyes to Haytham, watching as he rose to his feet. He took one more passing glimpse at you and sauntered out of the room, shoulders stiff and his gait rigid.

You cleaned up the table as quickly as you could and stood before the door. You looked down at yourself once more, making sure you looked as feminine and normal as possible. You had a million lies lined up and they would be the easiest lies you ever told. You opened the door, a smile slowly widening across your lips as your eyes met his. "Yes?"

"Pardon, ma'am." He was shocked but he skillfully hid it. "I'm looking for someone. Mister Finn. I believe--"

"Ah, my father." You smiled a bit wider, opening the door so that he might see inside. "He wasn't home when I arrived. Likely out at the pub drinking. He's got a weak spot for..." You rolled your eyes about. "Well, everything."

He looked you over rather quickly, needing only a fraction of a second to gather what he needed. Properly trained Assassins only needed a second. "I see. I was supposed to have a meeting with him."

You eyed him in turn, making it obvious and taking your time to glance him over. "It would seem he's chosen a meeting with a mug of ale, instead."

He shook his head as if this weren't the first time. "Might you know which pub he is in?"

You smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "You're welcome to wait here for him but... Well, in all honesty, I'm not so certain it would be proper. I am a lady, afterall."

"A lady, yes." He tucked his hands behind his back, head tilted as he took another quick sharp glance. "But your clothes tell another story."

You giggled a bit, glancing yourself over and running your hands down across the dirt on your attire. "Will there be others joining you in this meeting?" You motioned him in, carefully placing your back to him as you stepped into the house. "I don't know how comfortable I'll be with so many strangers around."

He laughed under his breath. "Not tonight, ma'am. Although, there will be a few arriving in the morning." His boots hit hard on the wooden steps and across the floor, the door hushing closed. "You father offered us room and board for whenever we needed it."

"Oh?" You flicked a large grin over your shoulder as you strolled through the sitting room. "Tea?"

"That is kind of you but no, thank you." He took his eyes off of you only to ease himself down onto the hard couch.

"You must know my father very well for him to offer you a place to sleep." You let your hand slide over the back of the chair. You were being cautious, not as an Assassin but as a 'slightly fearful damsel'.

"I was unaware Oliver had a daughter." He smiled sweetly, trying to make himself seem less threatening to the fearful woman before him.

You laughed abruptly. "I'm sure Oliver was unaware of it for some time as well." You sat down into the chair adjacent to him, stretching your arms out over the side in a faked mock attempt to look courageous. "My mother's a whore. One Oliver used to fancy." You shrugged a shoulder, tugging at your jacket. "As for my clothes... I'm a sailor, dockhand, messenger, whatever I need to be to make some coin." You allowed your eyes to rove across his form, smoldering as you took in the well fitting attire, making sure he saw your admiration.

He shifted in his seat, legs sprawling wide as he took up more of the couch. "And I suppose Oliver is aware of all of this?"

You tossed your head a bit, your lips curling slightly. "He is. I visit him every now and then, whenever I'm in New York. He's drunk half of the time. The other half of the time he's pretending I'm not related to him."

The Assassin chuckled, his guard slowly lowering, his shoulders releasing their tension. "Oliver never was much for... looking very proper and never much for... anything familial."

You drew in your lip, glancing him over again, your voice taking on a sweeter edge. "Oliver, no. But you... How does a man looking as well off as you start working with a man like my father?"

He knew you were admiring him. He was highly aware of it and it even stroked his ego a bit. He lifted his chin higher and sat a bit straighter. "I'm afraid your father's affairs are not something I can share with you."

You chuckled, leaning forward with a devilish grin. "I mentioned I do whatever is necessary for coin, did I not? I know well my father's affairs. And if you're working for him... well, then that must mean I know a bit of yours as well." You tilted your head, watching for any signs that might slip in his expression. "Smuggling, is it? I can help for the right coin."

He wasn't angry when he spoke. He kept his tone rather leveled. "I'm afraid I can not speak to anyone but him." He was resolute, a loyal and dignified Assassin trying to maintain his composure.

You stood up and strolled into the kitchen. "I, for one, shall have some tea." You threw a wide smile at him, a spark of energy jolting across your eyes. "How rude of me. I never did ask you your name."

His brows jolted. "Samuel, ma'am. I supposed a cup of tea would be nice while we wait."

You began the process, quietly warming up a brew while you fidgeted with your jacket. You gave Samuel another sweet smile, batting your lashes and averting you attention to appear shy. "Shall you be staying the night then, Samuel. I know sometimes my father has... unexpected guests and you mentioned his offer."

He cleared his throat, his skin turning a bit flush. "I was planning to but... without your father here--"

"Don't worry. I do not bite." You peered over at him from the corner of your eyes. "Unless you ask me to, of course."

Samuel couldn't take his eyes from yours, his gaze locked onto your mouth as you turned your attention back to the boiling water. "You think your father would... condone your activities?"

"Do you?" You glanced over at him and he snapped his gaze to the coffee table. You dropped one of the darts into the pot and replaced the lid. You gathered everything onto a small tray and carried it into the sitting room.

"I'm uncertain." He pressed his back into the couch, uncomfortably rigid. "I suppose it is your choice and not mine."

You poured the tea slowly, careful not to jostle the dart and alert your target. You swept your gaze up to him, holding your eyes with his as you lifted the cup.

His voice was deeper, perhaps his throat tightening. "Thank you." He reached out for the cup and you ever so slyly let your hand brush across his.

You had unnerved him, that much you knew, but you set to work on pouring your own cup. You could hear the rattle of his cup and his saucer as he placed them onto the coffee table. He hadn't quite drunk any of it yet. "How many others will be arriving? I rather much enjoy making breakfast and it would be lovely to have some company."

His fingers gripped firmly onto his knees. "Not many. Two at most... Perhaps I shall return in the morning..." But he hesitated, your actions towards him having weakened that resolution. He could be persuaded. He could be manipulated but...

"You would leave me here alone?" You lifted a wry brow at him, setting your own cup down onto the table. "To defend for myself?"

He swallowed his pulse. "You seem to take care of yourself, well enough."

"On occasion, yes." You slowly licked your lips, eyes unwavering from his. "It does get awfully lonely, though. I've done quite a few things for coin. Things I might do for free for... someone like you."

His breathing quickened but his expression remained expertly neutral. "I'm afraid I shouldn't. I am here on a business matter, afterall."

"Oh?" You looked about the room. "I don't see any business taking place. My father won't be home tonight. I can assure you. He's finding comfort in some back alley with a very pretty thing."

He shifted in his seat, drawing your eyes to his lap, breeches stretching against his erection. He looked towards the stairs, his brain considering the idea. You slowly stood up and exaggerated the sway of your hips as you swaggered forward. Your fingertips pressed into his chest, your legs sliding on either side of his lap.

You weren't going to get any information from him, not unless you slept with him and that was out of the question. You kept his eyes busy on your mouth as it hovered over his, your hands clasping hold of the other dart. He was getting impatient, hands grabbing firmly into the softness of your thighs. You chuckled just before jabbing the dart into his neck, piercing the firm muscle.

Samuel jolted, his hand snapping up your wrist as the dart slid from your hold. "What is this?" He swatted the metal out of his skin and you used that moment to twist your arm from his hold.

"It is a sedative of sorts, Mister Samuel." You stepped back, watching the array of emotions, fear twisting into anger and then into fear again.

Haytham's boots clamoured through the halls as hurried to be of some assistance. He'd been listening and it suddenly made your stomach swoon, to think that Haytham overheard some of the things you said or perhaps seen briefly what you were doing.

The Assassin stood up quickly and snapped hold of your jacket. "Who are you really? Where is Oliver?"

He didn't have enough time to process your movements. You easily used the bone in your arm to shove upwards and loosen his hold on your lapels, thrusting an angry punch into the hardness of his jawbone. Samuel snatched hold of your shirt as he fell backwards onto the couch. He pulled you down with him but the sedative was slowly kicking in, loosening his muscles and his grip. You threw another hard punch, pain singing your knuckles and reverberating through the muscles in your arms.

He panted a breath free, eyes rolling shut, brows pinched from the pain. When you thought the battle was over you stood up and readjusted your clothes. You took a short breath, your body having exhausted what little energy it had.

"Darling." Haytham stepped closer, his warmth falling onto your shoulders.

You swallowed your pulse, not daring to look at him. "He's all yours. I didn't get any information."

"Two more will be arriving soon." Haytham's hands fell away as he stepped past you towards the groaning Assassin. "I will be certain to tie up Samuel and prepare to interrogate him."

You clenched your teeth. He had been listening. "I'll grab some knives from the kitchen."

Before you could disappear from sight, Haytham's hands hooked hold of your elbow. He didn't let go until you faced him, saw the tension in the corner of his mouth and eyes. His hands encased either side of your face, his lips enveloping yours in a rough and messy kiss. He stepped forward, his figure towering over yours and desperate to gather you into his arms. His lips pulled away from the kiss only long enough to gather your bottom lip between his teeth and suckle it.

"Haytham," you breathed, fingers sinking into the muscle of his neck.

He dipped his head away, voice low and trembling, "You are mine, never forget that." Haytham stepped back, ready to return his focus to the task at hand.

But you weren't going to let him leave so easily. You snapped hold of his chin and forced him to face you. "Do not forget that you are mine as well." You smirked, pleased when his eyes rolled closed, some sense of ease settling in him.

He lowered his chin and pressed your palm into his cheek. "I will handle the Assassin. You go and rest."

You huffed. "I will rest in that chair over there. But the moment he wakes..."

Haytham shifted his attention towards the dizzy and quaking man. "Very well. It is your choice. I shall fetch the ropes." He walked by, steps quickening so that he would return before the man regained consciousness.

You pulled out the Templar ring, stared into the insignia before darting your attention back to the Assassin. Haytham was right. You were walking down a dark path. But, he was wrong to believe that you hadn't walked the path before. You'd killed and tortured because the Assassins told you it was the right thing to do. Now, you were doing it because you thought it was the right thing to do. Because you wanted answers. Because you deserved answers.

Chapter Text

Haytham had finished the Assassin’s bindings long ago. Samuel was sitting limply in a dining room chair, head lopped forward, breath slowly paced until… He jerked, gasped sharply, then tried to lift his head long enough to catch a glimpse of you sitting across from him. You waited patiently for him to make a comment or to even gain his strength.

He muttered, spit on the tip of his tongue, “Ah, I know you…” He swallowed in an attempt to gain control of his mouth. He threw his head back and glowered down the tip of his nose, eyes shifting wildly. “Templar.”

A smirk tugged against one corner of your mouth. “What gave it away?”

He pulled his lips back in a snarl, his face distorting in pain as he tried to focus. “The man who was with you…”

Your gaze shifted over to Haytham as he stood casually near the window behind the Assassin. He was watching like a hawk and allowing you to do what you did best. “Haytham Kenway? Yes. Yes, he is a Templar.” You turned your hand just enough to draw attention to the ring on your finger. You gazed at it for a moment, enjoying the brilliant red against faded silver. “And I suppose I am as well.”

Samuel began to chuckle, a mild sound at first then it grew wild and insane. His laugh sputtered into a groan. “You. You’re the Assassin who turned into a Templar in order to whore herself out to their Grand Master.” He swallowed again, his body still suffering the lingering effects of the drug, his head rolling about as he tried to straighten his stature.

You leaned closer to him then slowly stood up, making each movement as predatory as you could. It was something the Assassins had taught you, pacing yourself before the kill. Only the young and naive struck too early or too late. “I didn’t join them to whore myself out. Although…” You raised a brow, tossing your attention to Haytham once more. “It has been an added bonus.”

Haytham’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, his eyes drilling into you as he admired your walk across the living room.

You slunk forward, using your height over the sitting man as a means to intimidate. “I joined them because your people killed my sister.” You tilted your head in mock compassion, allowed yourself to look at him with pity. “What terror it must be for you to serve people who kill. And you hope that your loved ones don't get caught in their game.”

He struggled weakly against his bindings when you reached out and took his chin. He hissed, “Your words are empty poison.”

You gave a slight nod all to pleased with events. “The truth is poison, yes. Frederick Smith is poison. The Order has been poisoned by him.”

He scoffed, eyes rolling about the room. “He’s been in charge of the Boston area for years. Achilles posted him there for a reason: he’s trustworthy.”

“Then why would he kill a baker?” You leaned forward, fingerbones tightening with hopes to shatter his jaw. “She did nothing. Sold a few secrets. She could have been spoken with. Reasoned with. She was a child. We are not supposed to harm innocents.”

He wrenched his chin out of your hold. “You’re a Templar. Templars hurt everyone.”

“Not her,” you spoke softly, gently even, coiling back your anger as best as you could.

Samuel muttered back just as softly, “If Assassins killed her then she wasn’t innocent.”

Your rage took over as you reached back to your belt and jerked a throwing free of its holster. It was an afterthought, a mindless and reckless action but you were growing impatient. You rammed it into the thin bones of his hands, pinning him into the arm of the chair.

Samuel screamed, his fingers taut with the agony. He struggled in the chair as if getting away would somehow stop the pain. His screams turned into high pitched groans, a desperate seething.

You stared at him, waiting for his eyes to finally meet yours. “Where is Frederick Smith?”

He sucked down a sob, chest shuddering to keep from screaming again. “You’ll get nothing from me, Templar.”

You tilted your head and looked sidelong into the floor. “That was not the correct answer, Mister Samuel.” You tugged your dagger from its sheath along your back and examined its glint beneath the room’s light. “Do you know what I did for the Assassins?” You finally rolled your attention to him. “Do you know what I did for Frederick Smith?”

His eyes slipped closed. “Yes…” His voice seemed to waver, an undertone of fear.

“I killed people for them. I tortured people for information.” You stepped forward, your knee pressed into the chair and your forehead placed against his. You poured all your distaste into his eyes, staring aimlessly into them. “They trained me to break people. Do you truly want to do this, Mister Samuel?”

He clenched his teeth and released a guttural sound mixed between a growl and a whimper. “You won’t break me.”

You brought the blade to his other hand but Haytham’s movements caught your attention.

His boots clattered against the wood floor as he strolled into the living room, hands tucked casually behind his back. “I had an enlightening conversation with Oliver Finn… before I killed him. The two of you must have been close...” He lifted his chin, head held high as he calmly made his way past. “He mentioned your fiance. Oh, what was her name…” He tossed his attention towards the ceiling as he pretended to think it over.

“Please.” Samuel struggled again.

You stepped back and allowed him to consider his options. “She must be lovely… Is she an Assassin as yourself?”

Haytham smirked, lips thinning with annoyance. “A commoner. Most likely never picked up a blade in her life.” He leaned towards you, breath against your neck. “An easy target for you, my darling.”

“He’s on the outskirts of New York.” Samuel shifted in his seat, trying to regain some form of dignity. “It was intended for me to meet with him after I gathered a report from Oliver. He’ll arrive there at the end of the week.”

“Where?” You twirled the blade in your hand. “I want an address.”

“My pocket.” Samuel was looking pale, awash with quesiness and anxiety. “It contains all information given to me about my mission.”

You sheathed your dagger, pleased to finally be getting somewhere. You reached forward and riffled through the jacket until you found the neatly folded missive. You read through it before stowing it away in your own jacket. “This whole mess could have been avoided had you simply listened to reason, Mister Samuel.”

His lips pulled down into a grimace. “My fiance… I beg you…”

Haytham huffed. “She’s no use to me. She will live. You, however, I can not say the same.”

Samuel’s attention jolted to the Grand Master. “No. I gave you what you needed. What information could I give the Assassins that they don’t already have?”

You shook your head ever so slightly. “I can’t have you getting to Frederick before I get the chance to kill him.”

Haytham stepped forward, his arm with the hidden blade rising gracefully to the man’s neck. But your hand landed on his forearm, halting him before he could finish the task. “Darling?”

“He’s an Assassin.” You looked down at the man, torn between varying ideals. But you settled quickly and took a step forward. “He is mine to kill. Not yours.” You waited for Haytham to step back before quickly and cleanly using your hidden blade to pierce his neck. You slid the blade out and waited for the last of his life to fade before closing the man’s eyes.

“Let us head home. We can deal with our Mister Smith when we are better rested.” Haytham waited patiently, not budging from his spot unless he could be certain that you would follow. “Shall we?”

You inhaled slowly, feeling a hollow ache in your lungs. “Yes.” You followed in step behind him, pleased to be leaving the confines of the house far behind. The smell of stale beer and tart blood was a sickening combination, one you would never grow used to especially when mingled together.

New York, however, refreshed by falling snow smelled clean and its frigid touch seemed to peel away any lingering discomfort. The night was speckled by stars, an endless and spacious sky, not at all as glamorous as the oil lamps cluttered along the streets.

Your steps must have slowed because Haytham peered over his shoulder just to make sure you were still there. You grinned, quickening your steps until you could link your arm with his. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me, Grand Master.”

“You have killed another of your own.” Haytham tilted his head and peered over at you, expecting you to make some form of confession. But when you made no reaction or muttered no reply he added, “And you’ve placed yet another mask to hide your feelings. How many masks does that make it, darling?”

Your steps slowed and if Haytham hadn’t stopped as well you would have lost hold of him. “What are you trying to say? That you don’t know who I really am? That I’ve been lying to you?”

He turned to face you, chin tilted downwards and eyes unwavering. “The moment we met you were wearing the mask of a thief. And after that you wore whatever mask that Assassin’s carved into you. And after that…” He raised a brow as if to draw the answer out of you.

You leaned forward and reached up to press fingertips along the curve of his jaw. “Perhaps this is what I truly look like without any masks.”

Haytham stared into your eyes. There was no anger or sorrow, just the blankness of a silent challenge. “This is not you, not truly. You have worn them for so long that you do not even know who you are without them.”

“I know what I am.” You moved your fingers upwards along his cheek, taking in the smooth shaved skin. “I’m a killer.”

“You are more than just one thing, my dear.” Haytham pulled away from you and led the way back towards the Templar headquarters. He was silent the rest of the way. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder to make sure you were still with him. He seemed lost in thought, trapped by his constant brooding and internal debates.

“Maybe you’re right.” You slowed down as Haytham came to a stop and peered over at you. “Perhaps I am more than just a killer but it doesn’t change it. I have taken lives and I will take more.”

He raised a brow and a tilt of his head. “That, darling, was never in question.”

“Then what?” You marched to his side, as if being closer to him would help you better understand him. “What are you so afraid of?”

Haytham lifted his hands, hovered them over your arms, wavering as he debated at pressing them down onto your shoulders. His hands felt large against the curve of bone. “After you hunt down Frederick Smith, leave a trail of bodies, and finally kill him… Will it truly be over? Will you get your revenge?”

Your brows pinched. “He killed Sophie.”

“Yes. And then what?” He leaned forward, eyes locked with your own, a softness along their edges as he admired what he saw. “What will you do then? What hunt will you have?”

Your annoyance dissipated, anger melted, and all that was left was realization. You kept yourself busy with hunting down Haytham’s necklace in the beginning and then preoccupied yourself with any small task and now you were on the hunt again in a desperate attempt to not think about Sophie. You tried to not think about what really happened. You tried to pretend she wasn’t really dead.

You ducked your head away and pressed it against Haytham’s firm chest, the cold metal of his buttons pressing against the feverish skin of your cheek. You breathed deep the crisp citrus and sharp spices that clung to him, savoring them as they coated your senses.

“Come. Let us return home and discuss it tomorrow.” His arm curled around your waist and continued along the path towards the estate.

~:~

You slept briefly during the night, waking every now and then to watch Haytham as he slept. You stared at his profile, memorizing his features as the moonlight outlined thinly along the slope of forehead and nose, the curve of his lips and the prominence of chin. You sat up in bed when you could no longer handle just looking alone. You wanted to kiss him, to slide your lips across the short stubble that was forming along his jaw. You wanted to bury your hands into the thick dark strands of his hair.

You drew close to him, brushed your lips across his cheekbone and down towards the curve of his jaw. “Haytham…” You slid your hand beneath the thick blankets, finding the smooth skin of his bare chest.

He gave a sleepy moan, eyes fluttering open as he processed your mouth sucking against the skin along the bend of his neck. He took down a sharp breath, snatching your hand before it could follow the trail along his abdomen. His voice was raspy with both sleep and lust, “Darling?”

You pressed your mouth over his ear, hot breath moistening the skin, “I don’t want to sleep.” You took his earlobe between your lips and flicked your tongue across it.

Haytham’s arms hurried out from beneath the covers and grappled around you. He pulled you hard against the firmness of his body. You gave a low sigh as he buried his mouth against your neck, roving across your collarbone to dip his tongue in the valley of skin at the base of your throat.

Your fingers entwined with the thickness of his hair and your legs tangling with his, your body arching into his form. You chuckled lowly when he tried to tug at your clothes. You chided, “Haytham, don’t tell me you’re desperate?” You pulled away from him, sitting tall as you straddled his waist and gathered his hands into yours. “I might need to tie you down.”

His lips thinned into a challenging smirk. “I believe it is my turn in that respect.”

You squirmed your hips, both to feel his muscles against your clit and to tease Haytham into submission. “I didn’t realize we were taking turns?” You raised a brow as he took down a slow, heavy breath.

He tilted his head rather cockily. “I have decided to make it into a new rule. I am your Grand Master, after all, I can do such if I please.”

You leaned back and glowered down at him, letting your eyes sweep between his mouth and gray eyes. “Very well. You can tie me down if… next time, you make me Grand Master.”

His brow jolted. “My dear?”

You gave a haughty hum. “Perhaps I want to be the leader of the Templars. Perhaps I don’t like being a simple lackey.” Your palms pressed upwards along his chest towards his shoulders, gripping them as you leaned your weight forward. “I want to be in charge.”

Haytham’s lips parted ever so slightly. “There can only be one Grand Master of the Colonial Rite at a time, darling.”

“Then I suppose…” You dipped your mouth to his, briefly pulling a kiss from him before grinning. “I suppose I’ll have to take it from you.”

His eyes slipped closed as he savored the idea. “Next time you can take whatever you want. This moment, however, is mine.” He focused his eyes on yours, snatching up your wrists and pulling fiercely at them. “Now, what shall I use to tie you up?” He sat up with you against him, his eyes leaving yours only long enough to catch sight of what he was searching for. “Perfect.”

You glanced over at his piles of clothes to seek out what had intrigued him. “You aren’t going to hurt me, are you, Haytham?”

His eyes softened, lids falling over them ever so slightly as he smirked delightedly. “I would never harm you, my dear.” He pulled you out of bed with him, waltzing awkwardly across the room with you as his prisoner. He pressed your back into the chair and reached down to his shirt where he grabbed the white cravat and red ribbon that he usually wore around his neck.

You gave a crooked grin when he lifted the items into view. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

He flicked a teasing and arrogant smile before giving the order with a calm but firm tone, “Take off your shirt.” His hold on your wrists moved instead to grip onto the front of your trousers, pressing your hips firmly into his.

You kept your eyes focused on the gray and pale blues of his eyes as you tugged at the lacing of your shirt. You took your time especially when his gaze swept downwards, lingering there before rolling his eyes shut with impatience. You loosened the shirt just enough to slip it over your shoulder, tugging it ever so slightly as it moved down across your arms.

Haytham released the breath he’d been holding. “Not tonight, darling, you won’t be the one teasing me.” His rough hands jerked the blouse the rest of the way down then worked fervently on getting the breeches to peel away from your hips and lower across your thighs. Once your clothes were in a pile beneath your feet his hands draped tenderly over your neck. “I shall be the one to tease you this time.”

Your body trembled from both the sudden cold that clung to your exposed skin and the rush of adrenaline that surge through your veins. “Or we can just skip the teasing and get to the good part.” You slipped your palm over the front of his pants, cupping the stiff bulge that was already present, eagerly gripping it to encourage his need for you.

Haytham gathered up both your wrists with a chastising shake of his head. “Impatient.” He tsked a few times as if he were somehow displeased with a young pupil. “Impulsive. You would never make a good Grand Master with such flaws.” He brought the thin strip of red cloth into view and eyed your hands. “Hold them together. I’d hate to punish you for not following orders.”

You tried desperately to press away the smirk as you clasped your hands together. You spoke sweetly, batting your eyes at him, “Of course, Master Kenway. I would never wish to upset my glorious leader.”

He let the ribbon caress across the sensitive skin of your wrist, gently wrapping it in a figure eight around the hard bone. The ribbon remained loose while Haytham hovered his lips over yours. The softness of them just feathered across your own. He tightened it sharply then tied it into place and checked to see if it would hold against any struggling you might do later.

He gave a pleased hum then lifted the cloth of the white cravat. His eyes swept across the room, thoughts and ideas filling his mind as he searched for the best scenario. He peered over at you, the corner of his mouth twitching briefly.

You raised a playful brow, “Grand Master?”

Haytham held the cloth between his hands before pressing it over your eyes, darkening your sight, and securing it into place. You released an unsteady breath, feeling the heat of his mouth capture your own. His tongue delved fiercely, jaw widening to take in as much of you as it could. Your body arched against him for the friction it desired but Haytham’s presence disappeared too quickly for you to process.

You jolted when his hands fell onto your arms, guiding you backwards through the room. You tried to steady your rapid breathing, to ignore the pounding of your heart in your ears, especially when your back pressed into the cold smoothness of the wall. Your arms were hoisted above your head and the cloth around your wrists was caught against something, pinning them where they were.

Haytham gave a slight, deep chested chuckle when your lips parted. You knew he was somewhere in front of you but that was all you could sense. Your body tensed out of hunger, a need to be touched or caressed in any way. It was only mildly satisfied when the warm, wetness of his tongue trailed between your breasts.

You leaned into it but it ended just as quickly as it began. But he rewarded your gesture, encasing his mouth over your breast and rubbing the pad of his tongue across your hardened nipple. Haytham released a moan mixed with a laugh when your arms struggled against its restraints.

His mouth pulled away, leaving your wet skin exposed to the abrupt chill. “Now, now, darling. Patience. If you want to be the next Grand Master you will need to learn to wait.” His hot breath pooled across your naval, your stomach flinching and a heaviness sinking lower between your thighs.

“Please,” you couldn't stop the word from slipping past your lips, a moan following behind it when his feverish hands encased either side of your waist, keeping you still as he buried his face into your pliant skin. He breathed deep, moan vibrating against your abdomen.

His mouth explored slowly, kissing its way towards your clit but never quite reaching. His teeth moved to nip at the protruding bone of your hip until your thighs quivered beneath your weight. He licked a slow, long trail up across your inner thigh then passed his mouth over your throbbing entrance. The words were hot against your skin, “Patience. Patience, my darling.”

You found your toes curling against the hard wooden floor. Haytham finally settled his mouth where you needed it most, the tip of his tongue exploring casually around the edges of your clit. Your body began to cave with raw need when Haytham fluttered his fingers across your swelling entrance, delving them in only long enough to moisten them.

He sucked hard against the tender spot of your clit causing your legs to squirm in hopes to find anything to hold onto. Haytham pulled away, his breaths ragged, and took hold of your legs. He pried them apart, tossing each one over his shoulder until all your weight rested on him and your arms. His mouth was on you again, sucking and tugging despite how loud your moans were becoming.

Your thighs clenched around his head but that didn’t seem to bother Haytham. In one long stroke, he was thrusting two fingers down to the knuckle. Your hips bucked and he used the sudden movement to deepen the hold his mouth had. Somehow Haytham knew just where to flick his tongue, just when to curl his fingers until your were shuddering around him. You arms tugged against their restraints and your legs tangled to lock him in place as your muscles convulsed with waves of ecstasy.

Haytham managed to tilt his head back. He heaved down each breath while gently peppering kisses along your trembling stomach. He waited until your body loosened and your head rolled against your arm. He rose to his feet, the cloth of shirt rubbing across your bare skin. He unhooked your wrists and rested your weight between him and the wall.

You pressed your blindfolded face forward into his chest. “Haytham…”

He moaned, arms gathering you against him. “We are not quite finished, my dear. We’ve yet to reach the best part.” He danced awkwardly with your languid weight, guiding you back to lean against the edge of the desk, paper ruffle beneath his shoving hand.

Your fingers curled around his collar, tugging at it. “Can’t you take my blindfold off now?”

He tilted his head and pressed kisses along your jaw and over the corner of your mouth. “I might be persuaded if you ask nicely.”

You gave a weak and soft laugh. “Please, Master Kenway.”

“Haytham,” he gently corrected. He dipped his face into the curve of your neck. He muttered it almost as if ashamed, “I want to be yours.”

“You are mine.” You curled towards him, just as eager to be his.

His calloused fingers divested you of the cravat, your eyes fluttering to take in the soft pale light in the room. His kiss was softer, not as demanding, almost as if asking for permission. But as considerate as he was being, Haytham stepped back suddenly and lifted his shirt over his head. The muscles in his chest rolled and flexed as he tossed it aside, working against the breeches he wore.

You looked wantonly over his form, the broadness of his shoulders and the slimness of his waist. For a Templar he was in shape. His work out in the field, all of the climbing and running that he had done, was paying off in keeping him muscled.

He stepped forward, the slight sway in his hips drawing your attention to his swollen erection. Haytham kissed you briefly, lips leavings yours far too quickly. He turned you around until you were facing the desk, his heat enveloping your backside. “I have thought of doing this with you more than I should admit.”

You words fumbled from your mouth when his tongue licked the back of your neck, “Oh, god.” Your eyes clenched shut with anticipation. Haytham was going to fuck you hard into his desk and that thought alone knotted your insides.

Haytham swayed forward, gathering you up into his arm and sweeping your feet right out from under you. Your arms landed onto the desk in order to steady your weight as best as possible. He stepped forward until the top of your thighs hit the desk and your clit pushed into its hard surface. He curved his body to fit with yours.

“Haytham.” You pushed back against him, the searing heat of his cock pinned between the two of you.

His hands gripped hold of you while he aligned himself. His mouth fell to your shoulder, hot breath rolling across it. He pressed his tip to your moistened folds, sinking himself into you with too much restraint. It was agonizingly slow and it twisted every muscle until you cried out. Your fingernails clawed at the desk, fingers crumpling papers.

He released a low groan, his chest reverberating into your spine. His mouth wrapped around your shoulder, teeth scraping while he pulled himself out just as slow. You squirmed against the desk, your clit hitting its edge and sending a jolt of energy across your nerves. You whimpered and before Haytham could tease you anymore, you shoved your hips back. You impaled yourself onto his cock. Your head fell forward as he laughed breathily and pushed himself in the rest of the way.

Haytham shifted against you. He found a better position, gripping the desk and your hip, then started a quick and rough pace. He thrusted back and forth, thudding into your inner walls. The wood beneath you creaked, the full brunt of it ramming the wall. It was Haytham to whimper this time and he made sure to press the rest of his noises into your neck, desperate to keep his raw need a secret.

You tried to keep up with him, curved your back and lifting to meet him in the middle. But it was a wild joining, an uncontrolled rhythm that left you quivering for release. Your clit felt the full force of his fervent bucking, your hips and thighs bruised by his clenched fingers.

You gave a strangled moan when your orgasm spilled. You couldn’t dare to keep up, your body melting into the cold wood. The heat of his cum joined yours, slipping out onto the floor as he continued his mindless thrusts.

Haytham finally collapsed on top of you, his full weight wrapping around you. He took his time before daring to move. He needed to catch his breath, to steady his legs beneath him, before pulling his softening cock out. He staggered a few steps and pressed his hand flat onto the desk.

You pressed your cheek into the crumpled papers, glancing up at him before closing your eyes. You could have slept there you were so pleased, your body sated. But Haytham’s hands began to guide your boneless arms to drape around his neck, hoisted your body into his arms and carried you to the bed.

He settled you down onto the mattress. He joined you and wrapped the blankets over top your shivering form. He carefully untied your wrists before fluttering his lips across the reddened skin, soothing it as gently as he could. He curled into you, his arms encasing you and his legs entwining with your own.

You turned in his hold until you could nuzzle your head beneath his chin. You buried yourself in his embrace, pressed your face into his warm chest. “Haytham?”

He mumbled rather sleepily, “Darling?”

You took your time replying, the words still joining together in your thoughts. “When Frederick Smith is dead… I know what I’ll do now.”

Haytham gave a noise to let you know he was still listening, his hand brushing back and forth across your back.

“I’ll enjoy what time I have left with you.” You spoke firmly, wanting his full attention, “Haytham. I want to marry you.”

The hand stroking your back stilled. His breathing ceased.

“Haytham.”

He began to breath again, chest rising as he swallowed his pulse. “You are certain?”

You laughed suddenly and hid your smile against the smooth skin of his collarbone. “I want to marry you.”

He placed his lips onto the crown of your head, burying it there and breathing deeply your scent. “Then we shall. The moment we return from helping Shay…”

You spoke it softly, secretly, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replied just as quietly.

Chapter Text

The weekend finally arrived and so did your target. You watched from the woods as Frederick Smith arrived on horseback with a few others. It wouldn't be an easy task, not with so many Assassins on the lookout. If you killed Frederick alone, his comrades would surely seek revenge. The only choice was to eliminate everyone.

Haytham's hand glided along the curve of your back. "It would seem we are outnumbered."

"At least Samuel's information was correct." You started to step towards the house but Haytham's hand gripped your elbow. You turned around to meet his hard-pressed gaze.

"Is there any way I could persuade you in letting me take the lead on this?"

"Grand Master," you chided. You moved closer to him, slipping your cold fingers beneath his jacket and waistcoat. "Haven't I proven my skills to you?"

His words came out in a rough whisper, lips hovering over yours as he grew closer, "My apologies, my dear. That was never in question."

You watched the corners of his eyes, the tension in his upturned brows. "You're worried."

"Rightly so, don't you think? It was I who carried your lifeless body through the streets of New York." He reached up and traced his fingers along your cheekbone. "I will not allow it to happen a second time."

"Neither will I," you promised. "Now. We better hurry before Frederick makes a run for it."

He led the way through the woods and along the side of the house. You both expertly ducked beneath windows, listening carefully to anyone who might have been inside. There was commotion in the front rooms, a living room most likely.

Haytham before one of the windows. He peered inside and nodded his head to you. Using one of his daggers, he squeezed the blade between the window and its frame. With a twist of his wrist, the window clattered up. He pushed it open the rest of the way and then shimmied inside. He settled his boots down quietly then turned to help you inside.

"There's one man in the kitchen," he informed. "Three in the front room. More upstairs."

You eyed him suspiciously but you had no reason to doubt him at all. However he made his deductions, you would ask him about later when you were both safe.

"The lone man it is then." You snuck past him towards the open doorway and peeked a glance into the kitchen.

Whoever it was had their attention locked on the meal they were preparing. It would take a great deal of stealth to sneak up on them undetected. You kept your moments slow so as not to make any sounds. It was almost painful the way you have to hold your muscles before making the next planned movement.

Finally, like a viper, your hand struck around to cup his mouth. Your hidden blade flung forward and pierced the softness of his throat. Your palm muffled his shouts of agony.

Haytham quietly approached and nodded in approval. He mouthed the word, "Quietly."

You nodded in understanding. You began to ease the heavy corpse to the ground. Your muscles burned, however, as your wounds were still not completely healed. Your expression must have been far more distorted than you realize because Haytham was rushing forward to help you. Together you managed to set the dead man down without a sound.

Your ears strained, listening to the rest of the house. No one was none the wiser.

Haytham didn't move. He only glared irritably at you.

"I'm fine," you whispered so quietly you weren't even sure he heard it.

His eyes rolled shut. You could only imagine his internal debate.

"This might be my last chance," you added pleadingly.

He nodded despite his resignation. His gaze swept towards the hall and took the lead again. You both slunk down the hallway, the front door and living room coming into view. There was a decorative sofa in front of a fireplace, and a decorative chair beside it. A man was sitting down in the chair, his back to you. His head was slumped to the side, a hand propped beneath as if he had fallen asleep listening to the other two men argue.

Frederick stood at a window across from another man. Their voices were low but it was clear they were in a disagreement of sorts. Their shoulders were stiff and their arms crossed tightly in frustration.

Frederick tossed his hand towards the door, his words coming out even quicker.

You turned your gaze to Haytham. You motioned at him, signing for him to take on the man in the chair and the one by the window. You would take care of Frederick yourself.

He nodded in quick agreement.

You aimed your gun at Frederick, your step slow as you entered the room.

Haytham snuck up behind the man in the chair with his gun still drawn at the man across from Frederick. His hidden blade sprung forward and it would have gone unnoticed to normal ears. But these were trained Assassins and they were all too familiar with the sound of a hidden blade's assault.

Their conversation halted, their gaze jolting at the sight of you both.

Haytham shuffled sideways until he stood beside you. "Morning, gentleman."

"Frederick," you jeered. "I must thank you for making it so easy to find you."

'I could the say the same." He quirked his brow with a toss of his head. There was a curl in his smirk when he mused playfully, "It's a shame what happened to you and your sister. Utter shame."

Your jaw clenched; you could have shattered your own teeth with how furious you were.

Haytham must have sensed something coming from behind you. He fired his gun at the man beside Frederick then spun around sharply. He unsheathed his sword just in time, metal clattering together.

You glanced over your shoulder, Haytham fending off a man who must have come down the stairs.

Frederick grinned cheekily as he made a jump for the front door. He took that moment of chaos to escape.

You fired your gun, rage and adrenaline shaking your hand, the bullet just barely grazing his shoulder.

"Go," Haytham shouted. "I'll take care of this one."

You raced after Frederick, stopping long enough to fire a second shot. Frederick jumped into the woodline and ducked behind a tree. You waited, pacing sideways until you might glimpse even just a hint of his presence.

He must have been sneaking because a branch snapped.

You sprinted into the woods, a flash of vestments bright against the dull winter landscape. You fired another round and leapt forward, your boots slamming into the frozen earth. Your rage fueled you until you were at his heels. He was wounded, you could see now in the jaggedness of his gate.

You jumped, closing the distance and tackling him to the ground. You both went down with a hard thud. The breath in your lungs was knocked out of you but your grip on him never wavered. You were too angry and bitter to let yourself lose him now.

He tried to roll over but you pressed his harder, face-first into the ground. You slammed your boot onto his hand and dug your knee into his back. "Traitorous whore!"

You pressed the hot metal of the gun's mouth into his head. "Tell me! Tell me why you killed her! And why did you set me up?"

He tried moving his head but you pressed the gun harder. He coughed. Blood splattered his lips in darker shades. "You sold our secrets. You're a traitor!"

"I never sold any secrets!"

"Your sister sure as hell did!" He growled, a sound strangled by his pain. "She had classified documents in her possession. Either you gave them to her or she stole them. Doesn't matter to us. Her actions cost us an important mission and the lives of fellow Assassins."

Your eyes fluttered. They were burning. Hot tears blurred your vision.

He hissed, blood drizzling from his mouth, "Had it not been your own sister, wouldn't you have done the same for the Order?"

Your brow arched, "Yes. I would have." You flexed your jaw, swallowing the knot in your throat. "But it was my sister. It was me. You betrayed me and now you'll have to face the consequences." You pulled the trigger, the gun kicking back as the bullet cracked into his skull.

You staggered backwards. You kept staggering until your back hit the closest tree.

Sophie must have taken the documents from your room. She probably hadn't thought they were as important enough to cost her her life. She died because you were an Assassin. She died because you were a criminal because that's what the Assassins are, isn't it? The Templars, too.

Haytham, you remembered.

You pushed off of the tree and raced back towards the house. There was gunfire. You tried to run faster, your muscles burning and the bones in her shin feeling as if they might splinter. You skidded through the doorway. The house was quiet, deathly quiet.

His name fumbled nervously across your lips, "Haytham?"

You moved around the sofa and found quite a few dead Assassins at the base of the stairs. You followed the trail of blood and bodies down the hall until you found him sitting on the floor with his shoulder pressed sloppily against the wall.

"Haytham!" You lurched forward, raising his head until you could see his face properly. "Haytham, look at me, please."

His lip was busted and his cheek quite swollen. There must have been too many for him to take on alone.

Your tears started pouring, dripping into your mouth as you muttered, "I shouldn't have left you here. I'm so sorry, Haytham."

His eyes opened slightly as a hand reached up. He tried to grab hold of you but he was too weak and it took time to find your arm. "You never need apologise to me, my dear."

"Of course I do," you argued. You grabbed his arm and hoisted it around your neck. "Can you stand? We have to get you to a doctor." You tried to haul his weight up onto his feet but Haytham didn't budge.

"Just a moment, my darling." His eyes closed again. "Just a moment of rest."

"No," you pleaded with him. "You can't rest now. You'll die." You pulled his weight again, screaming in desperation. "You have to get up, Haytham!"

He shifted weakly, his legs moving uselessly as he tried to get his foot but even when you managed to get him standing his knees were starting to buckle.

"You have to fight. You have to live." You groaned as you pulled him forward, one heavy staggered step after the next. "Don't you dare give up on me." You stumbled towards the end of the hall. You almost lost hold of him when his foot tripped over one of the dead bodies.

His hand reached out and pressed down onto a nearby table for support. "I can't."

"You can!" You gritted your teeth as you pulled him forward again. "We're almost to the front door. I'll get our horses from uphill and we'll ride back into the city."

He scoffed and when you reached the open doorway he nearly fell into it.

You tugged his weight towards you, taking the full brunt as he fell lifelessly into your arms. "Haytham." You lost your balance, slamming backwards into the wall. "Haytham, wake up. You can't do this, right now."

It was no use. He was completely unconscious.

You slid to the floor and rolled his weight as carefully as you could. "I'll be right back with the horses," you promised, sliding your hand across the swollen skin of his cheek. "This my fault." You bowed your head and choked back a shuddering sob.

Not now, you told yourself. You had to get him to a doctor.

You got to your feet and raced through the woods to where you left the horses earlier. You knew it wouldn't be easy getting Haytham onto a horse. And the ride itself might have even made his wounds worse. The more you considered the foolish idea, the heavier your tears became. You couldn't even see the horses clearly when you grabbed their reins and led them towards the house.

You were going to lose him. You already lost Sophie and now you were going to lose Haytham too. Both of their deaths would be entirely your fault.

You stopped long enough to wipe the tears away and clear your vision. That's when you heard it. It was the sound of a carriage, wooden wheels grinding against the dirt road.

You quickly hoisted yourself onto one of the horses and galloped towards the sound. You had to stop them and ask for help. Without that carriage, Haytham would most likely die before reaching a doctor.

They came into view, two horses and a cart full of supplies.

"Stop!" You shouted past the blowing wind, desperate for them to hear you. "Stop, please! I need your help!"

One of the drivers turned around.

You raced past them and stopped your horses in the middle of their path. "Please, I need your help. He'll die if you don't help me."

They stopped their cart and eyed each other warily.

"Die, you say?"

"He was wounded. Gravely wounded." You unmounted your horse and pointed to the house down a diverting path. "If you help me, I will give you enough gold to live on for an entire year."

The other snorted and chuckled. "Doubtful."

"He's a rich man. Well renowned, too."

They were quiet, calculating whether or not they were interested.

"We should help," the younger one muttered. "Even if it's not a lot of coin, it would just generally be a nice thing to do."

"Nice," the other hissed. "Always trying to be fucking nice." He tossed his hand about in submission. "Fine, fine. Lead the way to the house."

You bolted back onto your horse and raced back to the house. Your heart felt uneasy, sickly as it sped inside of your chest. "Please," you repeated over and over. "Please, still believe alive. Please, you have to be alive."

Haytham had somehow moved until he was sitting up against the door away.

You laughed in such gratitude, leaping from the horse and bounding across the small expanse to the door. "Haytham, I found help. I'm going to get you to a doctor. You're going to be fine."

His lips twitched, the faint hint of a smile. He whispered your name as if the sound alone brought him peace of mind.

Chapter Text

Everything happened in a blur of events. You couldn't remember the words or even what you did. All you could remember was the overwhelming feelings, the hair-raising anxiety that washed over you and left your skin clammy. You and one of the drivers had managed to put pressure onto Haytham's wounds long enough to reach New York's Templar headquarters.

The doctors were hard at work, all three of them gathered around as they treated Hatham's open wounds. You vaguely recall Jack Weeks asking you what had happened. Maybe you relayed the details to him. Maybe your thoughts were so entangled and your throat too swollen to actually get the words out. All you could remember was shouting. "Doctors. I want every doctor in the city."

By the time you managed to regain your senses, you found yourself sitting in a chair as the doctors bickered among themselves.

"The bullet isn't even in a vital place," the young woman barked. "Removing it might cause more damage. Just leave it where it is."

The old man scoffed and jabbed a finger at her. "It might move or cause complications later on."

The third doctor decided to break up their argument, "I must agree with the young woman. Let's simply clean the open wound and let it heal around the bullet. There's no need to risk knicking an artery in search of it."

You got to your feet and started to march over but your stomach lurched. Hot bile began to burn your throat and sweat layered your forehead. You all but stumbled backward into your chair and bowed your head in hopes you wouldn't vomit on your boots.

"Ma'am?" The third doctor raced over to you and placed a firm hand on your shoulder. "Perhaps it's best if you leave and get some fresh air."

You would have shaken your head in protest if you weren't afraid it might increase your chances of vomiting. You just held up your hand and shooed him back over to Haytham. The moment your eyes found Haytham you couldn't look away. All of his clothes and gear had been removed and set aside. He somehow looked thinner, frailer, than you remembered. There were varying hues of red stains all over his chest and abdomen.

Your mouth soured. You swayed to the side and thankfully the doctor at your side grabbed a bucket for you to drop your head into. You heaved up everything that was still in your stomach, panting as another wave of nausea rolled over you.

"I'll fetch some water," he assured.

"No!" You grabbed his shirt. "Help Haytham. I'm fine. I can get my own water if I need it." You somewhat shoved him then flicked your hand towards Haytham and the other doctors.

He hurried away to tend to the last of Haytham's wounds.

You pushed the bucket away and sucked down a breath of air. You got to your feet again and staggered your way to the footboard at the end of the bed. You saw blood and gore on a weekly basis. This wasn't new to you. There was something about seeing your loved one bleeding out that twisted your nerves tightly in your chest.

You must have zoned out again because the next moment one of the doctors was handing you a cup of water. You glared at it for a moment then looked her in the eye.

"No point in suffering along with him." She raised the glass a little higher to catch your attention.

"Thanks," you muttered. You took it with stiff hands and swallowed a mouthful. Your throat felt dry and scratchy. You tried to swish some water around to get the rancid taste from your mouth. "Tell me honestly. Is he going to survive?"

"Yes. He is."

You looked around the room, realizing the other doctors had already left. "Who else is in the house?"

She gave you a side-eyed glare. "I can't be certain but a few people. I heard some movement in the study while I fetched your water."

Your voice dropped to a whisper, a cautious one, "If I were to..." You flourished a trembling hand to lighten your words. "Let's say, I went to move Haytham somewhere safer, would he survive the journey?"

She tucked her hands behind her back. Her voice quieted as well, "He would if he were, perhaps, lying down in a carriage or sorts." She hesitated, a glance to the door, before adding, "I wouldn't advise riding horseback. It would be quite detrimental to his recovery. If that were to happen."

You gave a firm nod. You wouldn't be able to sneak him out alone, then.

"Best of luck." She smiled sweetly as she grabbed her medical case and headed out the bedroom door.

It was fate or pure luck when Shay waltzed in after she left.

"Lass," he greeted weakly. "I came as soon as I heard."

You moved to the bedside table and set the glass of water down. "Shay, I need your help."

"Whatever it is, you need only ask."

Your mouth opened. You wanted to ask but then you feared Shay might call you crazy and tell the rest of the Templars your plan. There was no other way. You couldn't possibly carry Haytham on your own. Haytham trusted the man and he did seem like a good sort of person. He cared about people.

His voice took on a quiet edge, "Something happened?"

"The Templars. I don't trust them. They planned on killing me once before. Haytham had been there to intervene. I fear they might try to kill us both to wash their hands clean of us. If I could get Haytham out of here, he could recover in peace."

There was no doubt in Shay's expression. His jaw hardened and his gaze jumped to Haytham. He gave a few nods then brought his hand to his mouth as he considered a plan. "There's a back entrance. The manor is fairly empty of people at the moment. We might sneak him out that way but finding a carriage so close by could take time."

"I could get a carriage," you suggested but quickly regretted it. You didn't want to leave Haytham alone. Even if you trusted Shay, there was no telling what would happen while you were gone.

"I'll carry him down the steps to the back entrance. We can wait for you there."

"Promise me, Shay. Promise me you won't let any harm come to him."

"You've my word, lass."

You buried your fingers into the pit of your churning stomach. You would have to trust him. You gave a firm nod and moved across the room towards the window.

"This way, lass." Shay rounded the bed and motioned you to follow him to the adjacent window. "That church over there on the corner. They've always got carriages stopping by. You could hail one and bring it back with little to no trouble."

Shay was right. The church was close.

You pushed open the window without another word. There was no time for dallying. As quietly as possible, you snuck down the side of the house. You the ground floor's windows in case someone was inside. Your feet dropped silently onto the grass before.

"Out of the question."

"If we don't consider the possibility, it would be an intellectual shortcoming."

You shuffled closer to their voice, ducking beneath the window as best you could.

"What you're suggesting is madness. Against our very principals."

"She's an Assassin. We can pin this whole ordeal on her. In hindsight, wasn't she the reason Haytham arrived here half-dead?"

You rolled your eyes shut. They certainly had a point.

"If he wakes up to find she died, by our hands or someone else's..."

"Perhaps he won't wake up then."

Your jaw clenched. You had a feeling this would happen.

"Stop. I said that was out of the question."

You hurried across the yard towards the dirt road. Their words confirmed it. You had no choice but to hide Haytham away until his wounds healed. Perhaps, you considered, you would keep hiding long after that. The Templars clearly couldn't be trusted. They were no more loyal to you than you were to them.

Haytham, though. He might be distraught to learn the truth.

You stepped into the road and halted a slow-moving carriage. "I'll double the payment if you can take me and my companion to our destination."

He smacked his lips a bit. He eyed your attire before tossing a shoulder. "Alright. Where's your companion?"

You climbed up into the driver's seat, ignoring his jolt of surprise. "The manor across the way." You tossed a hand in the direction of the manor. And when he made no effort to move, you eyed his stunned expression. "Now. Or you can kiss that double payment goodbye."

"Yes, ma'am." He spurred the horses forward.

"Quietly," you warned.

He made a slight noise of confusion but added promptly, "'Course, ma'am."

The backdoor of the manor came into view. When you saw no sign of Shay or Hatham, your mouth soured again. The Templars would have no qualms with killing them even more, you were certain of it.

You leapt from the driver's seat, about to sprint the rest of the way when the door opened. Shay had Haytham's arm hooked around his neck, awkwardly hauling his listless body through the doorway.

You raced to the other side of Haytham and helped carry some of the weight.

Haytham mumbled something under his breath, the richness of his accent muddled into wordless music. He didn't lift his head or open his eyes. He couldn't. Not with all the medicine the doctors had likely given him.

As you neared the carriage you warned Shay, "Careful. Lay him down on the seat so his wounds don't open."

The driver leaned down, whispering harshly, "Is this legal?"

You let Shay enter the carriage with Haytham and turned your hard gaze on the driver. "It is. Keep asking questions and I swear I'll find another carriage."

He gave a sharp nod of his head.

Shay stepped out of the carriage before turning slightly to help you inside. "I'll keep them distracted here. Let me know if you got there safely. Send a letter to my ship."

"I can't risk it," you told him. "If they find him, they'll kill him."

"At least tell me where you're headed."

You said the first thing that came to mind, "Boston."

"My ship would be safer," he reasoned. "Likely quicker as well."

You eyed Haytham. You knew that a long carriage ride would make matters worse. But you also wanted to get as far away from the New York Templars as quickly as possible.

Relenting, you nodded your head.

Shay looked firmly at the driver. "The docks. Close as you can to the Morrigan's ship." He closed the door with a final wink then bounded off back to the manor.

You would have to trust Shay completely now.

You kneeled next to Haytham's lifeless form on the bench. He was quiet now. His breathing was quite labored so you knew the short walk had been hard on him. He somehow looked smaller without the waistcoat and jacket. In nothing but a shirt and a pair of pants, he was a common man. He was mortal and the heavy weight of his mortality burned your eyes.

You would protect him. You wouldn't let him die. Not after having lost your sister.