asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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In his dreams the fires are gone, and the ashes have long since been carried off by the winds of change. Left in its place is a world frozen by time. Where he was still as a statue, and the only movement he was allowed was blinking and breathing. But it hurt to draw in breath for some reason... his throat ached as if he had spent hours screaming himself hoarse.

Oh, well. It wasn't as if there were anyone around for him to talk to. It was so quiet within the quarters where he lay dormant. He could hear the wind rustling through the trees, as a cool breeze entered the room, and the rustle of fabric that must have been the drapes. The breeze was nice and cool upon his skin, numbing him with its soft caress.

The scent was fresh and invigorating, so much better than the stench of blood that had wafted through the air many days prior. He could not remember why that was, and the longer he tried to remember, the more his head hurt. So, he decided to let it go for now, hoping it would return to him later.

He exhaled slowly. His eyelids began to feel heavy as Connor realized he was being lulled back to sleep. Rest sounded wonderful, even if he had spent the last few days doing absolutely nothing. But as he began to drift off, he heard another sound off in the distance.

It was a new noise. A strange one. Everything comes to a complete halt. His breathing, his blinking, even his heart seems to stop beating altogether. Surely... surely he could not hearing it after...

The wail was soft at first. Barely audible. But with every passing second it seemed to grow louder, more distinctive. Until finally, his mind was able to process what he was hearing: an infant's cry.

Before he knew it, he was up and about, having shaken off the shackles of paralysis. The Omega stumbled at first. It took a few deep breaths and s little patience to remember how to walk, as he used every piece of furniture as a crutch on the way to the bedroom door.

Finally, he was outside of that room, on his own two feed and slowly making his way towards the source of that cry. It was much louder now. Seeming to reverberate across the walls and floor. How was it that the servants did not hear it or come to investigate? And where was Charles?

He did not ponder for long as he reached the nursery. After opening the door with one trembling hand, the Omega leaned heavily against its frame to catch his breath. So weak... why was he so weak? A walk from one room to another on the same flood would never leave him this breathless.

Was he sick?

Sick...

He remembered feeling ill. His husband had come home early and insisted he let a doctor examine him. Except Doctor White and Doctor Davies were both unattainable. Which left Church...

A wave of vertigo suddenly overcame him, and the Omega trembled as he brought a hand to his mouth upon feeling bile rise up in his throat. What was happening to him? Why did the image of the Templar doctor hovering over his helpless form make him feel so nauseated?

The cries that drew him from his quarters suddenly became much quieter. Connor lifted his head, and stared over at the crib where he saw movement. The vertigo slowly left him, as he entered the nursery, taking slow but confident steps towards the infant bed that was occupied by his son.

Son.. that's right. He had had a son. A little baby boy by the name of...

"There, there, William," he whispered upon reaching the crib. "Shh... do not cry, your mother is here."

His arms, no longer trembling, reached in and carefully picked up his child. His little Will was as light as a feather, and immediately stopped sniffling. The tiny little Alpha in his arms seemed to register who was holding him, and slowly opened his eyes.

Connor gasped softly, utterly transfixed by his husband's blue eyes that their son had inherited. He smiled tenderly and felt his knees weaken, as the Omega slowly knelt upon the floor. He cooed and cradled the his baby son, completely unaware of the frantic foot falls coming from outside the nursery.

"Connor!" he heard his Alpha bellow. "Wife, where are you?!"

Without looking away from William, he called out, "In the nursery, Charles."

A few seconds later, his husband, wide-eyed and pale.

Connor smiled back up at him, completely unaware of the empty blanket dangling from his hands.

"Isn't our son beautiful, husband?"

Charles wept.

"Good morning, father," he greeted with a blissful smile upon entering the dining room after his usual routine of getting dressed and checking up on little William. "Did you rest well?"

There was really no need to ask. The Omega wondered if his father had even slept at all. Haytham's gray eyes still looked tired and strangely troubled, as he strained to return the smile.

"I managed to get a few hours here and there, thank you." The Templar Grandmaster hesitated for a moment as the servants brought their breakfast in. He waited until they cleared out before speaking once more. "Connor, do you remember what happened last night?"

The Omega blinked in confusion as he reached for a roll from the bread basket. "Last night? All I remember was spending time with William before you called out to me. I invited you to stay the night, and that we would talk in the morning - which we are doing right now."

Haytham made no move to touch his breakfast, ignoring it altogether as he patiently stared at his son.

"But you do not recall waking up late at night? You do no remember the screaming and crying?"

Connor stopped and stared back at the man who raised him.

"Screaming and crying?" the Omega repeated. "I am afraid I do not recall those noises... was it William? He seemed perfectly fine this morning!"

He and wondered if his dreamless sleep had prevented him from hearing his usually calm son's cries. He flushed with guilt. What kind of mother slept through their child's distress?

"Perhaps I should check on him again to see if he is..."

But just as he began to pull away from the table, a larger hand reached out and encircled his wrist. Connor started at the firm grip upon his limb, and met with Haytham's hardened gaze.

"This cannot go on, Connor."

The said Omega stared owlishly back at his sire.

"Father?"

Haytham relaxed his grip somewhat, calloused fingers stroking the other's captured wrist. The touch was affectionate, and a little soothing, but it did not lessen Connor's worry when he stared back at that determined face.

"You had a nightmare last night," the Alpha informed him. "A recurring one you have had every night since the tragedy."

Tragedy? What was his father talking about? If something horrible had happened, surely he would have remembered...

"The nightmares are of what really happened. They show you the truth that you do not wish to confront."

How would his father know of those dreams if Connor himself could not remember them? Confront what truth? Was Haytham insinuating that he was hiding something from himself? Ridiculous!

"I believe you are confused. Perhaps you ought to rest some more and..."

"Tell me about William, your son."

Connor stared bewilderedly back at the older man, more confused than ever. "What do you mean, 'tell you about him'?"

"What does he look like? How old is he? How are you feeding him?"

The questions startled him. Why was his father asking him things he already knew? It was as if Haytham Kenway had never seen his grandson, which was ridiculous because he had seen him the night before!

"Father, you are scaring me. Surely you have not..."

"Answer my questions, son."

Connor pursed his lips, as he cautiously eyed the Grandmaster who stared sternly back at him. He took a deep breath and decided to humor his Alpha parent. A man, who had obviously been overworking himself.

"Your grandson," he began, his voice suddenly filled with adoration as he thought of his child who was napping upstairs, "is beautiful. He has the most adorable cheeks, a small mouth and button nose. I think he inherited a lot of traits from our side of the family, but he has Charles' blue eyes and his black hair... what little he has of it. He's mostly pink skinned, but I think his color will be lighter than mine."

The Omega paused, hoping to see recognition upon his father's face. He waited for Haytham to beam with pride and adoration for his first grandchild. And Connor's heart constricted every minute as that hardened expression remained plastered upon the Templar leader's face that silently insisted for him to continue.

"He is a few months old and there is a wet nurse who comes by to feed him when I am resting."

"A wet nurse?"

"I... My milk dried up shortly after William's birth," he explained while blushing in embarrassment, "So, I asked Mary to find a wet nurse to feed my son. Charles, approved of course."

Connor blinked in confusion as Haytham mumbled something incoherent and looking vaguely annoyed. What in the world was his father's problem?

"This is ridiculous," he snapped and tried to pull his hand back. "If you wish to see him again, he is upstairs resting, just do not wake him from his nap and..."

"I have never seen my grandson."

The words were spoken so bluntly, that Connor could not help but gape in shock.

"What... what are you saying? Of course you have! Last night, I was holding him in my arms..."

"No," Haytham harshly interrupted him, "Last night and every night you hold on to a figment of your imagination."

Connor's jaw seemingly unhinged as he stared as he stared at the Grandmaster in disbelief. He could not find the words to deny something so ludicrous and cruel. Instead he shook his head violently while struggling to free himself from the unrelenting grip.

"You were only six months pregnant when you became ill," the Alpha spoke as he refused to release his stubborn son. "Do you remember that?"

Yes... he had had a dreadful fever. The servants were in a panic as they tried to call the two physicians that their master entrusted his wife to be handled by. But instead another doctor had treated him and...

Connor jolted in his seat. Pale, breathing heavily and sweating as if he had woken from a nightmare.

But he hadn't had a nightmare.

No, he had a son! His beautiful William who he had given birthed to... yes, he remembered the pain in his belling, the tears, and the blood... so much blood.

He shook his head again, biting his lower lip to hold back the sob lodged in his throat as he was overcome by the feeling of grief and utter loss. No! No, it was just the mood swings. These damn mood swings that the new mother should have gotten over by now!

Haytham reached out and took his face into his hands, and Connor's tear-filled amber-brown eyes met with stricken gray ones.

"You miscarried the child."

No...

"It was not your fault."

No...

"Nor would anyone blame you for cloistering yourself with these delusions."

No...

"But, son, that is all they are. You will neither heal and be able to move on, if you continue to cling onto them."

No...

Haytham paused for a moment, and reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out. A silver ring was presented to him, its crimson cross reminding the former hunter of the blood spilled on his hands. Of the blood that pooled around pain racked his body, when the pressure had become too much, and he had screamed in agony.

"You are a Templar, Connor," his father whispered to him, "and it is time you leave behind such fantasies and return to reality."

The Omega felt his eyes burn, and he shuddered as the tears fell unyieldingly down his face. He trembled, turning his head away from that imposing band of metal presented to him. His eyes immediately spotted both Ronald and Mary standing at the other side of the dining room, and he stared imploringly back at the Lee family's most trusted servants.

They had seen William.

They knew he was not insane!

He opened his mouth to beg them to speak up, to give him something... anything...

The guilt and sorrow in their eyes was too much to bare.

"Son..." his father pressed gently.

"NO!" he shrieked, batting the Templar ring out of Haytham's hands and scrambled out of his seat.

Connor turned and fled back upstairs, ignoring the cries of his father, Ronald and Mary. He ran towards the nursery. To his son, whom he loved and knew was real. William was real. It was his father.. the servants, and everyone in the world that had lost their senses. Not him.

"William!" he cried while bursting into his child's room.

The Omega stopped and stared at the nursery which had always been filled with light and warmth. But instead it was dark. The drapes that he had made Hickey hang up, were pulled closed, and been that way for some time by the way dust and webs clung to them.

He swallowed hard, and slowly approached the infant bed.

There was no child resting there.

Only a blanket that Connor remembered his son being bundled in.

With one trembling hand, he reached out to touch it...

"Where is my baby?! My baby... my baby!"

Came the frantic cries of a mother as he sobbed and struggled against his husband's crushing embrace.

"Isn't our son beautiful, husband?"

His husband could answer, to overcome with tears of grief and loss.

That was okay, because the grieving mother had not wanted one as he cradled and empty blanket in place of a child he had lost.

Their child.

Connor collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably into the blanket that had been his son.

//sobs//

Oh Haytham. Quick and efficient as always. It did the trick, but what a price it took.

//sobs//

And you can almost feel Charles's love for his wife here, how he's afraid of letting Connor face the truth and does everything in his power to soften the blow.

Poor Charles. Poor Haytham. Poor Connor.

//sobs//

Hehe. Doctor White is practical and given that their interests are aligned and Charles needs his help...

:D

Bleh, just noticed I accidentally gave Clipper Noah's assumed last name. Derp. I clearly need some sleep.

Poor Charles. Poor Haytham. Poor Connor.

Yes, this poor, poor family /Hugs them/ it's almost a never-ending roller coaster ride of fluff and angst.

I bet Doctor White was stunned to know that in another world he was married to Ellen, and that Connor had set them up. Though FW!Connor isn't as clueless when it comes to the opposite sex. Not all of Hickey's influences were bad, as Thomas was always in the dog house and knew a thing or two about wooing an Omega of any gender.

Also, lil!Connor gained lots of maternal experience having to look after drunk Hickey... cleaning the vomit off his face, tucking him into bed, apologizing to the authorities he had offended, ect.

Bleh, just noticed I accidentally gave Clipper Noah's assumed last name. Derp. I clearly need some sleep.

LOL, Don't worry I make those kind of mistakes - even wide awake - all the time.

I've been away from the kinkmeme for AGES! Like, really - probably last november or something. And I come back to find this.

Bless you both - OP for the idea and you, write!anon. I'm sorry to say it like this but you nailed it. That was... Pheww... /fans self

I'll be in my bunk. *slinks off, muttering all the while about awesome writer!anon and OT4*

Damn, I just saw this and I had to fill. I hope you 'like' it, OP.
It made me feel like the worst person ever... /curls into a ball and cries

...

He was floating – or falling. Whatever it was... His insides seemed to be weightless against his leaden bones. Ages bones. Bones of a father. He had known – he had seen Shaun and Rebecca freeze, stopping dead in their track. Dead.
Disbelief – he had to be sleeping. It was a joke, it had to be! Let it not- Who are you fooling? His breathing suddenly formed a staccato – not enough air to keep him going, but too much to properly let it go. He did not know how his feet carried him to Desmond. His son. His SON! Pain reared its ugly head, diving for his throat. He fell to the ground – could not move. He could not... his hands shook as he tried to reach for him. He tried, Gods, he tried. And all the while his mind was repeating a single word like a mantra – each 'no' carving a denting in the walls of his sanity.
As soon as his fingers touched Desmond's cold, cold, face – it fell on him. He was on a railway and a train was rushing towards him – dread was replaced with a despair that clung to him like tar. Moving was impossible. The strings that once have held him together snapped and he crumpled on his son's prone form.
He has once prided himself in being a master at controlling his emotions. This control shattered. All that was left – his purpose, his hopes, his wishes – all was destroyed by a single touch. He was not an assassin anymore. He was not a husband, a widower – or a father. Do they even have a word for a father losing his only child? His pain was a nameless one. It could not be named, it could not be fought. All that was left was an aged man clutching onto his son's body for dear life. Not his. The dead would never walk again. A wail tore itself from his throat, claws ripping and renting flesh and tendons – if only he could bleed. Let him not live – he has lost. Lost. And that tiny word was a black hole, a vacuum devouring his mind. Self-hatred dug its fangs in his skull. It is your fault. You dragged him into it. You did this to him. There was no protection you could afford that could not be upturned. Hope you lived a happy lie – because it's no lie anymore. Open your eyes and see. No, he would not. OPEN YOUR EYES!
He did – and all he saw was a nightmare. It should have been him – not Desmond. Never Desmond. But he had known, he had known that Desmond alone could have found what they had sought for decades. Guilt strangled him. It was nothing, nothing compared to what was gnawing through his ribcage, carving his heart out. He doubled over.
And I've never told you how much I loved you. I resented you for leaving. I could not protect you. I failed you... My son.

All that remained – there was no victory. No one to cheer. Just a broken, middle-aged man bent over the body of his dead son, finally seeing... There was no hope, after all. And no one saw the barely visible shades by Desmond's side. Three forms. The last remnants of a past that will be mercilessly buried. Three guardians without a ward. And a father who was not a father anymore.

Your title gave you away... (Actually, I have this image of Haytham being flipped over like a pancake... /shoots self)

And of course the Templars did it like this, damn! (They sure can do sexy... /leers)

So SECONDED!

FOURTHED!

Holy... mother of all kinks, I won't get enough of them... /dies of bloodloss.

(Who would not crush on Ezio? DAT ASS!) Sorry about that. /shoots self

I wish I could write it though... can't. Just can't.

I might have something - snark... I just can't help. Though I'm afraid it'd border on crack. Would that be okay, OP?

Anon > Your sentence made me picture Ziio in the process of hitting Haytham with a frying pan...

Connor is certainly counting the points...

- Dad?
- What?
- Mom was making chili?
- She made pasta.
- So?
- Yes she was, why do you ask?
- You have chili in your hair.
- *headwall*
- Sooooooo... Mom: 35 - Dad: 12.
- You have to rub it in, kid?

(Sorry... it just... okay... I am leaving.)

Dear writer!anon, you are epic. As in, really epic.

I saw the prompt, thought it was cool and two pages later I was all: nah, I have to do it. And there you were.
It was a brilliant fill, I'm glad you did it... I feel so bad for Connor... climbing stuff barefoot must hurt but stark naked? Maaaaaaaaaaaaan... awkward ouchies ahoy. /is an awfully mean person

/fidgets

But I'll still run away with the prompt... /runs away full pelt, but not before showering this dear anon with chocolate and cookies

Finding Connor

Chapter 18

Charles wasn't sure what he was expecting when he followed his counterpart, Doctor White and Doctor Davies into the quarters of this world's Connor. A curiosity, perhaps. A reflection of the differences between his world and the one he now found himself in. Surely, a world that spawned this Charles Lee and this Doctor White should be different here as well. After all, it was clear that this Charles Lee did not care for his wife as Charles did.

And yet...

And yet...

He looked about and felt his breath taken away. It was all so similar. The drapery, a dark burgundy against the cream of the walls. He could just imagine his Connor running a hand along the lushness of the velvet.

His Connor had always liked interesting textures.

And that chair in the corner! Made of the finest redwood and padded with rich cushions. It was Connor's favorite. He'd often nurse their son in that chair, supported by those cushions, humming a lullaby as a tiny mouth sucked on his breast.

And that desk...

Connor would offer to help Charles with his finances, and he preferred to do the accounting there. He'd place his black bound journal and note their incomes and household expenses and the servants's salary. Charles had never liked that part of his duty and was only too glad to offload it onto his capable wife.

Every night, he would come to get Connor at that desk for their lovemaking. His wife would look up at him, smile and—

Charles bit his lip, feeling tears well in his eyes. It wasn't right that he lose Connor so soon. It wasn't right that he lose his young wife. He was near double Connor's age and that he still lived while Connor didn't...

It wasn't right.

Angrily, he brushed away the forming tears with the back of his hand. He could not afford to mourn. Not right now. Not when his counterpart already doubted him.

He needed the man's trust to ensure everything went well. So that this world's Connor could get better, and he could go home, back to his little Haytham.

How was his little son faring, he wondered. Did he wonder where his father had gone? Had he learned to speak more words yet? Was he in the care of his grandfather?

Charles hoped he was. His own servants would not have the means to continue the household expenses without him, and it would be difficult to raise Haytham in such conditions. Master Kenway's household was warm and welcoming. He had raised Connor well and would raise Charles's son well too.

But Master Kenway was old now. He had not many years left, and if Charles stalled too long...

Well, he shuddered to think what might become of his son.

All the more imperative that he speed this Connor's recovery then.

He took a breath and did what he had been careful not to do since he first entered these quarters. He looked towards the bed that held its ailing occupant.

His breath stalled in his throat.

Oh God...

Before, when he had wondered about this world's Connor, his imagination had spun him an almost Alpha-like Omega. Vicious as that Assassin who destroyed Charles's life. As cold and powerful.

But this Omega lying so still in that bed...

He was pale and thin. Fragile-looking amidst the white sheets. His amber-brown eyes were dull as they gazed at absolutely nothing, and he looked...dead.

Charles gulped.

This Connor looked almost exactly like his wife when he had been laid to rest.

And it was discomfiting, seeing that again.

Oh, there were differences. This Connor was thinner and, instead of Charles's wife's black coat, he was dressed in a simple nightshift. He was also in bed and not in a coffin. But...

But...

The image of his dead wife flashed before him suddenly, and Charles took an inadvertent step back, hand going to his pounding heart.

He had to remind himself that this was not his Connor, and it was not his place to demand that the two doctors do something. His Connor was dead anyways. There was nothing they could do.

Charles was beginning to doubt they could do anything for this Connor either.

Chalky cheeked, dull staring eyes and a thinness that could only come from sustained hunger...

It was a wonder he wasn't dead already.

What had Charles's counterpart been doing to him that led to this sorry state? Enemy or not, forced or not, one did not let one's wife starve.

Charles felt a frisson of anger crawl up his spine, and he made his way to the other Charles, who stood watching Doctor White and Doctor Davies consult over their patient.

“How have you let him get into this state?” he whispered.

The man shot him an irritated look.

“It was certainly not by my design—“

“You are the master of this house, are you not?”

His counterpart had to concede the point.

“Then how could you let him starve so?”

A raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Charles gestured to the still body on the bed.

“Look at him. Skin and bones. He looks like death warmed over. How have you let him get into this state? Do you want your child to die along with him?”

The other Charles bristled.

“I did everything I could. I had Davies create a meal plan for him, to make sure he stayed healthy. I had him watched and constantly monitored so that we could be aware if he turned for the worse. What else would you have me do?”

What else indeed.

“It looks as if,” Charles began. “He looks so pale. As if he has not seen enough sun for many a day. When was the last time you took him outside?”

His counterpart colored.

“I...haven't.”

It was unthinkable.

“Connor adores being outside. How you could even think to keep him locked in here...”

“It was not secure.”

“Bullocks.”

His counterpart finally turned to look at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You've decimated the Brotherhood. You have their leader captive, pregnant with your child and completely insensate. You cannot tell me that you, with your resources and the lower ranks stationed out there, truly worry about security.”

To this, the other Charles said nothing but pursed his lips in irritation.

Well fine. If he wanted to pretend it was all nothing.

“Is it punishment?” Charles asked. “Control? It's control isn't it?”

No reply.

“You're trying to keep your dominance on him at all times, remind him of his own dependency upon you and of his limitations.”

His counterpart was at last driven to speak.

“And what of it?”

Charles let loose a small sound of irritation.

“You cannot expect him to get better when being reminded at every turn of how right he is to flee you. You cannot expect him to fight for life like this, and by the look of him, he will need to fight to live.”

“You sound maudlin,” the other Charles snapped.

“I sound reasonable,” Charles snapped back. “You cannot bring order about by sheer force. It takes a mix of force and persuasion. And you, cousin, have all of the force and none of the persuasion.”

“Is that how your Templar Order is? A fairytale?”

Charles frowned.

“I can only imagine what yours went through that you believe such to be a fairytale. We have always striven to guide, first by gentle means and mutual accord and then, if necessary by a show of arms and threats. Such is the foundation of life. A system with only a show of arms and threats...that leads to anarchy. No man or woman, Alpha or Omega, would stand to live in a life that gained them nothing, and that is what that system leads to. It is how that,” he pointed at the still figure on the bed, “happened.”

For a moment his counterpart looked as if he would strike him. But then he relaxed and let loose his breath.

“And what do you propose I do then? Let him outside, that's all it takes to heal him? Are you a doctor?”

“He is not, but I am, and that is exactly what I recommend.”

Both Charles turned to face the doctors that had, apparently, caught the last part of their exchange.

“Of course, it is not all I recommend, but it is a good start. Sunlight. Healthy food with more of the essential essences that he is currently missing, especially in his state. Exercise.”

And then his eyes hardened.

“And perhaps the right to sleep unmolested.”

The mornings were not as bright when Connor woke each day after reluctantly being shown the very large rip in the beautiful tapestry he had delicately woven around himself. It had obscured his senses, blinded the Omega to the horrible truth that he could not accept. Now, The once bright and promising future of a family now hung in tatters around him.

Was anything real anymore?

There was no family. There was no William John Lee, an infant son whom he had loved and cherished. There was no husband either. For he had lost their unborn child, and then his mind as Charles grieved and was forced to carry on with his duties. Surely his Alpha despised him as much as he himself did.

It was no wonder Charles never responded to his letters. He doubted the Commander had even read them or if they delivered in t he first place. Connor could not blame the head servants for that, after all they were the ones who had to comfort their Master whose child was dead and his wife had taken leave of his senses.

The Omega hoped that his mate had never received those messages. Knowing that his insane ramblings over a child that did not exist, would only serve to depress and distract the Commander. Who was already burdened with the responsibilities of leading the Patriots against the Crown.

Weak.

Connor never felt so pitifully weak.

Even now, he cloistered himself in his quarters, almost refusing to leave them. Too afraid to face his father or the nursery where he had spent hours every day cradling nothing but a dusty blanket. Connor could not even look the servants in the eyes anymore; knowing that they had seen him at his lowest as he caressed, kissed, and talked to nothing but air.

Then there was his father. The Omega cringed as remembered his actions at breakfast a few days ago. He had behaved like a child, refusing to listen to reason and then batting out the offered Templar ring from his Haytham's hand. Would the Grandmaster give him another chance, he wondered. Did he even want it?

But what else was there for him?

Connor reached down and placed his hands upon his flat, barren stomach. He had no child to raise. Charles would be gone from home for who knows how long. He could not support his husband like a loyal wife.

Perhaps, he should see his father again. At least to let him know that he was... well/reasonable/sane again. After such a display, and in front of Ronald an Mary, he should expect his father to doubt him. But at least they would have a chance to talk before Haytham had to leave.

Steeling his nerves, Connor crawled out of bed.

He spent about twenty minutes cleaning himself up and changing into some new clothes - he had been wearing the ones he had on from his outburst for three days straight - before putting on his boots. Then another ten minutes staring at the door as he gathered his courage and reclaimed wits. He could do this, Connor urged himself. The hunter would open this door and finally face the world as himself again...

...And stare at foreboding vacant hallway. He bit his lower lip, almost expecting to hear William wailing after being left alone for three days. Immediately, his feet made there way to the nursery. His poor baby son surely would have missed him and...

Connor immediately came to a halt half-way towards the room he knew would be unoccupied. Because little Will had never existed. That beautiful little child had never been born, dead before he could ever draw breath.

The Omega reached up and furiously used his sleeve to dry his stinging wet eyes before the tears had a chance to fall. This had to stop, Connor knew. He had spent the last three days in his room, sobbing and feeling sorry for himself. He had to follow his mother's advice: to be strong and brave in order to heal and overcome this.

After taking a series of deep breaths, Connor abruptly turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. He descended the stairs, startling a maid who was on her way up his dinner. The Omega tried not to feel to uncomfortable with the nervous and hesitant look upon the woman's face as he asked her to bring his meal to the dining room where his father was most likely eating alone.

However, that was not the case when he arrived.

The Templar Grandmaster was seated at the head of the table, a spot that belonged to Connor's Alpha if he were present, and was surrounded by Templars. He politely inclined his head towards Admiral Nicholas Biddle and James Collins, who he has not seen since the wedding. The Omega also gave a half smile to his closest friends Clipper, Noah, and Thomas. All of them, looking very surprised to see him - even if it was his home.

"Son, it's good to see you up and about." Haytham stood from his seat and gently clasped him about the shoulders. The smile was pleasant but those gray eyes were scanning his face, and the grip on him was a little restraining. As if his father expected him to lash out in front of all these guests.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior a few days ago," he answered the unspoken question. "And to have dinner with you, but I see that you are with company."

But Connor this wasn't just a social gathering among comrades, the Templars were having a meeting. Only because the Grandmaster was here - perhaps feeling reluctant to leave Connor to the Lee household servants after forcing him to see the truth. What a burden he was, unable to contribute as he had before.

"Hello gentlemen," he greeted the seated onlookers with a shy smile. "Please forgive my interruption..."

Haytham shook his head. "Nonsense! We are guests in your home."

His broken home, the Omega thought gloomily to himself. He was prepared to excuse himself when his father released him. But much to Connor's surprise, the Templar leader pulled out the chair he had vacated, the seat at the head of the table.

"Please sit and join us."

The wolf lifted his scrutinizing gaze to his father's expectant face. He had a feeling that Haytham was not just inviting him to share a meal with the faction he had once been apart of. The air was tense, and the members of the Order seemed to be watching him anxiously.

What was he to do?

He wanted to be a Templar again. To be a part of something greater than himself. To focus and return to the chaotic world outside these comforting walls of the Lee manor.

But was he ready for it?

It did not take the hunter long to decide as the Grandmaster spoke once more.

"I believe you deserve to take part in this conversation. We were currently discussing the whereabouts of that traitor, Benjamin Church."

Church. A traitor whose offenses were greater than Connor's own. The murderer of his child was still out there. Free and laughing at his agony. The wolf in him was suddenly alert, banishing his thoughts of guilt and despair to the far corners of his mind.

Connor sat down.

The first part with Charles remembering his Connor by noticing all the similarities in the room, nearly had me in tears. Just being reminded of all that he had loss, and then of course his urgency to get back home and me knowing that will never happen, just... argh... my heart.

BTW Love FW!Charles getting upset with Moth!Charles, and of course he and Doctor White tag-teaming Moth!Charles. Doubt Davies as much to say, even though Moth!Charles is paying him to be there. Also, wonder if it's Davies who reports to Haytham about their Charles' identical cousin.

Davies definitely reports to Haytham. :) The sly doctor and all. A consummate businessman, he lets no affections sway him and neither does he let distemper blind him. Such was Church's problem. :D

But of course, Haytham's actually in New York, and in those days, it took quite a while to get from New York to Boston. :D

I <3 this. We can see how difficult it is for Connor. The way he struggles with himself is so visceral. I can literally see how ashamed he felt and the emotions battling for dominance in him. And then he has the capability to face all those people in that moment of shame and come out the stronger...

//claps//

Bravo Connor. Even if you do go crazy with revenge, bravo for that courage.

Once again, I liked the distinction between Church and Davies... but I'm sure thanks to his predecessor, Davies must know that Haytham is always keeping tabs on him somehow, as if just waiting for the moment to pounce before he has a chance to betray them.

Haytham's actually in New York, and in those days, it took quite a while to get from New York to Boston

Yeah, I noticed when in the game Haytham ditches Connor in that fight with the mercenaries and tells his son to meet him in New York, a month later, Connor shows up and Haytham is like "Church is probably days ahead of us by now" ... uh no, he's probably two months ahead of you now.

And then he has the capability to face all those people in that moment of shame and come out the stronger...

Heh, that's what Haytham had anticipated.

This anon had to:

After a while, you stop noticing just how creepy Rebecca looked when she typed. Especially when it was not work-related. Then, she would get to it with sadistic glee. And scare the men out of the place.

Desmond, however, being the closet masochist, did not think twice. Maybe it was just boredom that made him walk all the way to Rebecca's desk. He did not really know what he could ask her. He was curious though. If he looked back, he would see Shaun frantically signing for him to turn tail and flee. He did not. After all the shit he's been through, a computer would not scare him.

“Hey Rebecca, what are you up to?” Better safe than sorry – just in case it was one of her 'don't talk to me I'm writing'-moment. From his vantage point, behind Rebecca, Desmond could make up an outline of red and grey. Looking like a forum, in a way. Dreamwidth?

“Nothing special Desmond. Looking up a few things up. Wanna see?”

Desmond heard the saccharine tone that spelled doom, and he did not miss Shaun storming from his office, silently motioning him not to move. 'Whatever this madwoman is telling you, don't!' That was a fairly accurate translation. And still, despite what they say about cats and curiosity, Desmond looked.

On the screen, he could clearly see a post from an anonymous commenter:
Somebody? Anybody? Fill this please? I'd try myself, but I haven't written anything in years nor do I have a computer or laptop that I can post from... This is honestly the single prompt that converted me to Haytham/Connor.

“What the hell is that?” It took all his willpower not to scramble backward. He could hear Rebecca's amusement, even if she remained silent. “It's not what... It's not what I think it is, right?”

Rebecca swivelled on her chair, looking up at him with what could almost pass as sympathy. Almost being the keyword. “Actually, it is.” She seemed to think for a moment, before adding, “Actually, I kind of like this pairing.”

“Who in their right mind would post anything like that?” He could not unsee. He has lived through Connor – and Haytham. It was just too much!

“Ask Shaun.” And with that, she resumed scrolling down the page, smirking here and there.

Desmond zeroed on Shaun. Who was looking as red as his hair – he seemed close to apoplexy at the moment. Interesting.

“So, Shaun? Any idea?” Desmond was freaked out. Utterly and completely creeped out but he also wanted to know why. And if Shaun's face was any indication, he knew.

“Well, sorry Desmond. Got to dash, I have a tremendous amount of work to do.”

Desmond swore he saw smoke where Shaun took off. It took his brain a few seconds to catch up – and Rebecca's full-blown laughter.

“Shaun, you are SO dead!”

Authornon, you made my life complete. This was a wonderful read - I loved the shifts between memories, you made it work perfectly. I could see everything as you depicted it, it was one of the best read I have had in ages!

Please, allow this awed-anon to offer you piles and piles of cookies and goodness! *glomps*

(And really, Juno... Malik is the King of Snark, untouchable!)

THIRDED!!!!!!

This anon is despairing - this is the first post I see with him - like an idiot, I keep calling him the Hunter... (either it's because my MP is in French or because of the Prowler...)

If I ever manage to get anything done with him, I'll get back to you, OP.

I totally feel you, OP. (Maybe not as much but...) Frenchies UNITED!

I second this, out of curiosity and... yeah.

*huggles OP*

... 'Everybodyyyyyyyyyyyyyy needs somebodyyyyy!' /shoots self

OP, you are awesome!!!

I second this - and I run away with anon's idea about Iggy and Haytham moping. /has an image of the two getting absolutely smashed together, cue loads of -not quite manly- tears at the ungrateful little nitwits.

/dreams of a giant APH/AC crossover

SECONDED WITH ALL THE POWER OF CAPS!

Holy cow, OP, you broke my brain... It's already hot outside but I could be in the desert right now it wouldn't change a thing. /this anon is bordering hysterical fangirlism

Craziness aside, this is a very good prompt, actually. One that makes sense, amidst the whole 'the Apple did it' kind of things. No, really, OP, I could worship the synapses that created such a delicious idea.

(Captcha asked me what Edward's name was... honestly, why you don't accept Kenway, Captcha?)

Yeah, Davies has a direct example in Church, and he's not about to forget what happened to people that get on the Grandmaster's bad side. :)

No update tonight. Too much work unfinished. But will update tomorrow. :)

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Page 340 of 385

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

One-shot:: Loss 3/4

Re: One-shot:: Loss 3/4

Re: Finding Connor 18

Re: One-shot:: Loss 3/4

Re: Finding Connor 18

Re: Drabble Fill: Screw Up 1/1

[FILL] I failed you...

Re: How was Haytham turned?

Re: Altair/Connor/Ezio + Desmond

no subject

Re: Soaponification

Finding Connor 19

One-shot:: Loss 4/4

Re: Finding Connor 19

Re: Finding Connor 19

Re: One-shot:: Loss 4/4

Re: Finding Connor 19

Re: One-shot:: Loss 4/4

FILL: Misfire - Gen, Rebecca, Desmond and Shaun

Driverby!Anon

Re: The Huntsman, MP

Re: Someone/Lafayette

Re: Hetalia/AC crossover - Fighting over Washington

Re: Bureaus are meant to be Safehouses

Re: Finding Connor 19