So I'm hoping that I finally got the HTML right this time. ^^; I want to thank all of you wonderful, wonderful anons (and OP!) who have been reading this fill so far. You're all lovely people and your comments never fail to make my day. Here, have some more fic!
It seems every time I work on this story, Haytham and Connor only want to argue with each instead of advancing the plot... -.-
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Haytham woke up from a fitful, restless sleep just as dawn was breaking over the horizon, faintly pinkish-orange light streaming in through the filthy window just above him. For one brief moment he hoped that last night had just been a truly awful dream, and he would find himself back in his own warm, comfortable bed at Fort George. That hope was ruthlessly squashed the second Haytham had fully opened his eyes to find himself on the floor of a dirty little inn, Connor’s crumpled and now rather smelly Assassin’s robe on the floor next to him. Haytham sat up, groaning, and slowly stretched out his (Connor’s) arm and leg muscles. He grimaced as he felt his (Connor’s) back pop. The Templar Grandmaster hated not having a proper bed to sleep in at the end of each day. It always left him feeling quite out of sorts the following morning.
Connor’s body was obviously quite well taken care of, the product of years of intense training and combat. It was very similar to Haytham’s body in terms of build, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. He could feel the strong cords of muscle in Connor’s abdomen, and frowned slightly. The boy’s body was filled with the power and vitality of a young fighter. Haytham’s body, although far from useless, had nevertheless passed its’ peak.
There were more similarities between father and son as well, Haytham noted while getting dressed in front of the dusty, cracked old mirror propped up in a corner of the room. Connor and he shared the same large hands with long, blunt fingers. Connor’s face was shaped similarly to his own. Haytham could see parts of himself in the shape of Connor’s jaw and the set of the boy’s mouth. They even had similar lips, for goodness sake! Yet Haytham could also see Ziio in Connor’s soft brown eyes, in his thick dark hair and bronze skin. He’d never admit it, but Haytham missed Ziio. He’d missed her every single day since he left her side. And here he’d somehow gotten stuck in the body of his son, the living, breathing product of their union. He tried hard not to think about how very, very wrong that was.
Haytham looked over at his son, still asleep on the floor. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to see his body in slumber like this – half-naked, curled up into a ball, graying hair slipping free of its’ tie fall across Connor’s (Haytham’s) cheek. He looked so peaceful asleep, with an expression of calm on his face. It was as if all the fighting, killing, and bloodshed Haytham had experienced and witnessed for most of his life had never happened. The Templar grandmaster wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Did he always look like this when he slept, or was it just because Connor currently inhabited his body?
Haytham didn’t bother to wake Connor up as he opened the window and leapt out. The boy would only be difficult and start arguments again with his many questions and doubts. He wanted some time to himself in order to process his thoughts. And Haytham needed to buy new clothes as well. He and Connor had taken most of theirs off last night before going to sleep, as the inn was filthy and smelly enough without having to wear things that were covered in bile. The boy had probably completely ruined what had been a perfectly good waistcoat.
Haytham was relieved to find that moving about in Connor’s body was fairly easy. Since Connor was still young, Haytham found he could use the kind of speed and strength that his body had lost with age, moving swiftly across rooftops and scaling walls with ease. He briefly felt sorry for his son, who’d undoubtedly gotten the raw end of the deal by getting stuck in an older body. Haytham wondered what sorts of things he could do with his keen mind, sharp with age and experience, when paired with a young, strong body.
He heard a child cry up from the street, “Look Mommy, there’s a man on the roof! What’s he doing up there?”
Haytham quickly went behind a chimney, cursing himself for having been so careless in the novelty of Connor’s body as to be spotted by a child. The girl’s mother must have caught a glimpse of him too, though, because Haytham heard her respond: “Oh, that’s just a savage man, dear. They do strange things sometimes. Don’t mind him, I’m sure the militia will take care of it.”
Haytham frowned. The woman’s words stung, and the fact that no one would have dared to speak to Haytham like that if he were in his body didn’t make it any better. He remembered the innkeeper’s words from last night about savages and half-breeds. Did Connor have to put up with this sort of thing every day? Perhaps Haytham had gotten a rawer deal than he’d first thought.
--
Haytham reached a general store just as it was opening, and selected a few shirts and breeches from their rather pitiful stock. The clothes were cheaply made and rather plain, but in this case beggars couldn’t be choosers. He paid the shop’s owner using Connor’s money – it was only fair, after Connor had handed over all of Haytham’s money to that bloody innkeeper woman. He was surprised at how much Connor had on him. There had to be at least a few hundred pounds in the boy’s purse, maybe even more. Haytham wondered where Connor had gotten it all. Had he stolen the money? Did Achilles give it to him? He resolved to ask upon returning to the inn.
On his way back, Haytham had used his second sight to check for enemies twice out of habit, before he realized that being able to use it at all right now meant that Connor also possessed Eagle Vision. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised – after all, one of the few things known about the strange ability was that it was passed down through the male family line. He’d used Eagle Vision last night too, now that he thought about it, although it hadn’t registered amidst his shock and panic. Using his second sight to periodically check his surroundings had become second nature to Haytham over the years, so much so that slipping in and out of it was ingrained into him like a reflex. It was a useful skill to have. He wondered how often the boy used it, or if he was even aware of the ability at all without a father to tell him…
Haytham felt a brief pang of guilt at that last thought, but it was quickly smothered upon reaching the inn and seeing Connor halfway out of the open window, clearly preparing to leap out onto the nearby rooftop. In Haytham’s body. Haytham’s half-naked body. The boy clearly hadn’t wanted to put the waistcoat back on.
“What are you doing, boy?!” He hissed, leaping forward and bodily dragging Connor away from the window. The two of them tumbled backwards, landing in a heap on the hard wooden floor of their room. A few grunts and muffled curses were uttered as the two disentangled themselves and got back to their feet.
“What in bloody hell were you doing, Connor?!” Haytham cried. “You could have – ” He abruptly stopped. Telling Connor, “You could have injured my body,” was probably not the most…tactful thing to say, given the circumstances. “You could have been hurt,” he said instead.
“I was going to look for you!” Connor yelled back. “Last night you were talking about how we needed to start looking for the crystal first thing in the morning, and then when I wake up, you are not here! What was I supposed to do, sit here in the inn and hope you came back?”
“That was exactly what you were supposed to do! I only went out to get some decent clothing for us to wear. I couldn’t have been gone for more than an hour, and you were already prepared to go running about New York half-dressed! What do you think that would have looked like to the general public?”
Connor’s (Haytham’s) eyes narrowed, and his (Haytham’s) mouth turned downwards in contempt. “Yes, father,” he said, voice full of quiet anger. “I would hate to have damaged the body and ruined the reputation of a proper Englishman, obviously.”
“Connor…” Haytham trailed off as the Assassin turned and went to stand in front of the window at the other side of the room, his back to Haytham, one hand running through Haytham’s hair in a clear sign of irritation. “Oh fine, be a petulant child, then. At least put some clothes on.” Haytham tossed a pair of breeches and a shirt in Connor’s direction, before changing out of the boy’s Assassin robes himself.
Connor reluctantly picked up the clothes. They would be better than going around in just Haytham’s breeches, at least. As he put them on, Connor couldn’t help but notice the many scars that littered his father’s body. Haytham’s stomach was crisscrossed in a myriad of lines from swords and knives. The puckered flesh just above his right pectoral appeared to be from a bullet wound. The pink scar tissue on Haytham’s right shin looked like a stab wound, and Connor could feel part of a very long, raised scar on the Templar’s back as well. He glanced quickly over at Haytham, who was currently yanking on a pair of breeches. How long had his father been a Templar, Connor wondered. What sorts of things had he done? Haytham obviously felt strongly for the Templar Order and its’ cause, strongly enough to leave Ziio and her unborn child for them. What had enticed the man over to their side?
“Alright,” Haytham said, effectively breaking Connor out of his thoughts. “We need to start looking for the crystal.”
“Obviously,” Connor muttered. Haytham glared at him.
“Don’t interrupt me, child. Now, you should go down to the docks by the harbor. They’re a hive of gossip. Anything new or interesting item in the city, like that crystal, is bound to get noticed and talked about at the docks. Poke around, listen to people’s conversations, and see what you can uncover. And for God’s sake, be discreet! We don’t need you blundering about like you were when we were trying to find Church.”
“And what will you be doing, father?” Connor asked, with a pointed glare at Haytham. He was at the end of his patience with Haytham constantly ordering him about and demanding that he do things. This time, Connor wanted to make sure that he wasn’t the one stuck doing all the dirty work.
“Never you mind,” Haytham said, casually waving his hand in dismissal. “Just get going, and - ”
“No,” Connor interrupted. He couldn’t believe that Haytham had the gall to order his son around while occupying said son’s body. That smarmy, holier-than-thou attitude of his was definitely not something Connor was happy about seeing in his own body. “Either you tell me what you are planning to do today, or I really will go around town naked today. And I won’t just stick to the rooftops, either.”
Haytham went visibly pale at the thought. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “If you must know, I’m going back to the alleyway we woke up in last night. It’s the last place we saw the crystal, after all, and I want to check the area thoroughly. There may be some clues as to what happened to the crystal there.”
Connor nodded his assent, and Haytham inwardly marveled at just how easy it was to get the boy to believe him. Did his son’s naivete know no bounds? Achilles Davenport must be a poor teacher indeed, if his student was still this gullible.
“I suppose we should be leaving now, then?” Connor reached out for his bow and quiver, both of which Haytham had propped up against the bed before going to sleep.
“Are you mad, Connor?” You can’t take those with you! In case you haven’t noticed, the people of New York do not regularly carry Native weapons with them. You’ll only attract attention this way.”
“So you would have me go unarmed?” Connor said through gritted teeth. Inwardly, he chafed at how Haytham spoke to him, as if Connor was an idiot who didn’t know any better, and not a Master Assassin deserving of respect.
“We’re doing undercover work today, child, not going into a fight. I believe that just bringing along our hidden blades should suffice for today. Unless, of course, you believe yourself so incompetent that you require a full arsenal of weaponry with you at all times?”
Connor didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment, he was so angry. The Assassin reached past Haytham and picked his bracers up off of the rotting hunk of wood masquerading as a storage chest in the corner. He made especially sure that they were his bracers and not Haytham’s before putting them on. Connor already felt uncomfortable enough in Haytham’s body; he didn’t need to be using his father’s weapons as well.
“We meet back here at noon to plan further,” Haytham said as he put on his bracers. Without so much as wishing Connor luck, he leapt out of the still open window and was gone.
Connor growled angrily and punched the bed, his (Haytham’s) fist going straight through the mattress to its’ straw stuffing. It seemed that only Haytham could drive him to the point of feeling angry enough to throttle the first living thing he saw. As he leapt out the window and over the rooftops towards the docks, Connor wondered how in the world he was going to survive being stuck around (and in!) Haytham. He fervently hoped that they found the strange glowing crystal soon, or else he might go mad.
Fill: Body Swap Part 4a/?
It seems every time I work on this story, Haytham and Connor only want to argue with each instead of advancing the plot... -.-
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Haytham woke up from a fitful, restless sleep just as dawn was breaking over the horizon, faintly pinkish-orange light streaming in through the filthy window just above him. For one brief moment he hoped that last night had just been a truly awful dream, and he would find himself back in his own warm, comfortable bed at Fort George. That hope was ruthlessly squashed the second Haytham had fully opened his eyes to find himself on the floor of a dirty little inn, Connor’s crumpled and now rather smelly Assassin’s robe on the floor next to him. Haytham sat up, groaning, and slowly stretched out his (Connor’s) arm and leg muscles. He grimaced as he felt his (Connor’s) back pop. The Templar Grandmaster hated not having a proper bed to sleep in at the end of each day. It always left him feeling quite out of sorts the following morning.
Connor’s body was obviously quite well taken care of, the product of years of intense training and combat. It was very similar to Haytham’s body in terms of build, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. He could feel the strong cords of muscle in Connor’s abdomen, and frowned slightly. The boy’s body was filled with the power and vitality of a young fighter. Haytham’s body, although far from useless, had nevertheless passed its’ peak.
There were more similarities between father and son as well, Haytham noted while getting dressed in front of the dusty, cracked old mirror propped up in a corner of the room. Connor and he shared the same large hands with long, blunt fingers. Connor’s face was shaped similarly to his own. Haytham could see parts of himself in the shape of Connor’s jaw and the set of the boy’s mouth. They even had similar lips, for goodness sake! Yet Haytham could also see Ziio in Connor’s soft brown eyes, in his thick dark hair and bronze skin. He’d never admit it, but Haytham missed Ziio. He’d missed her every single day since he left her side. And here he’d somehow gotten stuck in the body of his son, the living, breathing product of their union. He tried hard not to think about how very, very wrong that was.
Haytham looked over at his son, still asleep on the floor. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to see his body in slumber like this – half-naked, curled up into a ball, graying hair slipping free of its’ tie fall across Connor’s (Haytham’s) cheek. He looked so peaceful asleep, with an expression of calm on his face. It was as if all the fighting, killing, and bloodshed Haytham had experienced and witnessed for most of his life had never happened. The Templar grandmaster wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Did he always look like this when he slept, or was it just because Connor currently inhabited his body?
Haytham didn’t bother to wake Connor up as he opened the window and leapt out. The boy would only be difficult and start arguments again with his many questions and doubts. He wanted some time to himself in order to process his thoughts. And Haytham needed to buy new clothes as well. He and Connor had taken most of theirs off last night before going to sleep, as the inn was filthy and smelly enough without having to wear things that were covered in bile. The boy had probably completely ruined what had been a perfectly good waistcoat.
Haytham was relieved to find that moving about in Connor’s body was fairly easy. Since Connor was still young, Haytham found he could use the kind of speed and strength that his body had lost with age, moving swiftly across rooftops and scaling walls with ease. He briefly felt sorry for his son, who’d undoubtedly gotten the raw end of the deal by getting stuck in an older body. Haytham wondered what sorts of things he could do with his keen mind, sharp with age and experience, when paired with a young, strong body.
He heard a child cry up from the street, “Look Mommy, there’s a man on the roof! What’s he doing up there?”
Haytham quickly went behind a chimney, cursing himself for having been so careless in the novelty of Connor’s body as to be spotted by a child. The girl’s mother must have caught a glimpse of him too, though, because Haytham heard her respond: “Oh, that’s just a savage man, dear. They do strange things sometimes. Don’t mind him, I’m sure the militia will take care of it.”
Haytham frowned. The woman’s words stung, and the fact that no one would have dared to speak to Haytham like that if he were in his body didn’t make it any better. He remembered the innkeeper’s words from last night about savages and half-breeds. Did Connor have to put up with this sort of thing every day? Perhaps Haytham had gotten a rawer deal than he’d first thought.
--
Haytham reached a general store just as it was opening, and selected a few shirts and breeches from their rather pitiful stock. The clothes were cheaply made and rather plain, but in this case beggars couldn’t be choosers. He paid the shop’s owner using Connor’s money – it was only fair, after Connor had handed over all of Haytham’s money to that bloody innkeeper woman. He was surprised at how much Connor had on him. There had to be at least a few hundred pounds in the boy’s purse, maybe even more. Haytham wondered where Connor had gotten it all. Had he stolen the money? Did Achilles give it to him? He resolved to ask upon returning to the inn.
On his way back, Haytham had used his second sight to check for enemies twice out of habit, before he realized that being able to use it at all right now meant that Connor also possessed Eagle Vision. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised – after all, one of the few things known about the strange ability was that it was passed down through the male family line. He’d used Eagle Vision last night too, now that he thought about it, although it hadn’t registered amidst his shock and panic. Using his second sight to periodically check his surroundings had become second nature to Haytham over the years, so much so that slipping in and out of it was ingrained into him like a reflex. It was a useful skill to have. He wondered how often the boy used it, or if he was even aware of the ability at all without a father to tell him…
Haytham felt a brief pang of guilt at that last thought, but it was quickly smothered upon reaching the inn and seeing Connor halfway out of the open window, clearly preparing to leap out onto the nearby rooftop. In Haytham’s body. Haytham’s half-naked body. The boy clearly hadn’t wanted to put the waistcoat back on.
“What are you doing, boy?!” He hissed, leaping forward and bodily dragging Connor away from the window. The two of them tumbled backwards, landing in a heap on the hard wooden floor of their room. A few grunts and muffled curses were uttered as the two disentangled themselves and got back to their feet.
“What in bloody hell were you doing, Connor?!” Haytham cried. “You could have – ” He abruptly stopped. Telling Connor, “You could have injured my body,” was probably not the most…tactful thing to say, given the circumstances. “You could have been hurt,” he said instead.
“I was going to look for you!” Connor yelled back. “Last night you were talking about how we needed to start looking for the crystal first thing in the morning, and then when I wake up, you are not here! What was I supposed to do, sit here in the inn and hope you came back?”
“That was exactly what you were supposed to do! I only went out to get some decent clothing for us to wear. I couldn’t have been gone for more than an hour, and you were already prepared to go running about New York half-dressed! What do you think that would have looked like to the general public?”
Connor’s (Haytham’s) eyes narrowed, and his (Haytham’s) mouth turned downwards in contempt. “Yes, father,” he said, voice full of quiet anger. “I would hate to have damaged the body and ruined the reputation of a proper Englishman, obviously.”
“Connor…” Haytham trailed off as the Assassin turned and went to stand in front of the window at the other side of the room, his back to Haytham, one hand running through Haytham’s hair in a clear sign of irritation. “Oh fine, be a petulant child, then. At least put some clothes on.” Haytham tossed a pair of breeches and a shirt in Connor’s direction, before changing out of the boy’s Assassin robes himself.
Connor reluctantly picked up the clothes. They would be better than going around in just Haytham’s breeches, at least. As he put them on, Connor couldn’t help but notice the many scars that littered his father’s body. Haytham’s stomach was crisscrossed in a myriad of lines from swords and knives. The puckered flesh just above his right pectoral appeared to be from a bullet wound. The pink scar tissue on Haytham’s right shin looked like a stab wound, and Connor could feel part of a very long, raised scar on the Templar’s back as well. He glanced quickly over at Haytham, who was currently yanking on a pair of breeches. How long had his father been a Templar, Connor wondered. What sorts of things had he done? Haytham obviously felt strongly for the Templar Order and its’ cause, strongly enough to leave Ziio and her unborn child for them. What had enticed the man over to their side?
“Alright,” Haytham said, effectively breaking Connor out of his thoughts. “We need to start looking for the crystal.”
“Obviously,” Connor muttered. Haytham glared at him.
“Don’t interrupt me, child. Now, you should go down to the docks by the harbor. They’re a hive of gossip. Anything new or interesting item in the city, like that crystal, is bound to get noticed and talked about at the docks. Poke around, listen to people’s conversations, and see what you can uncover. And for God’s sake, be discreet! We don’t need you blundering about like you were when we were trying to find Church.”
“And what will you be doing, father?” Connor asked, with a pointed glare at Haytham. He was at the end of his patience with Haytham constantly ordering him about and demanding that he do things. This time, Connor wanted to make sure that he wasn’t the one stuck doing all the dirty work.
“Never you mind,” Haytham said, casually waving his hand in dismissal. “Just get going, and - ”
“No,” Connor interrupted. He couldn’t believe that Haytham had the gall to order his son around while occupying said son’s body. That smarmy, holier-than-thou attitude of his was definitely not something Connor was happy about seeing in his own body. “Either you tell me what you are planning to do today, or I really will go around town naked today. And I won’t just stick to the rooftops, either.”
Haytham went visibly pale at the thought. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “If you must know, I’m going back to the alleyway we woke up in last night. It’s the last place we saw the crystal, after all, and I want to check the area thoroughly. There may be some clues as to what happened to the crystal there.”
Connor nodded his assent, and Haytham inwardly marveled at just how easy it was to get the boy to believe him. Did his son’s naivete know no bounds? Achilles Davenport must be a poor teacher indeed, if his student was still this gullible.
“I suppose we should be leaving now, then?” Connor reached out for his bow and quiver, both of which Haytham had propped up against the bed before going to sleep.
“Are you mad, Connor?” You can’t take those with you! In case you haven’t noticed, the people of New York do not regularly carry Native weapons with them. You’ll only attract attention this way.”
“So you would have me go unarmed?” Connor said through gritted teeth. Inwardly, he chafed at how Haytham spoke to him, as if Connor was an idiot who didn’t know any better, and not a Master Assassin deserving of respect.
“We’re doing undercover work today, child, not going into a fight. I believe that just bringing along our hidden blades should suffice for today. Unless, of course, you believe yourself so incompetent that you require a full arsenal of weaponry with you at all times?”
Connor didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment, he was so angry. The Assassin reached past Haytham and picked his bracers up off of the rotting hunk of wood masquerading as a storage chest in the corner. He made especially sure that they were his bracers and not Haytham’s before putting them on. Connor already felt uncomfortable enough in Haytham’s body; he didn’t need to be using his father’s weapons as well.
“We meet back here at noon to plan further,” Haytham said as he put on his bracers. Without so much as wishing Connor luck, he leapt out of the still open window and was gone.
Connor growled angrily and punched the bed, his (Haytham’s) fist going straight through the mattress to its’ straw stuffing. It seemed that only Haytham could drive him to the point of feeling angry enough to throttle the first living thing he saw. As he leapt out the window and over the rooftops towards the docks, Connor wondered how in the world he was going to survive being stuck around (and in!) Haytham. He fervently hoped that they found the strange glowing crystal soon, or else he might go mad.