Father and Son

Connor's expression warped. He dropped to his hands and knees. Tried to push himself up. But his injured side refused to support his body and he fell back down.

Birch, meanwhile, was breathing hard behind him, his back still pressed to the wall, his eyes half-lidded and his arm shaking. He tried to keep it raised, tried to aim for Connor's head.

I ran. Reginald's mouth twisted into a pained smile when he saw me coming.

"Now it's over," he said just before I slit his throat with my hidden blade. A curtain of blood pulsated from the wound and he slumped forward.

I allowed myself to pause only to press two fingers to his wrist; something I should have done before, after we stabbed him the first time. His heartbeat was all but gone now. Faded. Reginald Birch was gone at last.

"It will be okay, Connor. Just keep breathing. We're going to staunch the wound."

"I'm fine, just-"

I spun back to find Connor still kneeling, but he was surrounded by several of his Assassin companions. One of them was checking the bullet wound at his side.

"There's an exit wound. Clean. Which is good, because I won't have to do any major surgery."

"Is this something you can fix yourself?"

"Yes. I'll work on it on the way back to the safe house, but I can't do much until we get there. Damn, why did I leave so much of my equipment behind?"

"It's okay. I'll manage until then."

Clipper was standing nearby with his gun at the ready. "We really need to go," he said. "Before the reinforcements get here."

I sighed quietly. The Assassins were efficient, yes, but they were incredibly unorganized. It was a good thing they had me there with them.

"I can lead the way to the back of the building. I know the fastest route," I said, speaking loudly enough to be heard over their squabbling. "We have to move fast. Birch probably thought to alert extra security before he made his last stand here. There isn't much time."

Clipper looked like he was going to protest - but the one named Zenger cut him off.

"Show us," was all he said to me.

The group started to form a circle around Connor, who was still struggling to his feet. He was trying desperately not to show how much pain he was in, but I could see it in the way his face was strained, in the twist of his lips and the furrow of his brow.

"Here," I said, slipping my arm around his back. I supported his weight against my side and helped him stand.

Connor didn't look in my direction. "Thank you, but this really isn't necessary."

I loosened my grip ever so slightly. "Very well, then. Run along after your friends. Try not to fall, because I certainly won't be there to catch you."

He huffed quietly at that, but at least it stopped his whining.

"Sir."

It was Pitcairn. I looked impatiently in his direction.

"Go ahead of me and speak with William and Hickey. Please."

"Yes. I was just... Be safe."

"We will see each other again soon, John. Take care."

The Assassins waited for us at the end of the hall. I forced myself to move slowly for Connor; he was limping, but his breathing was strained. If he pushed himself too hard, he might exacerbate the wound and bleed out.

And I couldn't lose him like that. Not after I'd already lost everything and everyone else.

I tightened my grip around his shoulders - even though it made the bullet wound in mine burn like hellfire - and helped him forward.

"That way," I said, nodding to another corridor farther along. "Take the door at the very end. It will lead us to the delivery docks. Do you have someone waiting for you there?"

"Yes. Achilles said there would be a van to collect us."

"Good."

The man who took the time to patch Connor's wound slowed until he was walking just a few steps ahead of us.

"You have been a great help, Mr. Kenway, but... Are you really planning on going with us?"

"I want to see to it that my son is taken care of."

"I understand that, but we can't allow a Templar at the safe house. Especially a-"

"A Grand Master. I'm aware," I said, terse. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to swallow your pride for now. Don't worry - I have no plans to decimate your little brotherhood here and now, if that's what you're so worried about. Both of our organizations have much more important things to worry about."

His response was firm. "I still cannot allow it. Trust us to treat Connor's injury. He will decide whether or not he wants to get in contact with you again."

"I refuse to abandon him now. Not after everything that's happened. Everything I lost. I refuse."

Something in my voice made the man stop. I felt Connor hesitate beside me as well, but I continued to pull him along.

"I..."

"Let him come with us," Connor suddenly said. "I'll talk to Achilles when we get to the safe house. And I will keep an eye on Haytham myself."

His friend was shaking his head. "Connor, you're in no condition to-"

"I trust him."

"...Then I will trust your judgment. But I'll be watching him closely."

"Thank you."

It was a day of surprises, indeed. My former mentor was dead by my own hand and I was helping a group of Assassins escape from the Abstergo building. If someone had approached me only yesterday and told me this would happen, I might have laughed in their face.

But no one was laughing today.

Connor's friends opened the heavy delivery dock doors and held them for us. Connor tried to push himself to limp faster; not a good idea, because I heard him take a low, sharp breath.

"Don't overdo it," I told him.

"I'm not."

Stubborn boy. At least he didn't need to be carried – though I think he'd rather crawl his way out of Abstergo than allow his Templar father to carry him.

The air outside was crisp and wonderfully cool. Snow was still falling, but it was light. Good. There would be no problems driving out of the city; assuming, of course, that Achilles and his Assassins were smart enough to set their hiding places as far away from the Templar headquarters as possible.

The white van parked near the curb was being manned by only two people. A young woman threw open the back doors and ushered us closer with a hasty wave of her hand.

"Hurry," she said. "A security group already came through a few minutes ago."

"Did Achilles send you?" Connor asked her.

"A British contact, actually. He recommended us to Achilles."

I helped Connor into the back of the van. It was a slow and painful process, what with his injured hip and my bad shoulder. In the end, the young Assassin (I assumed) woman wound up hoisting him in as easily as if he was a sack of feathers, leaving me to suffer the indignity of relying on – who else? – Clipper to support my good shoulder.

Benches lined the back of the van. Connor tried to settle on one of them, but he couldn't seem to find a position comfortable enough for his hip. The pain in my arm was bad enough, but I could hardly imagine what the boy was going through.

"Lie down," I told him.

"Wh-"

"Don't question me. Just lie down. Take the stress off your hip."

Connor scowled – but, thankfully, he obeyed.

"Does that work?" I asked, probably with a bit more smug satisfaction in my tone than necessary.

Connor settled himself into a more comfortable position. "It's a little better."

"The two of you aren't from the east coast chapter, are you?" one of Connor's Assassins asked as we closed the doors and locked them. The woman motioned to her driver, who started to pull out of the delivery docks.

"No. We're from the southern branch." She nodded to the driver again with a jerk of her chin. "This is Gérald, and I'm Aveline."

"Connor," my son said, reaching out to shake her hand. The other Assassins took turns introducing themselves, but I was too busy thinking over the identity of her British contact to respond. There were plenty of British Assassins; it could have been any of them who spoke with her. It was pretentious of me to assume that-

It took me a moment to notice that the others were staring at me. Waiting.

"What?" I asked, rather gracelessly.

"This is Haytham," Connor said, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

"My apologies," I said.

Aveline's smile turned wry. "Haytham Kenway, I assume? Mr. Grand Master himself, hm? You keep interesting company, Connor."

"He's pretty harmless. He won't cause you any trouble."

"I can speak for myself, thank you," I said, shooting a glare in his direction. Connor returned it with a dry half smile.

The back of the van settled into an uneasy silence, save for the rumble of the engine and the gentle roar of traffic outside. I wished that there were windows – anything for me to look at, aside from my own folded hands or the dour faces of the Assassins around me. Aveline sat with her legs crossed, surveying the crowd around her.

"There were supposed to be several others in your party," she said quietly. "Are they…?"

Connor's face fell. "They…didn't make it."

"I'm sorry."

He nodded once, and this time the silence that settled over us was stifling and heavy. I would have done anything to escape the confines of that van.

When the driver finally spoke up, his voice was quiet and anxious.

"Um, Aveline," he said, "we have a…small problem."

"What's wrong?"

"Several cars have been following us for a while now. I think they might be from Abstergo."

"Of course they are," she muttered. "Have you tried to lose them?"

"For quite a while now, yes."

A smile slipped across her face. "We're going to have to be a bit more aggressive, aren't we?"

Gérald returned her grin. "It seems we will."

The van suddenly swerved to the left. My bad shoulder hit the wall and I made a sound like a strangled cat, much to the delight of the other Assassins.

"Get off the main roads," Aveline said.

"I don't know the roads here well enough to-"

"Let me help. I live here, I know this place like the back of my hand," Clipper said. He vaulted into the passenger's seat – or did his best, given that the van was swerving into another side alley. This time I managed to brace myself before I slid across the bench.

Wonderful. Even with Birch dead and half their forces decimated, the Templars still fought on. This was probably the first time – and hopefully the last – that I was irritated by their persistence.

"Duck!" the French-Canadian Assassin shouted. I bent forward with my hands over my neck – and the window behind me blew out with a magnificent crash not a second later. Glass showered the bench and stuck in my hair.

Connor's voice rose over the din. "Haytham?"

"I'm fine."

"Keep your head down," Aveline said when I started to look up. "They've given up being subtle."

"Goddamned persistent bas-"

Another set of gunshots rang out from the cars behind ours. Most of them seemed to miss, but a few hit the sides of the van. Metal crunched, tires spun – but we kept on course. Gérald seemed timid, but he was surprisingly skilled behind the wheel. I was coming to respect the man more and more with each passing moment.

"Okay. One of them crashed trying to get out of the alley," Gérald said.

I saw Aveline nod from my periphery. "Good. How many left?"

"Only one, but it's fast."

"Not fast enough to outdrive Gérald Blanc."

"They rarely are."

How in the world did my father – if he was indeed the British contact – come to meet these people? I'd have to tell Connor to ask him next time they spoke.

The van's tires squealed. It felt as though we were spinning, but my head was still down. I couldn't see a thing.

Something hit the ground with a thud. Connor cried out in the next moment.

I opened my eyes again and, ignoring Aveline's warning, looked up. Connor was lying on the floor of the van, his eyes squeezed shut and his fists curled against his hip.

"I'm fine," he hissed between his teeth. "It's fine."

Aveline and the French-Canadian Assassin started to move toward him – but I was already on my hands and knees at Connor's side. I tried to flip him over so his bad hip was in the air, but he refused to be moved.

"Don't touch it," he said, his voice a pained growl.

"You're going to bleed out in the van if I don't."

"Don't touch it."

"For God's sake, Connor, I'm not letting you die in the back of a van."

"Haytham-"

Another volley of bullets slammed into the windows in front of us. I threw myself over Connor as the glass burst and shattered. Shards of it fell across my back.

Aveline shouted over the noise. "Is everyone okay?"

There were scattered responses. I pushed myself up slowly, carefully, alert for the sound of gunfire.

"Haytham," Connor said, but I barely heard him.

"Dad."

"What?" I asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No. But I was going to ask if you were."

Gérald took another sharp turn. I held Connor still for a moment; and although it looked like he wanted to push me away, he didn't. His gaze was surprisingly passive.

"I'm all right," I said, even though the pain in my shoulder was agonizing.

"Just… Don't bother trying to move me. I'll fall off again."

"Very well."

"…You can sit back down now."

"Who will keep you from getting yourself killed?"

Connor snorted. I couldn't tell if it was from amusement or not.

I looked up, surveyed the action around us. Aveline and the French-Canadian were poised near the windows with guns in their hands, though they weren't firing them. Clipper was shouting instructions to poor Gérald. The Abstergo cars… Well, I couldn't quite see them anymore. They were getting farther away as we ventured deeper into the city.

"We've almost lost them," Gérald said. "Clipper knows some good side routes."

Clipper puffed out his chest. One of the other Assassins – the one who'd taken care of Connor's wound in Abstergo – knelt close by.

"You're all right, Connor?" he asked.

My son's response came from between his teeth again. "Yeah."

"You landed on your bad hip. I'm hoping it didn't make the wound worse."

"We'll see when we get to the safe house."

"Indeed." The man nodded solemnly before he looked to me. "And your shoulder, Haytham? It looks like the gash on your cheek will be fine."

I touched the side of my face. The wound still stung, but the blood there felt crusted and dry beneath my fingertips.

"I'll manage just fine."

"…I could take a look at the injury when we get back to the safe house. The bullet's probably still in there."

"Who are you?"

The man held out his hand. "Jaime Colley. I'm a doctor when I'm not running around in the company of Assassins," he said with a short chuckle.

I took his hand and shook it. "The Assassins are lucky to have you. Especially after today."

"I try to do what I can."

Aveline suddenly fired off a few shots from the back window. She ducked her head a moment later, but no return fire came. The French-Canadian followed in suit – though he looked far more excited about a gunfight than anyone had any right to be. The man was smiling wildly and looked like he was having the time of his life.

"They seem to be out of bullets… or they're reloading," Aveline said to us.

"And they're too far away to really shoot," the French-Canadian added. "You're losing them, Gérald!"

"Good," Gérald said with an unnerved smile. "Just a bit farther, then. And we can get back on course."

These Assassins were absolutely crazy.

But…if I had to admit, it was all a bit refreshing, in a way. Though I would never admit that out loud.

"We'll be back soon," Jaime said, more to himself than anyone else. He took his seat back on one of the benches, but I stayed with Connor to keep him from sliding across the floor like a sack of bricks.

"How far is the safe house?" I asked him.

"I'm not sure. They must have moved by now."

"An hour or so out of the city. But with Gérald's driving, we'll likely make it sooner," Aveline said.

"That's good," I replied quietly. "That's very good."

Jaime spirited my son away as soon as we arrived at the safe house. The others followed them inside, but I thought it best to wait out in the front yard until someone else broke the news to Achilles. I wasn't quite ready for my reunion with the old man yet. And besides that, I had some other business to take care of.

I had an important call to make. So I borrowed Connor's phone before he was taken and flipped to Edward Kenway's name in the contacts list.

The dial tone chirped on the other end. I swallowed past a lump that had suddenly formed in the back of my throat. When was the last time I talked to my father? So many years ago...

But it was a female voice that greeted me.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Jenny."

"Haytham? Sorry, I didn't recognize your number. Did you get a new one?"

"No. I'm borrowing my son's phone."

"Ah. Thought Dad might pick up if he didn't see your number, hm?"

"I was hoping."

Jenny offered me a halfhearted laugh. "You sound exhausted. What's wrong? Babysitting today?"

"It's...been a long day," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "I was hoping to talk with our father, actually. Is he around?"

"Yes. This is my weekly visit; someone has to make sure this place is clean. His phone was going off and he wasn't around to grab it. I'll get him." A pause. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I am."

"All right. Your funeral."

Footsteps on the other end. Jenny calling for our father, and then a muffled conversation. There was a considerable silence before Edward finally spoke up.

"Hello, Haytham."

Well, well. He didn't sound angry. Yet.

"Hello."

"I think I know what this is about."

"You sent the southern Assassins, didn't you?"

"That I did. I heard about the east coast group's infiltration plan through the grapevine and thought they could use some help. Aveline and Gérald are some of the best, and they were close by. What happened?"

I explained the situation to him as succinctly as possible. Edward listened without comment, but I heard his huff of frustration when I told him about speaking with Connor.

"I warned him about all of this," Edward admitted. "But...you know...it sounds like things turned out all right. For both of you."

"This hasn't been the most ideal father and son bonding situation, but I suppose it did."

He laughed at that. "So it seems," he said. "So... It sounds like you have plans for after today?"

"Sort of. I don't know." I put a hand to my forehead again, taking care not to brush against the gash on my cheek. "Today was...a disaster, but it was something that would have happened eventually, I suppose."

"You plan to stay with the Order?"

"Yes. But not with Abstergo. Not with them ever again."

"I see. That's good. They're an awful bunch." Edward fell quiet for a moment. "And Connor?"

"I assume he will remain an Assassin."

"Ah, no. That's not what I was asking. Will you stay in contact with him?"

"...I hope to. We made it through this much, after all."

And if Connor disappears from my life, I'll have no one left, what with his mother gone and part of my Order dispersed. But I didn't say that to Edward. Didn't need to sound as piteous as I felt.

"Mhm. He sounds like a good lad."

"He is."

We both fell silent then, but it wasn't as tense as our previous conversations. I was pleasantly surprised by how well it was going, honestly; I'd expected more harsh words and yet another argument, but so far we were both acting like grown adults.

"I'm, ah, glad you called to let me know how it went. I have a feeling Aveline or Gérald might be calling with their report next," Edward said. "Tell Connor I said hello. And...both of you take care of yourselves."

"We will."

He hung up after that. I shut Connor's phone off and slipped it in my front pocket.

And I sighed. The adrenaline rush from the escape and the car chase was wearing off, and I felt weary to the bone. Few things sounded more appealing than a hot shower and a long nap.

But there was still work to be done. I had to speak with Achilles, and Connor, and...

I didn't know. Should I leave? Stay for a while longer? I certainly wasn't welcome in the company of these Assassins, and I didn't feel inclined to be with them any longer than I absolutely had to.

The front door of the safe house - a nice little cabin tucked away in a mountain valley, secluded and quiet - opened. It was Jaime.

"Achilles wants to see you," he said.

The moment of truth. I stood, brushed the snow from my coat, and followed him inside.

"Connor is much better," he told me while he led me through the front room. The tiny, one-story building was old and looked as though it had been abandoned for some time; but there were small touches here and there, and a certain warmth to the place that made me think someone was putting more time into it now that it was occupied.

"He'll be all right?"

"Yes. It was a clean shot, no bullet fragments or signs of infection. But he'll need to stay off his feet for a while. I don't want him reopening the wound now that I've worked on it."

"A good call. But are you sure he'll listen?"

Jaime chuckled. "No, I think that might be asking for too much."

We stopped in what appeared to be the living room. There was a fire going, and Achilles was sitting near it with his cane propped between his legs. He looked up at me with no friendliness in his eyes.

"Thank you, Jaime," he said, nodding to the Assassin. Jaime left us without another word.

Neither of us spoke for some time. He didn't gesture for me to sit, so I stayed standing with my hands clasped behind my back.

"Well," he said after a good minute, "I never thought I would see you again. Especially in a situation like this."

"And neither did I."

"Connor tells me that you have not left the Templars."

"No."

"But you did help the Assassins."

"Our interests were in agreement."

"Mm." He turned away from the fire to stare at me again. "Ideally, I would like to thank you for helping, but..."

"You still don't trust me. Understandable. I feel the same about the majority of your Assassins."

Achilles's smile was humorless. "And yet you helped them anyway. But I assume it was because of Connor."

"...Yes."

"What do you want from us, Haytham? Shelter? Payment of some sort? I'm afraid I can do neither. You are still a Templar, and we are still Assassins."

"That doesn't mean that we always have to be enemies."

"But it does. Connor may trust you, and he may have forgiven you, but I can't. Not after I watched you and your men slaughter my friends. We lost Dobby and a few others today too - all to your Templars."

"I know that," I said. "Honestly, I... The only one I want to stay in contact with is Connor."

"That is up to him."

"I know," I said again, more irritably this time. "And I will leave as soon as I've spoken with him. You have my word."

Achilles was quiet again. But he nodded and waved me off.

"I know how stubborn you are. Connor gets it from you, I think. And a good dose from his mother as well," he said, shaking his head back and forth. "Connor is in the room down the hall. Second to the left."

"Thank you."

I turned away, and Achilles said no more. He was a hard man, but reasonable, I supposed. But he did a decent enough job of raising and training Connor, who seemed to hold him in high regard.

I found Connor's room and was pleased to see that he was alone. I'd had more than enough of the Assassins for a lifetime, and didn't feel like dealing with any of their lip while I tried to speak with my son. I settled into one of the chairs beside his bed with a tired sigh.

"Has Jaime looked at your arm yet?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"No. I might leave after this, so he won't have the chance to. I've done the best I can with it anyway."

"You should have him check. He's a good doctor. He'll take care of it."

"Hm. Maybe."

Connor sat up a little straighter; and though he seemed to be feeling somewhat better, he was still wincing with each small movement. It would be a while before he'd be ready to move normally again. How long could Achilles keep him cooped up in this bed, I wondered? Not very long, if he was anything like his mother.

"Don't put any stress on your hip, and it will heal well enough for you to keep running around with your Assassin friends," I told him.

He smirked in my direction. "Got any more fatherly advice for me?"

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Pot calling the kettle black."

I wanted to laugh, but I was so, so tired. All I could manage was a small grin.

Connor's expression sobered after a moment. "Achilles asked you to leave, didn't he?"

"Yes. But I was planning to regardless. There's plenty to be done and no time to waste."

"Where will you go?"

"Hmm... I'm not sure yet. I can't go back to my home, so... Maybe I'll just drive. I'll find something."

"But you'll stay in touch."

I peeked at my son. He was staring at me for once, trying to meet my gaze.

"If that's what you'd like," I said, hoping I didn't sound nearly as relieved as I felt.

It didn't seem to work, because Connor gave me a small smile.

"I would. But you have to keep your word."

"I can do that. I'll be getting a new phone and number, but..."

"Then call me with it when you can."

"I will. Oh." I took his phone from my front pocket and handed it back. He grabbed it and stared at the screen.

"You called Edward."

"Yes. I wanted to ask him a few questions."

"Did you...sort things out with him?"

"I don't think I ever will, to be perfectly honest. We're both too goddamned hardheaded for our own good," I said. "But give him a call when you have a chance. And speak with your aunt. She's been wanting to meet you."

"I will. I can do that in the next few days."

"If anything happens, you can count on them. They'll support you."

"Okay.

"And... You can count on me as well. I'll be here, even if I'm not...well, here. You know what I mean."

"I do."

What would a real father do to show his son he cares? Should I put a hand on his shoulder? Give him one of those awkward one-armed hugs? A pat on the head? Some soft words?

But mine and Connor's relationship wasn't quite like that. And I was fine with that - we were fine with that. We had time to cultivate it now, to let it grow and flourish.

It would be difficult with the both of us separated. But it could work. I'd make sure of it.

I stood again. A glance at the window behind Connor's head told me that the snow had stopped and the drive out of the mountains would be relatively smooth.

"You're going?" Connor asked.

"Yes. Maybe I can get a ride from Aveline and Gérald. They seem to like me a bit more than your other friends."

"I'm sure they won't mind if you tell them you're Edward Kenway's son."

"Perhaps. We'll see."

"...Thanks, by the way. For...everything."

"The same to you."

"It's been an adventure."

"It certainly has. Thank you for dragging me into it."

I met Connor's gaze again, one last time before I left the room.

"See you, Dad," he said with that familiar, derisive - teasingly so, of course - tone.

"Another time, son."

WOW... All right, I can't believe it's done. I'm feeling incredibly bittersweet about this, because I've been working on it since... December 2012, according to ffn. Right after the game came out! I apologize for taking a year and a half to write 29 chapters, haha. But I had so much fun writing this and working with the AU. And look, Aveline and Gerald did make an appearance in the end...!

First off, I wanted to thank you all so, so much. I know I say this in just about every author's note, but I really, truly mean it. I appreciate every single favorite, follow, review, every message you've sent about the story... Everything. It means so much to me that I can write something I love and so many people enjoy it. It's been a wonderful journey and I'm sad to see it end. I have tons more AU ideas for AC3 though...so I'll be back, haha. And I promised to write a follow up to another AU I posted anyway.

Again, thank you guys so much!