Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is a reupload of a collaborative story that was uploaded in early 2013 and quickly turned into something far bigger than I could have ever imagined, with over hundreds of comments and kudos and close to 500k words.

Firstly, to new readers I wanna say, welcome. To old readers, welcome back. To old readers who kept asking me to reupload, THANK YOU. This wouldn't be happening if it weren't for you guys. Your support kept me motivated and invested into this world I helped build.

To those who don't know, and that will probably be most of you, Vindication was/is a modern day AU that started as an RP between me and my at-the-time best friend; me under the name NecrosisDemon writing as Connor, and she went by the online alias girlsloveyaoi and wrote the most a-ma-zing Haytham ever. Whatever I may think of her now, I will never stop loving her take on Haytham and she deserves all the praise for it.

I am fully aware that incest is a very controversial topic, even in fiction. I know that there are plenty in the AC fandom who enjoy the Conhayth pairing, and that there are plenty who don't. I ask that you don't write off this story purely because of the pairing and the reason for that is... it's difficult to explain without going into spoiler territory, but we wanted to write a different take on it, a believable take. An understandable one. Again, it's impossible to properly explain what I mean.

If anything, the first handful of chapters are completely Conhayth free and are instead very Haytham/Ziio centric, and hopefully by then the plot will have sucked you in ;) Honestly, I'm not worried.

Vindication went through various ups and downs over its lifetime; it's a very plot heavy, and an emotionally charged story to write. Great fun but we had to take breaks, and there was more than one hiatus.

But we've always said that we would continue this story and see it finished.

That was still true as recent as May the third, 2020, when me and girlsloveyaoi were discussing Vindication's comeback over discord, that we were gonna pick it up again. We were very very excited about it all. That conversation was the last time I talked to her, she never came online again after that, never answered any of my worried messages. I assumed her online disappearance was related to covid and hoped that it wasn't the worst case scenario. She was in America, I was in Europe and I had no other way of contacting her.

The next time I heard from her, though not directly, was on the 23^th of July, 2020, when I received an email from AO3 that Vindication had been deleted at girlsloveyaoi's request, with no way to restore it. Trust me, I tried.

There was no explanation from her, still no answers and a few days later all of her socials were gone too, including her discord. There were no fights, no arguments. To this day I still don't have an answer as to “why?”.

Fortunately, within a few days of Vindication's deletion, I received messages from old readers who asked me where the story had gone, what had happened to it and if I needed their saved copy. Again, I cannot express how incredibly thankful I am for those messages and the support. A good thing I have this very stubborn habit of saving all of my docs and files, so nothing was truly lost.

I vowed that I would restore this story and get it back online. Before its deletion I had already started going through chapters to fix leftover typos and tiny plot holes as well as try to improve how it read by shuffling some sentences around and changing some words here and there. I had only done the first chapter at this point, but I figured... if I'm gonna put it back online, I might as well revise all of it and also upload the chapters we never uploaded before. Because yes, those exist.

I gotta be honest though, the motivation to actually do this... I had a hard time finding it. I had a hard time 'getting over' what I kinda see as a betrayal. Girlsloveyaoi and me were friends for close to 10 years, we've written dozens of stories together and we both saw Vindication as our brain baby. We were both so proud of it.

It took me a long time to come to terms with what happened and move on, and by that time I could finally make myself to work on the chapters and get it ready for reuploading. I realize that it's been forever, I don't know if any of our old readers are still around (if you are, please say hi) but honestly, there is no better day than today to start reuploading.

Because we started this story exactly 10 years ago, 27^th of November, 2012. Happy ten years anniversary, Vindi! :)

So. I will upload one chapter every Sunday, including the unfinished chapter plus the three chapters of the sequel. And maybe, maybe – no promises! - I will manage to actually finish writing the story instead of including a synopsis of how it was going to end. It will mean I will have to take on the role of Haytham, and while I am intimately familiar with the character, I don't know if I'll be able to do him justice. So again, no promises. All I can promise is that I will try and do my best. I set the chapter count to 30 because that's the amount of chapters I can guarantee as of this moment.

Girlsloveyaoi deserves her share of credit for her contributions to Vindication, her characterization of Haytham as well as certain plot points and ideas... but as far as I'm concerned, she threw away her right to have a say in what happens to this story when she deleted it without talking to me first, and so I don't feel bad about reuploading. Please don't be nasty about what she did though. I'm over it.

I hope you enjoy this story just as much as I enjoyed working on it for all those years. Thank you for your continued support and to new readers; thank you for giving this story a chance.

If anyone has questions I'll be happy to answer them.

Lastly, I fortunately managed to save close to 200 comments from the original upload as well as some old tumblr stuff, and I will post some of my favorites below, the ones that aren't filled with spoilers anyway, can't post those. (and yes they're here to entice you and I will not apologize for it lol, they're awesome comments and I love them).

(aaahhhh good ol' 2013 era tumblr asks lmao)

Chapter Text

(old chapter art by me)

“-I want your completed essays on the Seven Year's War on my desk by Tuesday, no excuses. That means you too, Mr. Miles. Off you go.”

The scraping of chairs over the floor filled the classroom as the students quickly gathered their things and rushed to get out, to celebrate the freedom of the weekend. One person remained seated, slumped over his desk while he plucked at a dirty corner of his book with his fingers. Today he was going to do it... or at least, that's what he kept telling himself. Deciding to do it was one thing, actually doing it was on a whole different level. But it wouldn't leave his mind... ever since he'd read in the newspaper that the Kenway Corporation – the largest business in the world for nuclear medicine and radioactive pharmaceuticals – would be opening a new head office here in New York and that Mr. Kenway himself would be taking the top seat there... of course the name didn't have to mean anything. Plenty of people with the name Kenway, could be a coincidence, it probably was... but whenever he asked mother about it she would skirt around the issue and avoid answering.

And that left him with even more questions. Mother had never told him his father's first name, why she wouldn't say, and she'd always been secretive about what kind of a man he was, and what he did for a living.

Connor had never met his father, had never talked to him, didn't even know what he looked like. He knew that his mother kept in touch with him, but only sporadically.

Never even so much as a happy birthday from him... or a 'congratulations' when he graduated from high school. Nothing. Zip. Nada!

And if this guy, this... Mr. Kenway , really was his father, then that would make it even worse. A rich, powerful bastard like that... and he couldn't even be bothered to financially support his family. Connor could care less about himself, he just wanted to see his mother happy, to see her stop worrying about their financial troubles. He wasn't interested in meeting his father... but he would talk to the guy to get him to pay his part like he should and clearly hadn't all these years!

Of course, assuming that Mr. Kenway of Kenway Corporations truly was his father. That was still up for debate.

“You coming, Connor?”

A hand pressed down on his shoulder and Connor looked up, staring right into the face of his best friend and geeky history nerd Shaun Hastings, who looked at him with a slightly worried look in his eyes. Clearing his throat Connor nodded and pushed his chair back, hastily beginning to stuff his books into his bag. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?” he asked as he stuffed a book inside with more force than was necessary.

“Well, are you still going through with it?”

No answer. Connor hoisted his bag over his shoulder and waved at his history teacher, professor Davenport before leaving the classroom. Shaun followed closely behind him. “Look, I know you want to meet your dad and all-”

“I don't want to meet my dad, Shaun. I want nothing to do with him. I do this for my mother.”

“Yeah okay, fair enough, but what are you going to say to the man, Connor? You can't just run up to him and say, 'Hey, I'm your long lost son, lets go out camping and have some quality bonding time!' especially when you don't even know if he's really your dad. And-”

Shaun's hand on his shoulder stopped him and Connor sighed... he wasn't in the mood for this, he had already made up his mind and nothing his friend could say would dissuade him from it.

“How are you even going to get to him, Connor? He's a fancy suit, you're not even going to get past the security at the front door, let alone the lobby.”

“I'll figure something out.”

“Con-”

“See you next week, gotta run!”

Shaun was a good guy and a great friend... but he was a little too pushy at times. Leaving his friend in the hallway Connor quickly ran towards the University's exit, dodging around students and professors alike. The new Kenway Corporation tower was only two blocks away by bus and though he'd seen it on TV before, it... really looked a lot bigger from up close. Craning his neck he couldn't even see the top.

Shifting his bag he eyed the entrance and the grumpy looking security guard that accompanied it. Various men and women in suits and other fancy outfits walked in and out of the building, clutching their briefcases and cellphones and Connor was instantly aware of the image he must present, with his dirty boots and his long, weathered coat flapping in the strong autumn winds. Taking a deep breath he brushed a stray strand of ink black hair behind his ear, so stubborn it would never stay in his braid, and walked up the steps.

For a second he feared that the guard would stop him but all he did was give him dirty, wary looks and Connor quickly brushed past him into the lobby.

The bright light and clean white floor inside nearly blinded him and he looked up, taking in the many elevators, escalators and more fancy business people one could shake a fist at. Just the lobby alone was huge and intimidating... despite the directional signs everywhere he wouldn't even know where to go... except outside again, though that wasn't an option. He was here now, so he wasn't-

“Can I help you?”

Connor whirled around and looked around before spotting a woman seated behind a desk. She looked to be some kind of secretary and she was looking straight at him, nodding as she caught his gaze. Swallowing thickly Connor made his way towards her, noting how she had her hair tightly tied into a neat bun on her head and nothing in her clothes was wrinkled or out of place. Even her name tag was lined up so precisely it was almost unnatural.

“Can I help you?” she asked again and tapped the butt of her pen on the desk. Impatient.

“Um... yes, I'm here to see... um, Mr. Kenway...?”

A thin eyebrow raised and Connor wanted nothing more than to turn around and run away as far as he could, because this was starting to feel like a bad idea. A very bad idea.

“Right, and do you have an appointment?”

“Well... no, but-”

A sigh. “I see. Mr. Kenway is a very busy man, sir. If you want to see him you will have to make an appointment, though I can't see how someone of your...” A quick glance up a down, taking in the mud on his boots and the frayed edges of his school bag. “-stature would even stand a chance.”

“Hey now, just me hear me out alright? Mr. Kenway is-”

“You do remember where the exit is, do you? Or do I have to call security?”

“But-” People were staring, he noticed. Looking around he saw that people had actually stopped and were staring at him, looking so out of place. Oh fuck he should totally get out of here while he still could. He should never have come here, he should – he caught how the woman behind the desk reached for a phone, no doubt to call security and Connor reacted before he could stop himself, reaching over the desk and snatching her wrist to stop her. “No wait, he's my father!”

-=-=-=-

She blinked, once, then twice, unable to hold in the rolling chuckle to escape her mouth. Half the lobby heard, words rolling off the wall with an echo. She stood with a simple clack of high heels, amusement gleaming in her dark eyes. "Yes, yes of course you are. I'm sure the other five hundred or so persons claiming as much per year actually are as well. How Mr. Kenway manages all of his children and lovers while on such a tight schedule is beyond us all."

She sneered and picked up the phone once more, pressing a small dispatch button to alert security. As if a Kenway would appear rustic and in such attire, if the worn coat and mud stained boots could be called as much.

~*~

"We're still on for dinner Thursday, right?"

A gleaming smile beckoned his friend, the two casually walking into a pristine elevator. "Of course, Charles, you're a horrible gambler if I've ever seen one. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to watch you loose a massive paycheck."

"Flatterer."

Haytham said nothing, eyeing the landscape from his glass elevator, the Empire State building in clear sight despite its distance. The cars below hummed by, taxis a whiz of yellow when not coming to halt at lights, pedestrians a flutter with cell phones and brief cases. A sense of hurry, hustle and bustle. He’d grown more than accustomed to as much, even if his last day here had been decades ago. The cityscape changed little, save for the absence of a few buildings. And people.

Fingers twitched and stopped as instantaneously as they began, his hand hovering near his phone. Another time, perhaps when he grew accustomed to the city, he'd say hello once more. It had been a few months now, he should write something to her.

His fingers typed away quickly, Charles answering his own phone as they descended further, the text message brief.

Hello. Hope all is well with you. How's the boy? Do you require assistance of some sort? Financial, economical, to the point- he could provide anything they'd want. So long as they didn't ask for the impossible.

He could hear the commotion behind heavy doors, Charles raising an eyebrow in question. "What do you suppose it's about now?"

"Couldn't imagine, really." Wryly, he adjusted the navy blue suit jacket, pressed white dress shirt rustling as he stepped out. Charles would tell him to wait until security dealt with the problem, but it was of little use. Haytham got what he wanted, simple as that.

"He is my father, I'm not lying!"

Brows furrowed, and dark eyes rolled as Haytham watched security from a distance. Oh bother, not this again.

Larger men in uniform escorted what appeared to be a very tan young man - from a distance he observed a blur of color in dark hair, and with a few long strides he recognized them as beads, a feather looming in dark hair, tousled into a face that bore his features.

His features...

Blood ran cold in his veins, but Haytham stood his ground and watched the young man getting pulled from his building, boots leaving a trail of mud in his wake as he struggled still. He felt Charles before he saw him, shaking his head. "Oy, there goes another loon. What does that make, claim number seven this month?"

"Eighth." Nonchalant and poised, the young man fought still, with conviction. "Excuse me a moment, Charles." With lead filled legs he approached, face as pleasantly neutral as always. "That's enough, no need to be too rough." The secretary turned to him, bewildered but respectful.

"Sir?"

"I'd like a word with the lad, alone." It wasn't particularly surprising, he did this from time to time with the obviously less fortunate ones, and the secretary nodded, casting the boy a glare. He didn't deserve the kindness.

"Of course sir."

-=-=-=-

“Come along, sir!” Two strong pairs of hands grabbed him by his arms and began dragging him away from the desk towards the exit. Connor dug his heels into the tiled floor, dragging mud over the clean white ceramic as he struggled and pulled against their hold.

“No wait! Wait! Just let me talk to him!”

“Not a chance, kid!”

Goddammit! Twisting around Connor managed to wring his arm free from the guard and quickly jerked himself loose, running back towards the secretary. She reeled backwards in her chair as he slammed his hands on the desk. “Just tell him that Connor Kenway was here! He'll know the name. Promise you'll tell him!”

The woman just looked at him with wide open eyes, clearly thinking that he was some kid of lunatic, and seconds later the two guards seized him again. This time their grip on him was much stronger, more forceful and again they began dragging him back towards the exit doors.

“Tell him!” He yelled at the secretary and winced as the guard's grip on his upper arms turned bruising. They were nearly out of the doors when another fancy suit walked up towards them, raising his hand. "That's enough, no need to be too rough."

Connor frowned, looking the man up and down. Clean, ironed clothes like all the others, minus brief case, not a hair out of place, with shiny polished black shoes and an expensive watch around his wrist. What did this guy want?

"I'd like a word with the lad, alone."

The security guards nodded and let go, putting him back on his feet before stepping back, though they lingered near just in case. Connor scowled at them and rubbed his arms – yep that was going to bruise – and looked at the man again. This wouldn't happen to be... him? If that was the case, he honestly couldn't see what his mother saw in him, with his brown hair, beginning to grey at the roots, kept tied back into a pony-tail with a red ribbon of all things – so old fashioned.

Re-positioning his bag so that the strap sat more comfortably on his shoulder he pushed his hands into his pockets and waited. He doubted the man wanted a word with him here, in the lobby with everyone still watching and the secretary and the guards still scowling at him.

There was another man standing behind the first one, greasy black hair clinging to his skull, but he didn't seem to be the one in charge. There was an air of authority around him, sure, but it paled in comparison to pony-tail boy over here.

He looked at the first man again and twitched his fingers. Had to be him... who else would bother to talk to him if he wasn't? “You're Kenway?”

-=-=-=-

An up and down glance over, followed by a roll of dark brown eyes. Ah, a charming one at that, but Haytham was nothing if not patient. He allowed the boy a few moments, letting him adjust to his surroundings, prepared to turn heel and walk with him to a more secluded lounge, the type of place with comfortable chairs and perhaps a snag of food about. Dealing with these situations often, he'd developed a sort of routine handling them, growing accustomed-

"You're Kenway?"

Well, he certainly wasn't accustomed to one so blunt. Nor rude; the boy asked it with a flat, completely uncaring tone, an accusation more than a question, as if he expected something much more than the man before him. He hadn't been addressed in such a manner in a long, long time.

"Yes, yes I am." He turned to walk regardless, signaling for Charles to stay put when he made an attempt to follow, and made a bee line towards the lounge. A short distance and a shut door away, he sat in an overstuffed leather chair, loosening his watch and tie as he always did, and watched dark, unimpressed eyes meet him from the seat adjacent.

Ziio told no lies. The occasional picture she sent him did the boy no justice; they bore the same lips and nose, the same strong jaw, but with enough of Ziio's genes to prevent questioning. Darker and brooding, he took on the few scant freckles and darker complexion of his mother, looking at him with what were her brown eyes.

He lips twitched upwards but he fought it. Evidently, her short brisk attitude was also inherited.

Part of him thought maybe she put him up to this, but it made no sense; even with his move back to the States, Ziio simply wasn't that type of person. He'd offered money, shelter, finer clothing, a better place to live, anything tangible, and save for the rare funds kept, she rejected them all, to his displeasure. No, blackmail wasn't her style, she was far too forthright and blunt. So what was this really about?

He stood to ready tea. No leaves here but the bags he had bought were of reasonable quality, and he sat with grace, extending his arm pleasantly. "And to who do I owe the pleasure of conversing?" As if he didn't really know.

-=-=-=-

Right, well, that was clear. Connor followed, sparing Charles a glance as the man attempted to follow before stopping, and walked into the lounge as Haytham closed the door behind them. This room wasn't as blindingly white and unnatural looking as the lobby but it was still too fancy for his tastes.

He ran a finger over the back of one of the leather chairs as he looked at the fireplace, the hard wooden table, the decorations, not even wanting to know how much it had all cost. No doubt he and mom could have paid rent for half a year with all the money that had gone into this room alone.

Watching Haytham take a seat and begin to take off his watch and tie, Connor gritted his teeth and slipped his bag's strap down his shoulder, setting it on the ground next to an empty chair before sitting down in it himself – the leather creaked under his weight and whenever he moved, indicating that it was still new. Comfortable though... very comfortable.

Drumming his fingers on the arm rests Connor met his father's gaze without a flinch, letting him stare all he wanted or felt necessary. He couldn't help but wonder what the man was thinking, whether he already knew who he was and why he was here. Would he even be taken seriously? It was obvious that the bastard didn't even care... perhaps this was all a waste of time anyway.

He watched as Haytham stood up to prepare tea and he raised his eyebrows – and here Shaun always insisted that they should stop making fun of the whole 'British-people-are-addicted-to-tea' thing just because he liked the stuff, and here was Kenway, clearly a Brit with that accent... preparing tea.

Connor snorted behind his hand and cleared his throat, folding his fingers and resting them in his lap. “Can't you guess?” he fired back. Clearly not. “Do you even realize who I am? I assume you at least know of my existence even though you've never bothered to actually acknowledge it... dad .” He spat out the last word and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and fixed his father with an angry stare. “What I'm here to find out is why you left mom. Why you left her to fend for herself raising me for twenty years. You came back to New York a few weeks ago with your fancy tower and your fancy suits and you haven't even bothered to make contact!”

Slamming his hands on the arm rests of the chair Connor suddenly rose to his feet and jabbed a finger in Haytham's direction, lips pulled back into an angry grimace, eyes narrowed. “Why did you abandon mom?”

-=-=-=-

Well, so much for niceties. It was worth a try, though he should have known better. Ziio raised him after all, sharp as a tack.

The pleasant smile faded into an empty mask of nothingness, the word used as weapon, not that he expected any less. He and Ziio had agreed never to mention what had happened, who he was, why he didn’t stay even though he had wanted to. Ziio kept her word. A good woman, truly, with good intentions always.

Though it seemed the latter point was moot, Haytham stayed silent through the accusations, looking at the finger directed at his chest. And as horrible as he felt for saying it, it had to be said.

"I don't know your name, I'm afraid." His face remained blank, voice holding a soft tone to it. "I never asked, she never told me. As for the rest, that is between her and I. There are some things children are simply not meant to know." Pale grey eyes stared into the brown depths before him, offering nothing but a cold and blank demeanor in the face of passionate rage.

"If you need assistance, financial or otherwise, by all means contact me." He glanced at the bag on the floor, a second hand text book poking out. "Tuition, books – education is of the utmost importance - a car, insurance for it, an apartment, whatever you need. I've no problem providing you with the very best, or your mother for that matter." Who had clearly lied about her financial burdens, something he'd address in his own way.

"Ziio will tell you how to contact me for necessities. Until then, goodbye and good luck." Like he would to any stranger, he simply shut the stove and walked away, keeping his eyes in front of him as he marched towards the door. He was many things; a provider, a business man, a success... but not a father.

That would never change.

-=-=-=-

That stung, learning that Haytham had never even bothered to ask for his son's name. Of course Connor hadn't expected anything else but it still hurt... that showed how much he cared. None. Nothing. Not a penny. Couldn't care less.

He scoffed at the offer for assistance. He wouldn't accept any of it, not for himself anyway. He had a job, he did what he could to help pay for rent and food and bills. Ziio worked too, and together they managed. Whatever financial aid Haytham was willing to give, he would only accept to help his mother, to stop her worries, nothing more, but only if they really needed to. But they weren't that desperate yet, he could handle himself. His job was only part-time, as a waiter in a lunchroom nearby. Whatever free time he had left after his job and school time was spent on homework and studying... he looked forward to the moments where he actually had time for himself, when he could go out into the woods and escape the chaos of the city. Nature was so much calmer... there was nothing better than just sitting high up in a tree, listening to the sounds of animals skittering through the bushes and the soft trickle of a small nearby stream; it helped him think.

"Ziio will tell you how to contact me for necessities. Until then, goodbye and good luck."

Connor frowned and turned his head to watch his father get up and make for the door. What, that was it? Just like that, thank you, goodbye? What a dick! His fingers clenched into the leather, forcing his anger back down. Such an asshole... One would think that meeting your father after so many years would be a joyful occasion, yet this wasn't improving his mood at all. Hell, he didn't know his name either... Read it in the newspaper though... something with a H... Harry or Harold or something.

Bah, whatever. Grabbing his bag he stood up and slung it over his shoulder, following after Haytham and sped up his step to reach the door before he did. It was clear that they were done here. “It's Connor, by the way. Thanks for giving a damn.” he hissed as he passed the man and pushed the door open to enter the lobby. He couldn't waste more time here anyway, his shift would start in less than an hour and he hadn't even dropped off his things yet.

He had no more time to waste on his lousy excuse of a dead-beat father.

-=-=-=-

Haytham expected a lot of things, again, he was accustomed to this. Granted this was the first child he was responsible for rearing but it was nothing out of the ordinary.

He didn't need to give the boy an explanation, about his mother and what had happened decades ago, her decision and his plight… there was a reason he took no part in his son's life. He had reservations at first but they fled as Ziio gave him ample time in his younger years, time to focus on success, power, and wealth. Everything he fought for, he had reached.

“It's Connor, by the way. Thanks for giving a damn.”

He stopped, dead in his tracks, and watched the boy – Connor – disappear through the door, likely to never be seen or heard from again. He wouldn't seek him out, he'd be like his mother; she sent the occasional picture but little else, their e-mails brief. It was better that way. He'd be forgotten as the waste of a father who provided nothing, a tiny blip in the radar of Connor's life.

Composure back in place, he shook his head and grinned at Charles, who shook his head back. "How much money did that one want?"

"Oh, not much, it never does take much." Waving to his secretary, he picked up his pace, walking out the doors Connor fled through moments prior, Charles on his heels. That was the last he'd hear of him, the last time he'd deal with him. To more important matters, to bigger and better things as it were.

To laughing at Charles' folly and horrible luck at gambling, to a night taking in the sights, the smell of salt wafting as gulls chirped their last for the evening. As the sun faded the lights beckoned bright, alcohol abundant and lovers waiting, wanting, and willing. The world was at his doorstep, the sky was his view point.

Yet he looked down at the people on the street below from the sky line view of his office. He had everything he'd set to achieve so very long ago.

The minutes ticked by, his fingers lightly tapping the mouse-less pad of his laptop, the screen emanating a glow in the darkness. A few brief clicks and there it was, a face to the name at long last, the first picture Ziio sent him. The first time she contacted him in almost six years.

A meadow, one he had recognized as one they frequented with a particularly twisting tree covered in moss. There he was, on a tattered blanket, attempting to touch the hare right beyond his feet. The scanned picture still bore the date; he was five at the time. He remembered the letter, brief, and his own response an odd month later, a paraphrased ' yes he's a handsome lad.' That was all they'd written for three months to follow.

His fingers shook as they dialed – no way she'd have the same number, but she may. Such a creature of habit, she may have kept it...

Twice, three times, four then five, almost to the answering machine before it picked up, the dead pan voice deeper, tired, but the same. "Who are you and why are you calling at this hour?"

Haytham could but smile, reclining in his seat. "Connor? Really Ziio, you could pick no better name?"

-=-=-=-

As expected, Connor did not try to contact his father a second time. It was clear from the things Haytham had told him that he and Ziio had decided that for whatever reason, it was best he grew up not knowing a single bit about his father. Why, he couldn't even fathom. It made no sense. Children needed not only a mother when growing up, but a father as well. They needed a male figure in their life, and he never had one. Not a real one anyway...

Not knowing who his father was had always bothered him a little, but it wasn't until Haytham came to New York permanently that those bitter feelings began to grow like a tumor.

After his visit he'd gone to his job acting like nothing had happened. He'd kept it from his mother, not telling her that he'd found the man who was his father on paper and by blood, but not in anything else. She clearly didn't wanted him to know, so why worry her with it?

The only two people he did tell were Shaun, and Myriam, his other best friend and nature buddy. They'd both reacted pretty much as he'd expected them too, with genuine interest, curious to what kind of person Haytham was, Shaun asking what it was like meeting the rich father you'd never known and Myriam wanting to know whether he was hot or not (he'd chosen not to answer that one). Both offered their sympathies and exchanged wincing looks when he told them that it hadn't changed anything, except giving him a face to the man he'd always considered an useless asshole. Which he truly was.

They'd both given him his word to keep it a secret and to never speak of it again, and though they kept giving him worrying glances whenever Haytham or Kenway Corporation was mentioned on the news or by people passing by making the occasional joke about him and Haytham sharing the same last name, Connor was glad they kept their word and remained silent about it.

He didn't want to talk about it, and they respected that, as true friends did. Life kept going and Haytham Kenway wasn't going to change that, nor be a part of it.

~*~

It was a week after his disastrous meeting with his father when Connor returned home from his evening shift. It was pouring outside, a typical New York autumn storm and he was already soaked through and through by the time he reached the small apartment he rented with his mother.

A warm gush of air welcomed him inside as he opened the door and quickly stepped in to escape the rain, closing it behind him. Ziio's voice drifted towards him from the living room as he dropped his bag on the floor and peeled off his wet jacket, blowing some wet strands of hair out of his face. Oh man, he was desperate for a hot shower and dry clothes!

Figuring that Ziio was on the phone with someone Connor remained silent and toed his boots off, shoving them into a corner with the other shoes before making his way to the kitchen – something to drink first, then a shower. As he passed the living room though, he stopped, frowning as he heard his name mentioned. Stepping back he peeked through the door opening, watching his mother pace around near the window with the telephone pressed to her ear. She was talking about him to someone... who...?

“-never told me he'd come to find you. I didn't notice anything different about his behavior, he's like he's always been... no... no not like that... I guess. What did he want from you anyway? Did he ask for money?”

Well three guesses who was on the other side of the line! Grinding his teeth together Connor stepped into the living room just as Ziio turned around, eyes widening as she spotted him.

“Connor, I didn't hear you come home!”

“Give me the phone.”

Ziio clearly hesitated, frowning and glancing at the phone before looking back at her son, who extended his hand with a frustrated look on his face. “I know who it is you're talking to, mom. Please give me the phone.”

Her frown deepened and again she hesitated before sighing deeply. “It's Connor, he wants to talk to you.” she said into the speaker before handing the phone to Connor, who promptly canceled the call with a press of a button without even bothering to say something to Haytham.

“Connor!”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

His soft tone caught her off guard and for a moment she could only stare and watch as Connor placed the phone back into its charger before turning to face her again. “You must have known I would find out eventually. I did. So why?”

With another deep sigh Ziio rubbed her forehead and sank down onto the couch – this was not what she had expected to have to deal with when she woke up this morning. “Your father and I... we first thought it best if you grew up not knowing-”

“How could you ever think that was best?!”

“Connor, let me finish! Do not interrupt me.”

Grumbling Connor flopped down into a chair as well and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her with an expectant, angry look in his eyes.

Normally she wouldn't tolerate his rude attitude but... this was a sensitive and difficult subject for him, she understood that.

“Haytham and I had been seeing each other on and off for a few months. He was already on his way on becoming very successful, and he didn't have a lot of time.”

“So you were just a fling to him?”

“No. No, nothing like that. He tried to see me whenever he could, but his company was growing fast and it demanded a lot of his time and I understood that. Respected it. I was patient. And when it happened, it....” she hesitated, remembering her own actions. “It…it was best that you didn’t know.”

“Because of the company? So what, I was an accident to him?”

“No! Of course not! Why would you even say such a thing?”

“Because he doesn't even give a damn about me, about us!”

“That is not true, Connor...”

“Is it?” he hissed back and stood up, hands clenching into fists as he began pacing back and fro. “For twenty years he knew I existed yet he never even bothered to even acknowledge it until I showed up in his face! Never a happy birthday, never even a phone call or a message or a card, nothing. He admitted to not even knowing my name because he never bothered to ask you all those years! If that doesn't scream 'I don't care' I don't know what does!”

“He cares, Connor... he loves you, in his own unique way. He has always been like that...”

“No he doesn't, he brushed me off like I wasn't even worth his precious time.”

“You caught him off guard, at his work no less. He didn't expect y-”

“It shouldn't matter! If he truly cared he would have made time for me!”

“Son...”

“You say he cares. Well, he has a funny way of showing it, except that it isn't funny it all.” With that he abruptly turned around and marched back into the hallway, Ziio following closely behind him where she caught him angrily putting on his boots.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm going out.”

“It's nearly 1AM, you can't g- Connor!” Too late, he'd already grabbed his still dripping jacket and pulled it on before opening the door and running down the steps into the torrential rain.

“Connor!” She called again, and again, but he quickly disappeared around a corner and out of sight. Who knew when he would be back... this wasn't the first time Connor had run off because of something that bothered him; he had his favorite spots in the city and in the forest, and sometimes he would go to one of his friend's places... but it never sat well with her. Connor could take care of himself but New York at night was still a dangerous place and he hadn't even taken his wallet, phone or his keys with him this time.

He always returned home at some point after he cooled off, but she would stay awake waiting and worrying until he did, hoping that he wouldn't do something stupid. He was smart, but too naive for his own good at times. It had gotten him into trouble before.

Gently closing the front door Ziio turned on the coffee maker, knowing that she would need a lot of it this night, and then walked back into the living room to pick up the phone, dialing Haytham's number. To explain, to apologize for the abrupt ending of the call, to... talk. She needed to talk. She could only hope that he would pick up.

-=-=-=-

Silence greeted him, Haytham's lips twitching as the surprised but calm voice spoke to him for the first time in over twenty years.

“Haytham?” A whisper on her lips, and she almost didn’t believe it, but his accent, the tone of his voice, and the mention of their son… but it couldn’t be, it simply couldn’t be, right?

“Yes, Ziio?”

Another pause, and Ziio found herself breathing heavily, taking refuge in a weather beaten chair. He knew Connor’s name, there wasn’t a reason why he should, unless…

Haytham could practically here her mind processing the information. He gave her time, phone pressed to his cheek as he went through the ten or so pictures she had sent over the last two decades. One could hardly blame her for needing a moment, especially given the circumstances. There was simply so much they had to say, wanted to say, and yet again circumstances prevented them from voicing their minds. Instead, Ziio focused at the task at hand while Haytham focused on the sound of her soft breathing.

In under a minute that voice chimed in again, exhausted around the edges. “ Did he at least avoid making a scene upon finding you? ”

“Define ‘scene.’”

“… so it was that bad?”

“I’m not one to fabricate, Ziio.” Or not to her, anyway, but that went without saying.

He could almost hear her sigh, and when she responded she sounded softer yet older. “ How… what happened? ”

“Nothing exciting. Connor has a very direct approach, claiming I’m his father in the middle of the lobby.”

Ziio’s eyes shut, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Oh yes, that destroyed any doubt in her mind. “ Did security get involved? ”

“He was practically thrown out by them, though I headed him off, brought him to a lounge to speak. Naturally events escalated, as my charming demeanor made itself known.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Again, conceptualize what ‘that bad’ entails.” Both of them spoke softly, although Haytham was notably colder in his manner. “If it pertains to bodily harm, no, nothing of that nature occurred.” The sigh of relief made his eyes narrow – just how many times had Connor reacted negatively to news? A discussion for another time, this was bound to be one of several. That would be all right. “He wanted to know why I abandoned you, him… why I didn’t help financially, things of that nature.”

She heard the annoyance at the last statement, pinching the bridge of her nose as she paced the kitchen. “ Haytham- ”

“You have your reasons, I’m sure. Hell if I comprehend them but accepting my offered aid is up to your discretion.” His voice softened considerably. “I think he was most offended at my admittance to not knowing his name.”

“You couldn’t have known it, I know… we know what may have happened if you did.”

“I know. I remember that decision as well.”

A slight pause and Ziio adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, chilly autumn winds felt through the thin insulation. “ I do… apologize for the inconvenience today. ”

“The event occurred a week ago, Ziio.”

Now that caught her attention. “ A week ago? ”

“I suppose he neglected to mention our encounter then.”

“He never told me he had come to find you.”

He frowned, arms crossed over his chest. “So he always behaves that way?”

She hesitated briefly, not exactly sure how poorly Connor had behaved. “I didn't notice anything different about his behavior, he's like he's always been...”

“Borderline murderous?

“No...”

“Astoundingly crude?”

“No… not like that…”

He tapped his lip in thought, exhaling. “How about sensitive regarding the absence of my permanent departure?” He was being more than generous here, but she was Connor’s mother. His Ziio.

“... I guess. What did he want from you anyway? Did he ask for money?”

“More like demanded-”

“Connor, I didn’t hear you come home!”

Haytham frowned, glaring at the phone with a raised eyebrow before checking the time. 1AM, just what the hell does a twenty year old do until 1AM?

A muffled voice, silence, and another muffled voice, Ziio coming in again, clearly distressed in her own, subtle way. “ It’s Connor, he wants to talk to you. ”

“Oh, I bet he does. He’d probably like to set fire to my-” The dead dial tone interrupted him, and Haytham blinked at the phone. Well, that was rude, if not mildly entertaining.

For a moment, he considered calling her back, but thought the better of it, shutting his lap top and heading out of his office, walking to his car and heading towards a Starbucks. They needed time to speak, time that didn’t involve him; whether Connor knew it or not, he was lucky to have a parent who cared for him as much as Ziio did. As much as they both did. Perhaps he had no affection to offer, but financially, in terms of safety, he could offer the world. There was no shame in trading emotional support for economic stability. It may not have been something Connor wanted, but he would learn to appreciate it some day. Or not. It mattered little, his feelings on the subject.

Almost ready to place an order, Haytham stepped out of line when his phone abruptly rang, and he peered down at the number, blinking once before letting it ring just a little more. “Yes?”

“… It seems like I owe you another apology.”

Grey eyes blinked, stepping to the side counter for a brief moment. “You owe me nothing to speak of. Connor is a separate matter, though I’m inclined to let it go if simply to let you handle it.” She had kept a handle on him for twenty years; he had no right to intervene. It wasn’t as if she was being disrespected.

That would change things drastically.

“Mm.” She was always the talkative one via phone, some things never changed. He wasn’t much for phones himself, preferring face to face meetings or Skype conferences himself.

After another small stretch of silence an elegant eyebrow raised. “I suppose you have work in the morning?”

“Oh. I do.”

Frowning, Haytham ignored the glare of the barista, focusing on the phone. He shouldn’t pry. He shouldn’t care, not after what happened so long ago… but…

“Ziio?”

“Mm?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.” The Ziio he knew would have hung up after he asked such a question, or bid him good night, depending on her mood. She wasn’t one to linger conversationally with nothing to say. Notably, there was no commotion from Connor, which meant she either went to a separate room or… “Let me guess – in my limited experience with the lad, I’m concluding he blew a fit and stormed off?” In the week he had known him he’d done so twice, her silence confirming his thoughts.

“He’s not normally like this… it’s the topic, Haytham. It upsets him, I normally wouldn’t put up with this behavior.”

“You still shouldn’t put up with it now.”

“Haytham-”

“What? How does storming off at this horrid hour do anything besides worry you? Ironic, he tells me I’ve no regard for others based on my actions, and look what he does.” Pot, meet kettle much? Besides, Haytham was not an emotional abridger. He provided, the way a father should, so what if he was emotionally unavailable? Connor had a mother for such things. Granted Ziio was probably an advocate of tough love, but Connor seemed to need it.

“I’m not justifying it, I’m just accepting it for the time being. It’s not like I can do much else, he left his phone, keys, and wallet.”

Immature, irrational and forgetful. Oh he was dealing with a winner, wasn’t he? “Well, what do you intend to do when he returns?” Besides tan his hide red, honestly, children these days…

“He has to return first to find out. I’ll let you know when he does.”

“Meaning, you’re waiting up for him?”

“I am.”

“When do you work tomorrow?”

“From eight to four, then six to eleven.”

“Well, that’s a nice bit of over-time.”

“Two separate jobs.”

“… Ah.” Of course they were, she couldn’t afford to live in the city otherwise. He stared at his iPhone for a moment, looking at his watch and shoes after wards. Yet she wouldn’t accept his help, she’d rather deny herself than accept help from him.

“I’ll leave you to your dreams; you probably have conferences in the morning.” There was no bite to her words, the dial tone ending abruptly. They’d never been good at goodbyes, either of them. The last one had almost ended in disaster.

Haytham placed his order, watching the torrential downpour, the random flash of lightning across the darkened sky. Somewhere, his son was out in this horrid weather. Somewhere, Ziio would be waiting, all night, for him to return. Both would probably remain alone for some time.

Fingers hit his keypad, rapidly typing in two words. Her number was entered next, and he grinned, copying the information and mapping via google. A forty three minute drive, probably quicker this time at night. He wondered, off hand, if she still favored autumn flavors, the savory-ness of pumpkin or the crisp, tart flavor of apple.

Only one way to be sure.

~*~

Lifting his phone to his ear, he didn’t bother covering himself after he parallel parked, taking in the small line of weather beaten cottages. Not the worst neighborhood, he supposed, far enough from the city to be grassy, green and more populated with trees, close enough to have houses in a cluster.

Rain hit his face sideways, drenched hair sticking to his neck. The jacket he had worn now covered his beverages and a small paper bag, the white of his dress shirt growing more translucent with every bit of rain. One could make out the plains of his abdominals; the dip of his navel if they gazed at him from under a dimming street lamp.

She picked up on the third ring, tired but very awake. “ Haytham? ” She caught on quick, as always.

“Open your front door.”

A blink, and Ziio sat up further from the comfort of her couch. “ … Why? ”

“Because I’d prefer not to fracture your lock by breaking in.

A pause and she sprinted down the hall, listening to his voice.

“Locks are expensive to replace and seeing as you don’t accept my money, I wouldn’t want you paying for-“

The door swung open, the pitter patter of rain pelting him still, and she stood in awe of him. Drenched, tall as ever, squared shoulders and clean shaven, pale grey eyes that held a minor glimpse of amusement, probably at her own parted lips, tousled hair, and over-sized shirt.

Of course he would still look like that.

Twenty years, twenty years and some months, and all they could do was look at each other. Funny, he often imagined what he would say upon seeing her again. Something suave, perhaps something humorous in his cold, cynical way. She liked his satire, after all.

Instead, he found himself staring into the face of a woman a fair foot shorter than he, long black hair falling in waves, brown eyes wide but beginning to descend to normal size, her mouth shutting itself. A feather dangled from a thread, beads together, woven into a single, small braid in the side of her hair.

The art of dialogue was lost on him. Then again, she occasionally had that effect on him. The truest friend he ever knew, one of two he ever loved.

“Yes, Ziio, I’d love to come inside and not catch my death.” The eye roll and belated, discreet grin were so worth being soaked to the bone it ached, but he kept his jubilation muted, his lips twitching for just a moment before settling into their normal line.

He followed her into the kitchen after toeing off his shoes, placing his jacket on the back of a chair before setting the food out. “The yellow seed cake is lemon poppy, the muffin is cranberry orange, the bread is pumpkin-“

“The cider is apple.”

That time he did grin. “I’m a creature of habit.”

She shut her eyes and inhaled, grabbing what she knew was a pumpkin coffee of some sort, extra cinnamon. “You remembered.” It was simply stated.

“Obviously.”

“Shut up, Haytham.”

“Why, are there any tomahawks lying around?”

“That was an accident; I didn’t think you’d move after I specifically told you not to.”

“Yes, because when one has a tomahawk thrown at them the best idea is to stay perfectly still.”

The end result was a towel hitting him the head, much to his amusement. Twenty years, and it was like they had seen each other only yesterday. Not just to him, either.

Any awkward feelings or premonitions faded as he took a seat, Ziio across from him, watching him take around the somewhat dilapidated surroundings with an increasing frown.

“Haytham, don’t.”

“I won’t. Not today at least.” He paused, sipping at his now cold beverage, a truth he ignored.

“When you said good bye that day, I was sure it was permanent.” Again, her tone lacked judgment, merely a soft statement. She wasn’t the emotional type, nor he. It made talking that much easier.

“Perhaps I should have said 'see you later'.”

A twitch of her lips, and he began toweling his hair dry. “I’ll get another towel, get undressed. I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.”

“Mm. It’s not necessary… but thank you.” He undressed nonetheless, letting her do as she pleased, towel firmly wrapped around his waist as he sat back down, a blanket offered to him. “Call in tomorrow, I don’t want you going without proper sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll match the pay.”

“Haytham.”

“We’ll be up talking for a while, until Connor gets back.”

“That could be a day.”

“Good thing I brought coffee.” Again that small smile and eye roll, though he seethed at Connor’s seeming lack of respect for his mother. To be addressed later. “Will you at least let me take you in the morning, and call out to the second one?” He ignored the gaze he received. “I will personally stop by and tell them why.”

“Really?” She wasn’t surprised, just interested to see if he would.

“Swear on my life.”

“… And you’ll take me to dinner?” That caught him off guard and she elaborated gently. “I can’t explain everything to you in just five hours.”

“Wherever you’d like to go then.” Silence, and they sipped their respective drinks, Haytham's chin resting in his hand as his elbow planted himself on the table, waiting for Ziio to speak, watching her hesitate.

“I want to say hello to you, but it doesn’t seem right if you never truly said goodbye.”

“… Perhaps, welcome back would suffice in its place.”

Another pause and they shared a moment in the silence, eyes meeting again, a kindness for each other reflected, a bond truly shared between them.

“Welcome back, Haytham. Now, where do I begin?"

-=-=-=-

She told him everything, and he listened simply out of respect. They hadn't seen each other in twenty years and now it all came out. They shared fond memories, from before when they were still together, and after wards. She told him of how Connor grew up, what he was like as a baby, as a child and as a teenager, providing more details on the little snippets she had shared with him in the past – even going so far as to dig up an old photo album out of a cabinet and show it to him. Might as well, now that he was here.

Haytham wasn't the kind of man to show emotional attachment to a person. She knew he did, in a way, but it was always hard to see. Even now he looked at the photos like he would look at a work report or a newspaper; with an interest that was almost strictly business and nothing more.

But it was alright. That was just who he was. Most saw him as a cold business man. Ziio knew that it ran deeper.

She talked about her own jobs though she staved off details, avoiding any unpleasant topics or anything that could lead to the topic of 'money', and inquired about Haytham's own work. What he was working on now, how the company was doing, how Charles was doing... Ziio had never been fond of the man but he was a close friend of Haytham, even back then when they first met so she asked.

She told him how Connor had always had a fondness of nature and animals even as a small boy. That he did well in school, not amazing but good enough. That he didn't have a lot of friends but the two he had were the best friends a person could wish for, loyal and always there when you needed them. Shaun he had met in college but he had grown up with Myriam since kindergarten... and she hoped that one day they could grow to be something more than just best friends.

She told him that Connor accepted his responsibilities and did his share of chores in the house, and that he worked a job next to his school hours, under the mum that it was to help pay for rent but she knew that it was for something else as well. He'd made it no secret that he wished to go to England one day for his studies and that he was saving up for the trip. He had never shown any real interest in his roots other than those on his mother's side until a year ago, during a large school project about England's royal house.

Of course, with the whole current situation, Connor finally having met his British father and clearly not being impressed by him at all, whether he still wanted to know about his English roots was up for debate. That didn't change the fact that he still wanted to visit England for his studies, but still...

She told him how Connor liked to go out camping in the wildlife reserves with his friend Myriam and go out hunting with her during the hunting seasons, and capturing them on camera off season. Connor was often like a monkey, always climbing trees, fences and walls whenever he could, for whatever reason. He had done that as a child as well and she had let him, there was no harm in it as long as he was careful.

He was a bit of a loner, preferring to hang around with Shaun and Myriam or alone instead of participating in group events at school. He rarely went out partying and drinking for which she was grateful, she had never seen him drunk before.

It was nearing five in the morning when a knock finally sounded on the door. Ziio looked up from the coffee she was pouring for Haytham, having long lost count of the number of cups so far, and frowned. The dryer had finished with Haytham's clothes long ago, but he was still seated in her kitchen wearing nothing but a towel and a blanket to keep warm. He hadn't brought it up, and so she hadn't either... yet, because if she was brutally honest with herself she didn't particularly mind this, though she'd die before ever letting Haytham or anyone else know that.

Another knock and Ziio quickly set the coffee pot away, excusing herself to Haytham before running out of the kitchen into the hallway. Could it be...?

Fumbling with the key and sliding the locks she yanked the door open and there he was, on the doorstep and shivering in the cold. The rain had slowed down to a drizzle but Connor was drenched through and through; it was clear that he hadn't gone to a friend's house. Wherever he had been these last four hours, it had been outside.

All the anger she had felt for making her worry so much disappeared at the sight of him, her son waiting for permission to enter the house and escape the cold. She couldn't stay angry at him looking like this, soaked through the bone and miserable.

Ziio sighed and stepped aside to invite him in. “Get inside. You'll catch a cold like this if you stay out much longer.”

The look in Connor's eyes was almost longing, for the warmth the house had to offer but still he hesitated. “Mom, I-”

“Not now.”

“But I want to apo-”

“We can talk later, son.” Her tone softened considerable and again she gestured him inside. “Now come along. I'll get you some dry clothes while you take a hot shower, alright? You must be freezing.”

He didn't push it this time and gratefully stepped inside, relishing the warmth as Ziio closed the door behind him. He seemed too tired to notice Haytham in the kitchen as she rushed him passed it towards the bathroom, and that was probably for the best. Connor wouldn't respond positive to his father's presence here, no doubt about it. Of course, that meant getting Haytham's dry clothes out of the dryer without Connor noticing and send him on his way before he finished his shower. They could talk later... he had promised her dinner after all.

“Here, take this off. I'll put it in the dryer for you later.”

“I can do it myself, mom.” Connor answered as he peeled off his drenched jacket and worked his boots off but Ziio shook her head.

“Nonsense! Take a shower, I'll take care of it.”

Connor didn't argue and slowly tried to peel his wet shirt off, not really paying attention to Ziio who, as quickly as she could, opened the dryer and stuffed Haytham's clothes into a basket, blocking the view of what she was doing with her body.

She was nearly out of the door when Connor called her back and she slowly turned, keeping her face carefully passive. He hadn't seen, had he?

“Um... I'm kinda... hungry...?”

Oh! “I'll fix you something.”

“Thanks mom.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“Um... no, I...” His brown eyes drifted down to the bundle of clothes she carried and she tried to turn before he could get a good look, but few things ever escaped her son's attention and he was right next to her in a second, grabbing a sleeve. “What's this?” He didn't own a suit!

“Nothing.” Ziio countered and stepped back. “Just a favor for someone. Don't worry about it, go take your shower, Connor.”

Connor didn't move, his eyes still fixated on the crumpled clothes in Ziio's arms and it slowly dawned on him... he had seen this particular suit before.

Before Ziio could even stop him Connor was out of the door, back into the hallway and looked into the living room, which was empty. Gritting his teeth he moved on, marching further down the hallway until he came to an abrupt end in the kitchen door way. Wide brown eyes fell on the familiar figure sitting at the kitchen table, wearing nothing but a towel and a blanket – why?! Oh god that was way more than he wanted to see! - and the corner of his eyelid twitched.

He was vaguely aware that he wasn't exactly presenting a pretty view himself, dripping cold rain water onto the clean floor, his wet clothes sticking to his body as ink black stands of wind-swept hair stubbornly clung to his face.

It didn't matter. Didn't matter because Haytham Fucking Kenway was sitting in his fucking kitchen, sipping fucking coffee like this was absolutely fucking normal at five in the fucking morning!

He felt Ziio's presence behind him and he slowly turned to glance at her over his shoulder. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

-=-=-=-

For hours, he listened, speaking only when asked questions, keeping responses short and brief. He almost smiled at some of the memories, a finger absently tracing the one thick scar on his bicep where the tomahawk had hit him all those years ago.

She asked about the company, about Charles, but kept it short and simple. He was grateful for that, work was his entire life, it had been for well over two decades. Recently, admittedly, it sometimes became... monotonous. Especially now, as the companies head for half a decade, he had some more time to lay back, to take a day off and relax on occasion. He could find no one better than to do so with than the woman by his side. Like hell if he'd say that.

He looked over pictures quietly, observing with the same clinical methods he used in his practice. Like reading over a file, watching a molecular imaging scan; he said nothing, only taking in bits of detail he observed. Not a brilliant boy, but smart enough. Not a social butterfly, but with friends. He couldn’t hide the wince though, as she mentioned he majored in the 'liberal arts', history of all things. Bah, bother. Not an entirely interesting topic at all.

He remembered names, logging them away for later. Hours passed between the two, Haytham comfortable sitting, aware that his clothes were dry but it wasn't like Ziio had never seen him in a towel before, or less. Besides, she made no move to get them, he'd bask in the silent glory that was his thanks to his personal gym.

A knock interrupted a thought, Haytham shifting his seat over so he wasn't directly visible in the door way. There was little else he could do about it, offering Ziio a glance as she walked into the hallway, answering the door. Yup, the boy returned at long last, and in a way Haytham was relieved, but not for Connor's sake. Ziio shouldn't have been made to worry in such a manner, where were the boy's manners?

He listened intently, eyelid twitching at the dryer blunder but remaining still. Would that child just listen and go take a shower?

He heard the rustle of fabric, Ziio's excuse, and a rush of movement. Footstep leading past the hall and then down it, and Haytham braced himself, arms crossed over his chest in nonchalance as he met the surprised, than furious – and rather drenched – looking face of his son, looking him up and down.

Well lookie there, seemed like his eye twitch was an inherited trait. Fancy that.

Ziio walked in behind him, and Haytham raised an eyebrow at her frown, meeting her son's angry eyes.

"He -"

"Never you mind that, Connor. Your mother doesn't need a reason to have company over." He stood holding out his hand and looking at Ziio. "Nor do I need to explain myself. Now, be a good lad and take a shower, and perhaps mull over the fact that you kept your mother waiting up for you when she has to work in three hours for thirteen hours today."

"Haytham-"

It was almost pleading, almost – he met her eyes again as she moved to set the basket of clothing on the table. It would be best if he dressed and left. However...

"I'm a man of my word, I'll pick you up at seven, to take you to work." He could run errands before then, perhaps push back that meeting and visit her second job at the lumberyard. "I'll take care of the lumberyard issue today, six in the evening I will pick you up here. We'll talk more later." He grabbed his shirt, looking towards Connor and he couldn't help his lips twitching upward for a brief moment before he blankly stated, "You may want to take that shower now, unless you care for incestuous nudity."

Oh the look on his face, he was so angry! Ziio blinked once, giving him a look for baiting their son but he shrugged, calling out to her as she turned on her heel, pushing Connor out of the room. "You could stay Ziio, it's not anything you haven't witnessed." His tone never lost the silken quality as he dropped the towel, making a loud swooshing noise as he laid it down on the floor changing into his pants. "Just stating the obvious."

-=-=-=-

Oh how dare he, bossing him around like that! Hands clenched into tight fists, trembling with the strain; if it weren't for mom, he would have slugged the bastard across the face already like he deserved! He had no right to say those things, to talk to him like that like his words even mattered.

Connor balked at the warning and Ziio quickly stepped forward, pushing her hands against his shoulders to get him to leave the kitchen before Haytham made true on his words, like she knew he would – the man had little shame to speak of.

“Go. Just go. I'll make sure he leaves.” Another push and Connor shot his father one last seething, venomous glare, reluctant to go but the second he heard the swoosh of the towel dropping he stormed off to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to make her wince. She made a mental note to check the door for damage later.

“You shouldn't bait him like that.” she said sternly as he turned around again, trying not to stare at Haytham's very much naked state. “This isn't easy for him so please, do not make this worse, Haytham.” With a deep sigh she sat down at the kitchen table and ran a thin-fingered hand through her hair, keeping her eyes on her cold coffee to have something to distract herself with. She wouldn't look. She would not look. She had more self control than that!

“Don't you have a meeting or an appointment or whatever it is you do at your company that requires your attention? I can drive myself to work.” she muttered after a while and risked a glance up, relieved – or not – to see that Haytham had at least gotten his pants on. She didn't feel so bad for staring at his abs and chest... pretty impressive for someone who sat in his office all day. “Jesus Haytham, even you require sleep. I'll drive myself and I'll see you in the evening.”

Propping her elbow on the table she rested her chin in the palm of her hand as the corners of her mouth twitched. Either way, despite the mess, it felt good seeing him again and talking to him in person once more. Like the old days. Maybe this time it could last?

-=-=-=-

Undeterred, Haytham listened to the next excuse Ziio made about Connor, fighting not to roll his eyes. The child was clearly a step away from being a borderline punk at best, and he could see why. Yes, Ziio was a good mother; he had no doubt in his mind. But when it came to not having a father, she caved in and gave Connor a pity party, one that needed to be nipped.

He would have said as much, if not for her very still, unnerving gaze on her coffee cup, and this time Haytham did smirk, making no move to get his shirt. The smirk only deepened as she made 'eye contact' with his chest. Yup, still got it. And he wasn't even trying... yet.

"Nuclear medicine and radioactive pharmacology, Ziio. The office is lovely, but I prefer the laboratory on the fourth floor of the building on Liberty Street in the financial district." In case she ever wanted to say 'welcome.' "… At your insistence, fine. But I'm still going to the lumberyard, post haste." Slipping into his shirt, albeit much more slowly than necessary, he hesitated before squeezing her shoulder, a fleeting, quick grasp.

"Try to take a nap yourself, if you can manage. I'll come by to pick you up."

Slipping out into the hallway, he spared her a last glance from over his shoulder, fighting to keep that damned smile from his face. "Later, woman."

Ziio could but roll her eyes, though her lips twitched upward yet again. "Later, douche bag."

His abrupt laugh surprised even himself, and he slipped out into the street, closing the door behind him with a long exhale. Right, to business then. Getting Ziio to play hookie and attempting to not fall asleep during the meeting at noon.

This day would prove boring until dinner, he just knew it.

In the meantime, Ziio took a moment to watch the door just for a moment, the warmth of Haytham's fingers still on her shoulder. The tease.

Washing both cups, she waited for Connor to emerge from the bathroom, unsure if he'd truly want an explanation though, deep down, there was truth to what Haytham had said... she didn't really need to give him one though, with the topic being what it was, she'd be lenient and hope her son would understand.

-=-=-=-

Connor took his sweet time, knowing that it was wishful thinking but still hoping that the hot water would wash away all the thoughts and memories of his father away. Like the one featuring the old man in a towel. Ew.

Fucking worthless excuse of a father.

And what was even worse was that mom didn't even seem to really mind, him being here. Oh god what if they got back together again? That would never happen, would it? That would be an absolute nightmare!

“Should have never gone to that stupid company of his...” Grumbling to himself he reached down and turned off the spray, wiping the water out of his eyes with his fingers before he stepped out of the shower stall and reached for a clean towel.

It wasn't like he didn't wish for his mother to be happy... but she was happy, right? Without Haytham in her life like it had been for the last twenty years? Surely this wouldn't change anything? Ugh why did this have to be so complicated?

Slipping into his pajamas Connor left the bathroom after cleaning up the mess he had left behind, stuffing his wet clothes into a hamper and using his used towel to dry the floor.

Ziio was still in the kitchen when he entered but with one tired look he made it clear that he didn't want to talk. One glass of water and a kiss on her cheek followed by a softly spoken “Good night” - despite it already being morning – he left again. Perhaps he could get one hour of sleep in before he had to get up for school again...

~*~

He was fortunate that Wednesday wasn't a complicated school day, the shortest of the week and filled with only simple classes. He nearly fell asleep a couple of times and he brushed off Shaun's questions about what was wrong with the simple answer that he'd had a rough night, nothing more.

After school finished he went straight home. Ziio was still at work and he wouldn't see her until he got off his work shift tonight as well. Changing into his work clothes he lounged for a bit, slouched down on the couch and dragging out the moment where he had to get up again, before grabbing his bag, keys, phone and wallet.

The Red Mango restaurant he worked at was two blocks away. He had a driver’s license but mom had the car most of the time. It was alright, he didn't mind taking the bus.

Working as a waiter wasn't the most awesome job out there, especially not when one had to deal with rude clients every day, but it paid fairly well and Myriam worked here as well. That definitely helped, she made working here a lot more tolerable, joking and talking during breaks and between orders. Today's shift lasted until ten so he still had quite some time to go.

“Rough night, huh?” Myriam said as he entered through the back door and tossed his bag in a corner. Raising his eyebrows she smirked and tapped her phone. “Shaun called. He was worried, said you looked like a zombie. I must say he's right.”

“Gee, thanks. Really. ”

“You're welcome.”

Connor snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching. She didn't ask further like he knew she wouldn't. Stifling a yawn he followed her into the restaurant itself; it was still a quiet hour with only a handful of people already eating their orders but things would get busy soon enough. Ugh he couldn't wait for this day to be over with already...

-=-=-=-

How he stayed awake long enough to reach his comfortable office couch was beyond him. He hated to admit it, but Ziio's suggestion did have merit; he wasn't that young anymore, rest would do him some good. A four hour nap had him feeling much better, a fresh change of clothing and a quick shower also aiding in his brightened mood.

Now to stay awake though the board meeting... he should be cruel like other CEOs and let Charles bare the brunt alone. But that would hardly suit his friend at all, who would they then mock after the meeting was through?

"Morning Charles." At his right hand side, where he belonged, a hot cup of what he knew to be Oolong, two lemon wedges and a sugar in his hand. Some traditions were worth keeping, as was his second most trusted friend. Second only to the being that occupied his thoughts this morning, with her feathers, beads, braids and lip twitches.

"You're in a fine mood for a cooperate meeting."

He ignored the slight odor, long ago having deemed Charles to have a glandular disorder. "I had a pleasantly productive evening, working late into the night."

"Ah." The gleam of respect shone brightly, Charles nodding appreciatively at Haytham's tenacity. His ability to create never quite ceased to amaze him; he held nothing but pride for his friend's accomplishments. His business thrived because of his unflinching effort.

~*~

"I'm famished."

"Likewise."

Two hour long meetings, an abridgment in budget deficiency and a laboratory faux pas that made him fire two incompetent researchers later, and Haytham could hardly imagine why.

They walked slowly, down Liberty street and turning left in the direction of Connor's school, absently looking through a few restaurant windows. "Who's turn is it to pick?"

"Yours."

Huh, well he wasn't in the mood for much. Perhaps something like, where was that sashimi place located? He offered a peripheral view at the neon lights of the Red Mango, a restaurant catering to Caribbean cuisine when he saw him.

That's right, Connor worked here with... Myrium? Myriad? Yes, something of that nature. How... delightful. "I want to eat here."

Charles rose an eyebrow, frowning at the low brow cuisine... beef patties? Ox tail? Jerked chicken? Really Haytham?

"Don't mentally ostracize me, I can feel it."

Charles laughed but shook his head, still staring at him. "There are much finer eateries-"

Haytham was already half way through the door before Charles could blink. "Table for two."

"Yes sir." The hostess walked to the right but Haytham interjected. "No, I want to be seated at the left, in a booth."

"… Oh, all right sir." He wondered if she knew who he was or was very apt with customer service, it felt like that should have been more difficult.

Charles glared at him. "Haytham, really now, is there some reason you want to eat here? It's so..." Middle class? Plebeian? Beneath his status?

"I wish to partake in variety, I've been told it's the spice of life and my tastes run exotic." Again he saw Ziio, the brief second his eyes closed, and he pushed the thought aside but for a moment, waiting for his waiter to approach.

Sure enough, he was, and the look on his face was to die for.

This is what happened when one was a brat to their mother. He'd learn, in time.

-=-=-=-

“Oh no. No no no no no no no.”

Myriam looked up from the ledger with a confused frown lining her eyebrows. “What?”

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“Huh?” What was Connor going on about? She glanced at the door, watching how one of their colleagues escorted two gentlemen to a private booth. As she looked back at Connor she noticed that he followed them with his eyes as well, an angry glare sitting on his features. Okay, what? “What's going on?”

Connor grumbled and lowered himself closer to the counter, almost as if he was trying to hide behind it as he kept a glare aimed at the two men who had seated themselves at the table. “It's him .”

… oh. “Oooooooh!” Eagerly, almost too eager, Myriam whirled around and rose up on her toes, blatantly staring at the business duo. “Which one? Which one? It's not the greasy looking one, is it?”

“No... no, the other guy. With the stupid ponytail.”

“Oooooh, he's hot.”

“Myriam!”

“What? I like older men. They have experience.”

The flat stare Connor gave her didn't even faze her. “... ew, gross. That's my father you're talking about, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“Yeah but you don't care about him anyway, so I can stare.”

… good point, but still.

“Want me to take their order? I don't mind, I can't understand if you don't want to...”

Connor sighed deeply. The offer was appreciated, but no, he'd deal with this himself. This restaurant wasn't bad, but it wasn't the place frequented by fancy suits like Kenway and his greasy friend... he must have known he worked here and if that was true, than that meant that he was doing this on purpose just to be a dick. “No, I have it covered. Thanks...”

Steeling himself he grabbed two menus, pushed away from the counter and walked around it, making his way towards the table. He wasn't fully able to school his face into a professional mask and truthfully he wasn't trying very hard... let it be clear that he wasn't pleased with their presence here, but he didn't want to lose his job so he would have to be polite... as much as he would love to punch his father in the face or spit in his food.

Still, when he arrived at the table and fished a pen and his server book out of his pocket, he couldn't help but say something and he leaned closer to Haytham so that he could whisper. “I know why you're here, you asshole. And I'm sure you're getting a kick out of this. I wish the world could see what a fucking bastard you truly are but I know your time will come. And I will be there when it happens.”

With that he straightened up again and handed them both a menu, continuing with a normal volume. “Can I get you something to drink?”

-=-=-=-

Keeping himself from smirking, but just barely, Haytham took a moment to just watch fists clench and unclench, see him seethe. He could taste the anger rolling off him, he was infuriated.

It was delicious, absolutely delicious.

Charles was looking between the two, unsure of what to say until Haytham actually grinned and opened the menu. "Tea, two lemon wedges, one sugar. Any variety would be most welcome..." He 'squinted' at the name tag, politely adding. "Connor. My associate will take a scotch no doubt."

"Make it a double, I can only hope it's not swill."

"A double then." For a moment Haytham stood, leaning in quickly, abruptly, seeming to maybe tell a joke or ask a question. The malice in his voice wasn't lost on Connor though.

"I may be a prick, but I respected my mother enough to have her not worry herself sick about me. Pull something so juvenile, so pathetically tantrum like that again and no god will be able to deliver you from the hell I will bestow."

He leaned back politely. "The restroom? Where was it located? Oh, never mind I see the sign, thank you."

He strode slowly, raising an eyebrow at the girl who blatantly stared, looking at her name tag... so that was Myriam. Good. Another pawn in their little game. He washed his hands before reemerging, seating himself next to Charles, face blank as he received his tea. "I trust you didn't spit in it, yes?”

A joke, of course. Laughable, or at least that's how it was said. Manifest meanings however spoke differently.

-=-=-=-

Scribbling the order into his server book he closed it and stuffed it back into his pocket, but before he could turn and walk away to get their drinks, Haytham stood up. Connor tensed, an automatic reaction, and narrowed his eyes as his father leaned in.

Oh really? Really? He scowled at him as Haytham left for the mens room and turned, stomping back to the counter.

Myriam gave him a worrying glance as he turned on the water boiler and grabbed a glass teacup and a tall one for the scotch.

“Connor, you okay?” she asked as he grabbed a random tea bag out of the basket and pressed two lemon wedges onto the edge of the cup, adding a small paper sack of sugar and a wrapped biscuit before filling the cup with steaming water.

“Fine. He just proved he's still a dick.” He opened a cabinet and reached in the back for the most expensive brand of scotch they had; the bastards were rich so they might as well pay the full price. Filling the glass and adding whatever extras went with scotch he set it all on a tray and walked back towards the table again, just when Haytham returned from his trip to the mens room.

"I trust you didn't spit in it, yes?"

Merely raising his eyebrow he didn't answer that and set the scotch down in front of Charles, before he leaned closer again. “For the record... you are twenty years too late trying to play the role of a bossy father figure. Threatening me won't get you anywhere.” Setting the tea in front of Haytham with a little more force than was necessary Connor hooked the tray under his arm and picked up his server book again.”Have you made a decision about what you would like to eat?”

-=-=-=-

And of course, he was missing the point entirely. All right, Haytham wasn't in his life, granted, but his mother was, and he didn't worry Haytham, he worried her . Obviously the insolent little shit couldn't grasp that, but he wasn't the sharpest tool in the proverbial shed.

"Mmm, don't quite know yet." He skimmed the menu, tilting his head before spotting her again. "Pardon, miss? Can I ask a question of you?"

Myriam halted, placing menus at her table before walking over, still staring somewhat. "Yes, sir?"

"Women are notorious for having better taste than men, in more ways than one." He let out a chuckle, leaning back in his chair and stirring his tea with a spoon, licking the edge slowly, eyes locked on her. "What would you recommend from the menu?"

It was too easy, watching her stammer, his eyes on Connor as he bit the tip of his finger. Charles had to keep from laughing. Haytham could be quite entertaining when bored.

"The chicken, the c-curry chicken."

"Thank you, dearest, make it two of those then, one for myself and one for you, Myriam, for being a delightful help." He paused, Charles ordering jerked chicken, Haytham handing the menu to Connor with a smile. "A hypothetical question, Myriam. Say if you wanted to bond with a lad, a cousin, nephew, perhaps a son or something of the like, but they didn't want to because... you made a horrid misstep, how would you go about earning trust?" His gaze was earnest and he ignored Charles's obvious confusion. He'd make up something later, that wasn't important.

What was important was how Connor's little friends perceived him... no, maybe he couldn't hide who he was from Ziio or Connor, he couldn't pretend to like the boy... but his friends... too easy. Mental games were far more fun than physical threats, anyway.

-=-=-=-

Son of a bitch! Fucking worthless piece of shit... dragging Myriam into this! Connor's fingers tightened around his server book, nearly snapping his pen in half with the other. Perhaps he had noticed Myriam's unrelenting staring, knew that she'd be easy. He remained close to her, hovering next to her side like a protective mother hen and listened to her stammering an answer.

With a sigh he scribbled the order down but when Haytham opened his mouth again he couldn't keep silent any longer. With a gentle push he forced Myriad to take a small step back and positioned himself between her and his father, glaring down at the man with a furious look. “Enough, do not involve her with this. Don't even bother, she already knows. The secret is already out.”

With that he grabbed Myriam's hand and guided her away from the duo, back to the counter so he could prepare their stupid order. “Still think he's hot?” he asked as he tossed his server book on the counter and informed the kitchen of his new orders.

She just shrugged, looking a lot more uncomfortable now that she had been involved by the man himself. She wouldn't lie though. “Well yes... but it's only physical, and you know I would never-”

“I know...”

“He's... kind of a creep actually, from up close. I had the feeling he was doing that on purpose.”

“He was... you know...” Putting his hands on the counter Connor leaned back against it and took a deep breath, resisting to urge to glance in his father's direction. “He was at my house last night, talking to my mother. He hasn't truly spoken to her in twenty years aside from the handful bits of small communication over e-mail and the like, and suddenly he's at our house kissing up my mom's ass and making moves on her.” And he had been naked but Connor left that bit of information out.

“Perhaps it's just a phase... maybe it will pass and he'll leave you and your mom alone again. That's worth hoping, no?”

Connor nodded and she smiled, quickly pulling him into a friendly hug. “It will be alright, trust me. I don't like seeing you upset.” She patted his back as he sighed into her hair, returning the hug briefly.

“Thanks...”

“You're welcome!”

The next few minutes were spent in silence; Myriam took the orders of the new clients who came in after Haytham and Charles so that Connor had time to brood in peace, until the orders were ready and he had no choice but to confront his father again and listen to more of his bullshit. Loading the plates onto a tray he caught the wink Myriam sent him and nodded, taking a deep breath before he walked back to the table.

“Need a refill?” he asked with a nod to their drinks as he set the plates down, avoiding Haytham's eyes this time.

-=-=-=-

Oh, well that wasn't very fun, taking his target away, and Haytham rolled his eyes. No shit she knew the secret dumb ass, why do you think he was flirting with her? Pale and plain, nope, not his type. That and he preferred a person his own age, and darker. Ah Ziio, one morning with her and he was a mentally taken man again.

It was quite fetching in a way. He looked forward to dinner.

"What secret are they talking about?"

"The waiter, Charles, he's the one from last week, the one who accused me of being his father. I was being clever."

"Oh, well by all means continue. It is amusing to watch you play games."

Heh, and fun, entirely too fun. "Indeed."

He waited for his food, patiently watching Connor avoid him, before turning his attention to Charles. "No thanks, Connor. Charles, I am going to need you to fill in for me at a meeting, I have a few plans tonight that acquire attention."

Eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. "You're passing off a meeting? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, quite. I'm attending to matters of equal importance, if such a thing is imaginable."

"It's not, not readily. But I have a feeling it's a secret from the way you're skirting around mentioning what it entitles."

He shrugged, lips twitching upward. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. It will become known soon enough, if I have anything to do about it." A pause, and he looked at Connor once more. "Mind getting your manager for me and running off? I need a word with the proprietor."

-=-=-=-

Oh. Well fine then, save him the trouble of serving them even more. He took the menus away and turned to serve an elderly couple who had just entered and who, to his great annoyance, picked a table close to where Hatham sat with Greasy.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Myriam was still busy with another customer, meaning that he'd have to take these.

Grrreeeeaaaat.

He was still within his father's hearing distance, and he only half listened to the orders of the elderly couple as Haytham talked about his plans tonight. He couldn't make heads nor tails out of it, maybe it was nothing but Greasy made it clear that him passing off on a meeting was unusual. Connor felt like he had every right to be paranoid.

The elderly man cleared his throat and Connor blinked, quickly apologizing and telling them he'd bring their drinks along soon. He was about to walk back to the counter when, to his rapidly growing frustration, Haytham called to him again.

Connor frowned... why would he want to speak with his manager? He couldn't say no though, so he just nodded and continued his way to the counter, dropping off the menus there.

The manager's office was in the back, next to the kitchen. He rapped his knuckles on the door before opening it. “Sir? There's a customer who would like a word with you?”

The manager sighed and put his pen down, getting up and following Connor into the main room of the restaurant, pointing where Haytham sat. As the manager walked away to talk with him Connor watched him go and exhaled slowly... he wouldn't put it passed his dick father to complain about him or something... fuck, if he got him fired...!

Nothing to do but wait though... grumbling to himself he turned to prepare the drinks for the elderly couple and tried not to let it worry him too much.

-=-=-=-

Good, he was trembling, probably fearful of loosing his job, hm? No surprise there, he needed it to pay bills, and while Haytham had no feelings towards his son one way or the other, there were some thing he wouldn't do.

"Hello there sirs, how can I help you today?"

Immediately he was recognized, the manager's eyes widening considerably as Haytham smiled. This would be fun too.

~*~

"I can't believe you actually gave them a five hundred dollar tip each."

Haytham shrugged, walking side by side with Charles. "I won't be missing it."

"And changed his schedule for him, permanently? I don't understand why you're being so nice to the little street urchin."

"His mother spoke to me, just the other day. You know what she wanted most, Charles? " He paused, remembering Ziio's words. "She wanted more time with her son. They don't have any days off together, she wanted him to get Thursdays off to remedy that. Not money, not power... she wants to spend time with her son."

Charles nodded, beginning to piece everything together. "That’s why you wanted to eat here."

"Precisely. He's..." Haytham swallowed thickly, mask still in place. "… not a bad kid, he just wants affection. His actions – while immature – were a mere cry for understanding. His mother was quite sweet, I simply could not say no."

They continued onwards, Haytham knowing Connor would also see his scribbled note on the receipt he'd left on the table.

'Taking your mother out tonight. Don't wait up.'

Chapter Text

He had to spend a few hours in the laboratory after lunch, reconfiguring the molecular image computation, allowing maximum screen resolution to better pinpoint the area needed for targeted chemotherapy. The presentation to follow was thankfully much more pleasant than the prior morning meetings, a few of the scientists being quite happy at the ability to accurately concur the exact sight of cancerous abnormal cells. Diagnosis would come a bit easier, as would treatment, another win for the company and himself.

The moment the meeting ended, Haytham practically threw of his goggles, gloves, and lead jumper – his protection against the radioactive material he often came into contact with. He wondered if people truly had any idea of what he did before squashing the thought, and jogged to his office to grab a less informal attire, checking the time before he showered in the decontamination unit. Three thirty-three, enough time to take a quick shower, get to New Rochelle and talk to Ziio's boss before meeting her. She hadn't put him up to asking for days off, it was something he'd done simply because he could.

Because apparently, after twenty years, the spark never truly ceased. His lips twitched again as he wrung out his drenched hair. Funny, he had planned on re-introducing himself to her slowly, but this was far better. Perhaps she should thank Connor for being an immature dolt, forcing them to meet earlier.

Or he could say nothing and credit his own charm. Hm, yeah he liked the latter option better.

Convincing the lumberyard employer to let Ziio have both the night and Thursdays off was surprisingly quick and easy, once across the obvious language barrier. So it seemed, this employer knew his company well, having been diagnosed with melanoma a few years back and in desperate need of radioactive pharmaceuticals. Naturally what he thought may be trying ended in a handshake and much more gratitude than expected, and Haytham stored away the last name, focusing on the Native's graying, braided hair and heavily accented voice.

She'd received treatment at a discount, yes, but was still paying it off. That would change, as a thanks for her cooperation.

Sometimes having money was very, very useful.

It wasn't before long that the row of cottages came into view, Haytham parking on the side of the house. No Connor, not for a long time – his lips twitched again as he exited, approaching the door only to have it open, a tired looking Ziio emerging in a torn pair of jeans, work boots and – to his surprise – a taupe, leather jacket adorned with beads and frayed edges covering the majority of a plain white t-shirt.

"That is not the same jacket."

Her lips twitched upward at his incredulous statement, turning to point at a flaw in the material, one they accidentally created during a night of, well, passion. Judging by the glint in Haytham's eye, he remembered that night. It was a difficult night to forget, in a meadow by Pinewood Sanctuary, on their jackets, the knees of Haytham's pants stained from his repetitive, vigorous actions.

Dual, simultaneous sighs left both of them, a deep, knowing chuckle leaving Haytham as she glanced over his own attire. A far cry from the suit of yesterday, a simple pair of blue jeans, probably expensive ones, black boots and a black, tight muscle-tee, that left nothing to the imagination. The scar on his bicep disappeared under the material, a thick line of rigid skin. It felt puckered under her tongue, but tasted like the rest of him.

She fought the grin but just barely, that look still in Haytham's eyes as he walked her to his car. "Hungry yet?"

"No, not really."

"Good." Eyes met and he smiled, removing two pairs of sun-glass goggles, clear and stylish from his car. Ziio's eyes widened before she finally genuinely smiled, no matter how brief.

"What are we shooting?"

"Plates and still targets, today. Maybe some game in the future months, spring will be upon us." He had to keep his eyes on the damn road but it was proving difficult when she looked at him like that. She needn't say a damn thing, nor he, sitting in comfortable silence for the ten minute drive. He hoped he was still a decent shot.

~*~

"Every target, Haytham. I am almost impressed."

He chewed through his bison burger before commenting, lounging casually on the patio of one of her favorite places. He knew overly ornate attire and fancy restaurants were simply not her way, hence why she chose their location. Unlike Charles, he had no qualms dining at either, thoroughly enjoying the taste of larger game. It reminded him of Europe, of hunting quails and rabbits in Greece, of squab in parts of Britain and Italy, of deer sausage in Germany as he took the game of the prolific black forest. It was nice, this more simple, undecorated way of living from time to time. He rather enjoyed it.

"You should talk, miss I-haven't-held-a-Smith-and-Wesson-rifle-in-years, yet you hit every moving buck directly in the head."

"If you shoot them anywhere else the meat tenses and tastes overly gamey." A pause, and she resumed eating her venison, pointing downward. "It's why I come here, they seem to know that." Another pause, and she examined his bison, curiously. Wordlessly, he ripped off a chunk of the burger and placed it on her plate.

"Quite good."

"Mm." She returned the gesture with the deer, as they silently tried each others food, 'hming' thoughtfully.

"You were right about the venison. I tend to avoid it for the very reason you mentioned."

"Bison tastes like raw ass."

He choked on his soda, covering his mouth with his hand as her lips twitched upward. "Yes, well. To each their own then."

"Mm." There was a brief clatter of silverware in the distance, and Ziio looked at Haytham for a moment. "I want to move slowly."

"That's understandable, given what's... happened."

"It's not that."

He raised an eyebrow, curious. "Elaborate."

"Connor."

He fought the frown, her gaze locked on his, deep brown watching him carefully. "He needs time to adjust, to this. To... us if that's were it leads."

"Where else would it lead?" Her lips twitched again, upwards, before they stopped, her stoic face making his eyebrows knit. "What is it?"

"What made you move your company here, Haytham?" Her tone was so very soft, he almost didn't catch it.

He blinked, watching her just as carefully. "Honestly?"

"No Haytham, please lie to me."

He almost smiled, sure this wasn't the most romantic answer but it was the truth. "It's a business city, one of the greatest in the world. Enterprise is important, I need international accommodation, and the mix of culture is a perfect way to spread the word about my corporation. That and it was either here or..." his eyes averted, jaw tightening, and Ziio winced as he whispered the word. "London."

"Now it makes sense." She whispered it, softly. She hadn't expected herself to be the reason and was in no way offended. What they'd promised was to avoid contact, to avoid names, faces, seeing each other – she could only remember his flight back overseas and quickly shoved the thought from her mind. Horrible, it had been horrible for both of them, knowing what needed to be done yet wanting to do the opposite. She never said it, but she had always hoped he would return, someday, and always thought it wishful, foolish. And yet, here he was, taking her to dinner, to a shooting range, going outside the life he now knew to make time for her again. There was a sense of pride, knowing she could do that to him.

She jumped only slightly as a warm, large hand covered hers. "I meant to see you again." He swallowed hard. "Not quite so soon... the intention was to start e-mailing more frequently, perhaps send a text before calling, slowly introducing myself back instead of this."

"Is that why you sent that e-mail out of the blue?"

"Yes. I wished to gage your response, to determine how rapidly I should move."

"Hm. And then you get our son, barging into your office instead, making a scene."

"Mm. It did alter my plan significantly." Another pause, and she had just one more question burning in her eyes.

"… Why did you call me? You could have e-mailed, sent a text. Was it because he told you his name?"

"No." He spoke honestly, and her hand entwined with his at the answer, both pairs of lips twitching upwards. "It was because he mentioned your unhappiness."

"And that made you... unsure, unhappy?"

"Need I even answer that?"

"No." His presence there, driving from his cooperation to her home in the suburbs, getting her off the night so she could meet, probably ditching whatever meeting he was supposed to attend – what could speak more of his intentions than that? Others may not see what Haytham was behind the subtle twitches and accent, but she wasn't one of them.

They finished their meal, and he took her home, running the car outside for a moment. She had wanted to get home to spend time with Connor before she had work, and Haytham – while disappointed – kept it to himself. He was still their son, no matter how he acted.

"You should come, in the spring, to Connecticut for a weekend. The hunting grounds are untouched in some areas."

"I will."

"Maybe Connor and you will bond a little before then."

Haytham twitched, face remaining blank and skepticism empty from his voice. "Perhaps." He shut the car, walking with her to her door.

"We should do this, sometime soon."

"I agree. Perhaps next weekend, if our buy-out goes well enough. Is there anything you'd like to do-"

"Moving targets."

His lips twitched upwards. "Good call. I'll make the arrangements."

Standing there under the fading, flickering light in the driveway, she could honestly say this was a better date than she had in quite sometime. No attempts to coerce her into sex, not overly touchy, not a lot of dialogue but a lot said. He hadn't changed outwardly, his remarks and snide comments remained intact, but there was clearly something different about him. He wanted more time with her, a welcome circumstance.

Still, slow and steady. He owned a major international corporation, they needed to take their time.

Her phone vibrated, and she put it straight to voice mail, before it vibrated again. Haytham shrugged nonchalantly as she apologized. "Remember, slow."

A pat on the back and he was walking away, giving her the privacy to accept the call. "Yes?"

"Kaniehti:io! You will never believed what has happened! " Oh, her boss at the lumber yard.

"Let me guess, Haytham Kenway talked to you?"

"Yes but even better! He paid for my treatment!"

"What?!"

Her laughter could be heard, along with the voices of a few others, chattering. "We are having a bonfire in his name, we managed a few preparations in the hours we had... how can we reach him? We'd like to have him here!"

Almost stunned, she watched Haytham walk away. "I-I open in the morning-"

"No, no, I gave you tomorrow off, so you could spend time with your son. He'll be getting off Thursdays now, that's what that nice man said."

"Haytham? Haytham told you my son would be off this Thursday?"

"Every Thursday, Ziio. So you can go to the flea markets and pow wows together with the clan. He mentioned going to the red mango and speaking to Con-"

She was sprinting, practically full out sprinting towards the car, stepping in front of it just as Haytham began to take off, slamming his foot on his breaks.

"Really woman?!" Rolling down the window, he glared at Ziio, perplexed. "Are you trying to get yourself kil-"

Grabbed by his pony tail, his head yanked backward, lips pressed against his hard and fast, tongue taking advantage of his surprise and slipping into his mouth. Haytham tensed... before giving in completely, following suit and kissing just as passionately, though his arms stayed in place, unable to do much through a window.

They parted panting and Haytham cleared his voice. "What happened to slow?"

"Fuck slow, as my son would say, YOLO."

Snorting, Haytham stared into brown eyes, lips actually abandoning the twitch to grin. "Who was that?"

"My boss, telling me I'm off tomorrow, as is my son – which means I can spend the day with him, and my night with you."

Ah, well, that explained it. He'd have to thank that woman when he saw her, though he'd need a translator. He didn't speak the Mohawk language, whatever it may be called, and her English was difficult to understand.

Hopping into the passengers seat, she resumed her phone call. "We're on the way now. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Where am I going, exactly?"

She hung up, smiling. "Bonfire, in your honor, I'll give you directions." A pause, and Haytham resumed driving, but not before returning the feverish kiss from before, taking his time to thoroughly explore every inch of the hot, wet mouth he enjoyed, placing the car in park and unbuckling his seat belt to do so, hands running over her back, over her braided hair, massaging as he kissed deeply, passionately, leaving them both in a pleasant haze. "To be continued at the bonfire. Let's go."

"Mm." He had no complaints about that.

-=-=-=-

“Five hundred dollar?!”

“Yup.”

Shaun's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as he looked from Myriam to Connor. It was after school time and as usual on a Wednesday he made a detour to the Red Mango to pay his working friends a visit before going home to his apartment. Today though... he had not expected to hear this story. “Five hundred dollar each? ”

“Uhuh.”

“And you got to keep it?”

Myriam nodded and beamed at him, obviously pleased with today's luck. Connor didn't seem too happy. He had accepted the money of course – albeit with a glare – but she was sure that if he hadn't needed it so badly he would have blatantly refused. His already low opinion on his father must have taken another big beating after Haytham's behavior today, baiting him like that. Connor had accepted the sudden change in schedule as well, though again, with clear reluctance after it became clear it was because Haytham had talked to the manager.

It wasn't like he didn't want Thursdays off so he could spent time with his mother, but he didn't want to feel like he owed Haytham a debt.

There was little Shaun and Myriam managed to do to cheer their friend up; Connor remained sullen and grumpy for the remainder of the day and evening, putting on his polite smiling face only when dealing with customers, but staying silent and withdrawn otherwise.

It was sad... this wasn't like him at all. Connor had always been the one initiating the things they did together, infecting them with his never-ending enthusiasm about the things that were of interest to him, even if he was a little naive at times. But ever since that disastrous meeting with his father... he still smiled, he still joked but it was like his heart wasn't in it anymore.

And it didn't help that Kenway didn't seem interested in improving his relationship with his son, nor did it help that he was taking Ziio out on a date tonight, something that didn't sit well with Connor at all.

They hoped that things would pass with time, cool down and return to normal.

Connor couldn't have been more relieved when his shift finally ended. Bidding Myriam a quick 'see you at school tomorrow' he left after grabbing his things, and ran all the way to the nearest bus stop. It was a little past 10pm but perhaps... just maybe Haytham had been lying about the date. Perhaps mom would be home waiting for him, like she always did on Wednesday evening.

Oh please let her be home! Let it have been a lie!

Jumping out of the bus when he arrived he ran down the street, nearly running over a woman walking her dog in his haste to reach home and sprinted around the corner, entering the street he lived in. He didn't slow down until he saw that all the lights inside were off, indicating that yes, the house was devoid of any living beings.

Haytham hadn't been lying.

“Go figure...” he muttered to no one in particular and slowly walked up the steps, not really sure how he felt about the whole thing. He supposed he should be happy that his mother was dating someone again, getting out and doing something fun... but... why did it have to be him of all people?

Why hadn't she called him, or at least left him a text message on his phone that she was going out with him? Let him know in her words?

She hadn't even bothered...

Haytham had written down not to wait up for them. Well fuck you, bastard , he thought as he jammed the key into the lock and opened the front door. Because that is exactly what I will be doing, no matter how long it takes.

Dumping his bag in the hallway he grabbed some left over dinner from last night and heated it up in the microwave before taking it up to his own room. Phone in his pocket, ear buds in his ears and the music volume cranked up high he climbed out of his window onto the narrow balcony, taking a few pillows and a blanket with him to keep warm in the cold evening wind. He had a perfect view out onto the street from here, and they wouldn't see him unless they bothered to look up.

No matter how long it took... he would sit here, and wait.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't keep the small smile off his face. Having reunited with Ziio was one thing, but her brethren, cousins and relatives, the clan members that he met before welcomed him back with more than open arms. He had no idea what Ziio told them of his departure, but evidently he unknowingly helped the very in debt clan leader pay off her debts, a fact to be celebrated. And a bonfire on a cool night sounded most nostalgic.

He accepted the praise graciously, allowing Ziio to bond with family and friends she hadn't seen in some time, watching her over the fire's glow. She was radiant.

After some time, an hour or more of festivities the group waned, and about another hour later it was simply them and a few others, who wandered off from time to time, fire dying in its hearth. Ziio shivered next to him as the wind blew.

Saying nothing, he laid down his coat, instructing her to lay on it, about to lay flat on the dew moistened sand, until she stopped him. "You lay down first."

"Mm." He did, her smaller body pressing to his, laying on top of him securely, a missing piece to a complicated puzzle.

His arms tightened around her automatically, hands rubbing over the softening leather of her jacket, an attempt to keep her warm. Silence, only the crackling fire in front of them, the occasional footsteps trailing to and fro and the glint of fire passing them. He could fall asleep like this, it was rather tranquil.

"I didn't expect any of this Haytham. Thank you."

"I hardly planned any of this, it simply turned out well."

She gazed at him, braided hair falling to either side of her face , and he cupped her cheek briefly. No words were needed, not as they leaned toward each other, lips slow in the descent, taking their time.

Two hours later, ruffled clothing and tousled, retied hair and all, he pulled up to her house, shaking her awake. "You're home, Ziio."

"Hm?" Oh, yes... she climbed from the car, Haytham's jacket still tight around her, and she made to return it to him.

"Keep it. It suits you."

She wouldn't argue, and she tip toed, pressing a kiss to his lips again. How many times they'd done this tonight, she couldn't guess, but Haytham wouldn't let it progress further, as much as the pressure against her leg spoke of how he wanted to.

At least it wasn't a blow to her ego, she had requested to take it slow, someone had to try to.

Arms around his neck, and his around her, they kissed once more, a quick tangle of tongue before parting. Haytham exhaled slowly, attempting to adjust the dull stirring he felt.

"Don't bother." Ziio quipped.

"Am I that transparent?"

"No, it's just that obvious."

He chuckled, low, letting her go reluctantly and pecked her cheek. "Flattery, Ziio."

"Honesty, Haytham." She turned on her heel, opening the door, but not before making sure... "Next weekend, right?"

"Mm. Or perhaps lunch, this Sunday or Monday."

"Monday is good for me."

"Then, both."

Their lips twitched, Haytham bowing his head slightly, before walking toward his car with a skip in his step. "Later, woman."

"Later, douche bag."

He could but smile, the same as she, both of their moods heightened. There was no way the night could go sour now.

-=-=-=-

No... no... no... heard it too often... no... no... ye gods no... “Hm.” Dammit he needed new songs... should ask Myriam to rip some new ones off of youtube tomorrow. Pressing play Connor leaned back against the wall, the hoodie of his vest pulled down over his eyes as the catchy beat of Gangnam Style entered his ears. This too was something he had heard way too often already but it was so damn catchy. His left foot tapped against the concrete in rhythm of PSY's crazy lyrics and he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders... so cold. When were they coming back? It had been hours already and Angry Birds couldn't hold his interest for so long.

It was a little past midnight when the sleek car he recognized as belonging to Haytham finally came in view and parked in front of the house. Connor sat up carefully, slowly so as to not draw attention to himself, and narrowed his eyes as he watched his father refuse the return of his jacket – slimy bastard – and grimaced as he watched them share a kiss.

Childish maybe, to be icked watching your parents make out but he felt entitled to it, considering.

He wasn't pleased at all to hear that they were making further plans for next weekend and grumbled, feeling around next to him for the sling shot he had brought with him. He used to make a lot of these as a kid; most had broken down over time but this one was still in decent shape and more importantly; functional. He wasn't supposed to use it and most definitely not on people; Ziio didn't even know he still had this one but screw this. At least he was not using rocks, though he really should. He had taken a few chestnuts from the bowl on the coffee table instead.

Putting one in the sling, keeping a second one pressed against his palm with his middle finger for quick reloading he pulled it back and aimed as Haytham walked towards his car – crazy bastard was skipping even. Nuts. What a pansy.

Just as Haytham reached out to open the door of his car, Connor let go of the sling, watching the chestnut fly away in a perfect arc and almost hearing the sharp thonk it made as it hit the side of his father's skull. It wasn't a rock but it would still hurt. He wished he could make it hurt a lot more but Ziio was going to be angry enough as it was for even doing this, childish as it was. But he'd gladly deal with her wrath to have a chance at getting back at the old man.

As expected Haytham immediately turned to see where it had come from and what it was, already reaching up to rub his head and Connor quickly lined up the second chestnut, aimed and fired, hitting him right between the eyes.

Despite it being dark, this was almost too easy.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't quite explain how he felt... maybe he could have related twenty years ago, but this felt so much more... more...

As ineloquent as it was to say, awesome.

There was a skip in his step, he felt it, Ziio chuckling at him as he moved to open the car door, smile on his face- "Ah! The hell?"

He looked around, eyes squinting in the dark , and he saw it rolling over the street where it had landed: a nut of some sort? Judging from the angle it hit him it came from above, but no tree had that much force...

His son glanced at him from a distance, eyes narrowing as the second chest nut hit him between the eyes, stinging quite a bit, and Ziio stepped outside completely, not having retreated yet, and frowned as Haytham did.

"… Really?!" He yelled it, loud enough for Connor to hear, rolling his eyes before Ziio looked toward the roof, able to make out the sling shot and piece the rest together. Oh he could not be serious, not after what Haytham did for them today!

"Connor, kitchen! NOW!"

Haytham blinked, backing away just a little from the tiny volcano that was the petite Ziio. Oh boy, so much for ending off on a good note, huh? "Go easy on him, I think he's a bit touched."

"When I'm through with him, he's going to be a bit touched ."

Huh, so she was an advocate for tough love... "It hardly changes anything."

Ziio simply frowned, shaking her head at her supposed twenty year old son. "It's hardly the point."

"I know." And he did, truly, Connor was little more than an overgrown child. Still, the once happy Ziio was looking worse for wear, crossing her arms over her chest, almost pouting. Aw, little firework...

She gasped in surprise as he pulled on her hair, face upside down, and lips meeting her, tongue swiping her bottom lip and sucking on it hard before letting go, dropping his hand from her hair. "What were you angry about?"

"… I was angry?"

He chuckled, letting her calm down before patting her shoulder and getting into his car. "Sleep tight, woman."

"You too, Haytham." He took off after she moved, shaking his head at his son's complete insolence. To be dealt with later, apparently the boy did not learn.

In the meantime, Ziio entered their house again, slamming the door, menacing look returning to her face. Of all the stupid... "Connor, I need to talk to you, now!"

-=-=-=-

… they were kissing again. He was touching again! Fucking hell! Connor sat up straight, fingers twitching around the handle of the sling shot but as much as the temptation was urging him on he was already in enough trouble.

He kept his eyes on Haytham, nearly burning a hole right through him with how venomous his glare was, until he finally, finally got into his car and drove off.

It was only until he turned around the corner that he allowed himself to relax slightly, shoulders slumping a little and he sighed deeply... Ziio was already inside and waiting for him to chew him out. There was no point in avoiding it any longer, he had called this upon himself and he didn't regret any of it.

Right then.

Standing up he collected his pillows and threw them through the window, leaving them on the floor of his room before he climbed through himself, closed it and tossed the blanket into a corner.

The slingshot still dangled from his fingers when he entered the kitchen; the anger was still visible in his brown eyes, his movements stiff and twitchy.

“Why didn't you leave a call?” he asked before Ziio could even open her mouth, needing to say his piece before he was willing to bow down and deal with the consequences of his actions just now. “Not even a text to confirm you were gone with him? All I had were his words and I don't have a reason to believe anything he says. Or did you forget that Wednesday is the only night my shift ends at ten? You know, I do get it, I really do. I'm sure he's all charming and shit, but what I can't understand is why you're letting him close so quickly after so many years, just like that, like the fact he hasn't done shit for us for twenty years doesn't even matter!”

Angrily he tossed the sling shot onto the kitchen table and flopped down into a chair, offering a small shrug of his shoulders. “I don't regret it, just so you know. He deserved it and he should be glad I didn't use rocks.” Or his hunting bow.

-=-=-=-

Why didn't she leave a call? She almost felt guilty, until he mentioned Haytham telling him. That and because of Haytham they'd have tomorrow to spend together, a day instead of a few hours... that and...

"I can say the same for you, running off for hours yesterday. Someone had the courtesy to leave you a note, I'm glad. It was more courtesy than you gave me." Her voice remained steady and calm, but her thin hands trembled.

"I didn't forget anything, I have Thursday off now, as do you, permanently thanks to your father, and the clan leader has her chemotherapy paid in full thanks to him." She saw the surprise in his eyes but kept going, taking a step or two closer to him. "For your information, Haytham had me back at ten on the dot, but they decided to throw a bonfire for him as a thank you and invited us. You weren't here, so I went. I had fun, thank you for being concerned about my happiness."

She was almost ranting, her eyes never leaving her son before she eyed the sling shot, shaking her head. "You have no idea what he's offered to do, no idea what he has done, what we would have done, and why we decided what we did, but damn it Connor, it was a joint decision. He didn't run off, he stayed for as long as he could, but-" And she paused, averting her eyes. He wouldn't understand, he wasn't mature enough to. Maybe in a few years, but certainly not now.

"… Throw the sling shot away, Connor. Throw it away, go take a shower, and go to bed so I can think of how to punish you after we go out tomorrow because your father stepped in." She turned on her heel, unable to stop her voice from cracking. "You have no idea what I – what we went through. Maybe I'll tell you someday so you understand, but not while you're making threats and acting this way."

Upset, she never truly got upset, but this was a rare occasion where it was warranted, and she walked away from her son, not wanting to look at him right now. She couldn't even explain things to him, because of his foolish behavior. She had wanted them to get along, to at least try... but...

How could she see Haytham with Connor acting this way? How long need she put up with this petty feud between the two? A week in and she was exhausted... it had to get better, right?

"… I'll cancel my dates with him. Good night." She left in silence, closing the door behind her, unable to keep from shaking. All these years... and this is how it would end.

-=-=-=-

Connor inwardly winced. Right shit, she was right. He was a hypocrite for accusing her for not leaving him a message while he had run away last night and made her worry just as much if not more.

He wanted to say that he'd never asked for the help with his rescheduling at work. Yes, he was glad that he was now able to spend more time with her but he also knew, just knew that Haytham had only done it for her, not for him.

He wanted to tell her that Haytham had been baiting him at work, which was largely responsible for the anger he'd felt today, but it didn't feel right to bring that up now.

He was a little surprised to hear that Haytham actually had her back at the time he got off from work... he hadn't known about the bonfire though. This wasn't the first time he had jumped to conclusions about things he didn't know the full story of; he tended to do that a lot and it was a bad habit, one he was trying to break. It was easier said than done though.

Connor looked away, eyes on his folded hands. He didn't want to hear how it had been a joint decision... it was so much easier to blame everything on his no-good father than know that his mother had also agreed to it. Because he couldn't be angry at her for the fact that he had grown up not even knowing who his father was. He just couldn't. He just wanted to blame Haytham for everything, but this made it a lot more difficult.

Everything Ziio said... fuck, he honestly felt guilty now. He had just been so... so angry, but in being angry, trying to get back at his father and pissing him off... he'd hurt her too and that had never been his intention. That was another bad habit of him; he acted before he thought things over, allowed himself to be led by impulses. It wasn't good, it was something he needed to work on but he wasn't sure if he even could.

He slowly looked up, watching her leave the kitchen and close the door behind him. He rarely saw her upset like this and he realized that he had majorly screwed up today.

Yes, glad that she would cancel her upcoming dates with Haytham... but at the cost of her own happiness. Was it worth it?

“Shit...” Pressing her forehead against the table Connor wrapped his arms around his head and closed his eyes. So many emotions... guilt, anger, frustration, sadness.

He'd do as she told tonight, and tomorrow... tomorrow he'd apologize. He had to. He'd be there for his mom, he'd fucking be there... maybe then she'd be less inclined to go back to Haytham and things, life could go back to the way they had been, without him.

Standing up he picked up the sling shot and walked over to the trashcan, looking at the object in his hand with a frown before he tossed it inside and turned to go take his shower.

~*~

The following morning Connor left for school earlier than he usually did on a Thursday, to make up for lost homework time from the night before. Shaun and Myriam didn't notice a difference in his behavior – he was still agitated and silent – and they left him alone for the most part, offering silent comfort. He felt bad, they deserved an explanation but he didn't feel ready to talk about it, not while things were still so chaotic at home. He needed more time and he was sure they'd understand.

The day passed by in a blur, Connor paying little attention to what his teachers were telling. After school he and Ziio would go... somewhere, have some mother-son time together, but after last night he wondered if it would even help. He'd accept whatever punishment she deemed fit for last night, and he'd try his best to be pleasant today and avoid any unwanted topics... he'd let her decide where they would go too. He didn't care, he just... just wanted things to be right again between him and her, the way it had been before it all screwed over like it had.

“Mom?” he called out as he opened the front door and placed his bag on the floor in a corner. “I'm home.” He hadn't really decided on how to apologize to her yet... mostly he was waiting for the right moment and hope that the proper words would come to him when he needed them. He needed to fix things...

-=-=-=-

Haytham felt better than he had in years, so good he did an extra five laps around his pool without noticing.

It was like feeling young again, like he had... oh he couldn't explain it, always preoccupied with work for every waking moment the past twenty-something years. His whole life was military training, discipline, sweat, and work. On repeat cycle, for almost all of its entirety. But now... he had time now. Subordinates, capable ones to handle some tasks so he needn't fret continuously. He could give Ziio what she deserved, treat her the way he wanted to. He could support her, provide for her... even for the irritating runt he had for a son.

Heh, he was in such a good mood he didn't even mind thinking about said irritating child; his mood was infectious even. Sure he didn't smile or skip around, throwing confetti with hearts in his eyes, but he wasn't demanding, wasn't making threats to eviscerate the lab tech who broke a test tube... and he even let that irritating intern get away with four full seconds of whistling before threatening termination.

He was growing soft... ah well, there were worse things.

It wasn't until ten that his phone rang; Haytham checked the number and his lips twitched. "Welcome back, woman."

"We have to stop seeing each other."

He blinked, once, staring at the phone before fake laughing, voice terse. "That wasn't funny."

"I wasn't joking."

His eye twitched, and again he lowered his phone to stare at it, heart racing. "… What happened?"

"I... we just can't, I'll text you later." She was upset, and it was only the third time he'd heard her sound this way... and the second time involving him.

"No, no Ziio, this requires immediate explanation!" He hadn't done a damn thing wrong, last night was almost perfect, save for a few chestnuts... Grey eyes narrowed, his voice dropping. "Did Connor put you up to this?" That sniveling, insolent little twit-

"No, Haytham, you both did. I can't... this tit for tat spiteful relationship between you two, I can see where this is going and I... I can't play this game, Haytham, I can't. I'm still his mother, and you... have a better chance of moving on without me."

"Ziio..."

"Good-bye, Haytham. I'm sorry."

And she was gone, just like that, out of his life. The moment she hung up the phone, she left for the shower, hoping the scalding water would chase away the constant flow of tears.

Haytham, on the other hand, could but sit there. He came back, and with it was the hope he could some day rekindle his relationship with Ziio. And now, there was no chance... none at all...

All because his son threw fucking chestnuts at him from a fucking roof. What the hell did that little prick say after he left? Sure he baited him, and yes he only did anything to impact Ziio but damn it, it wasn't as if Connor didn't benefit from it!

No... no this would not end like this, not now, not ever.

"Church, Hickey, attend the conferences today. Detailed briefing will be held for information so they must be accurate.”

The two men nodded and Haytham briskly walked towards an elevator, briefly passing Charles. "Won't be able to make it to the press conference fill, thanks."

Charles barely blinked, but Haytham was already gone, taking the elevator to his car and his car to New Rochelle, because he would be damned if he gave Ziio up without a fight!

~*~

She sat by the table, occasionally sniffling, but not doing much more. Perhaps this is how it was meant to be, Haytham and her spent twenty years apart by choice- sure it was a difficult and depressing choice that they were apprehensive about but it was still a choice.

Maybe she could move on... date someone else. Ugh, her throat burned at the thought. She'd tried that, with not an ounce of success. No one made it past date three, and most wanted sex by then... not Haytham, no. It had taken him a few dates to kiss her properly, forget sex...

Smarter, better looking, subtle in his emotions but she understood that, she too was muted and they shared their reasons for being such.

His were frightening in comparison... and their history, their inside jokes, their... everything. Who could compare to Haytham Kenway?

No one, and she knew it because she had tried to replace him and failed.

She may never say it aloud, but Haytham was the first and only man she loved... but Connor was her son, she's been a mother for far too long to ignore his feelings, no matter how stern she could be.

A knock on the door and she wiped her eyes, trudging over and putting on a muted, blank face for Connor as she opened the door. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hey yourself, woman."

No... big brown eyes met grey and Haytham stuck his foot between the door and the wall, knowing her well. "Don't."

"… I can't now anyway."

"Mm." He wedged himself inside, brushing past and sitting at the kitchen table, crossing his arms. "Well? Explain."

Her mask was firmly in place, her voice as passive as always. "I already have."

"Cut the crap and explain, Ziio, and don't say this is because of chestnuts and an argument or two. We're tougher than that."

That she couldn't argue with... they'd been through so much, much more than she could explain, much more than anyone could understand. "… Connor."

"Yes, he hates me, I don't care for him, but he's entitled to his feelings and I mine. He's an adult, there's nothing to worry about."

"Haytham, it's... more than that. The way he's been acting, I've never seen him this..."

"Immature? Stand offish? Blatantly child like?"

"You're proving my point, justifying my feelings by doing this."

"By what, not liking my son? That's my choice, it's a shared feeling... but we won't kill each other or anything, Ziio."

"I need stability, for you two to at least be able to talk civilly... to try to bond, Haytham. I need that, I really do."

"… Then we'll bond. We'll... go camping, like you wanted to, the three of us and I will promise to be on my best behavior." He wouldn't promise not to bait him, not to call him a name or two and snap but he would try. He could look at her face, devoid of emotion, but her eyes were lined with red. Oh Ziio... she never cried. How much did it hurt to do this... did it hurt her as much as it did him? "I refuse to accept your goodbye, not until the day you die do you get to say goodbye."

She said nothing, her face blank still, her mask almost impermeable. "Haytham?"

"Mm?"

"That's the gayest thing I've ever heard you say. I'm throwing up internally."

He fought the twitch of his lips, standing near her, close enough to smell her body wash. "Sorry, I'm dealing with this woman who likes to call me right before meetings and jostle my brain."

"… Oh shit." And he still came all the way here...

"Mm, yes that's the term for it."

Silence, and Ziio met his eyes, unsure. " I... I still don't know..."

-=-=-=-

Hm... no answer? Frowning Connor shrugged out of his jacket and put it on a coat hanger, straightening his shirt as he listened for any sign that his mother- voices... he heard voices. Not one, but two, coming from behind the closed kitchen door.

Oh balls, please don't let it be who he thought it was.

Tip-toeing his way over to the door Connor pressed his ear against it and scrunched his eyebrows together... that was his mother talking and there, right there, that was his voice! That guy really didn't know when to give up, did he? The problem here was... he couldn't afford to make another scene in front of his mother. She was already hurting, he had already gone too far last night.

Fortunately there were more ways than one to deal with old Kenway.

Steeling himself, Connor turned the doorknob and pushed it open, his eyes briefly landing on Haytham. It only lasted for a second before they focused on his mother again and softened, all the anger and frustration seeping out of them. “I'm home.” He walked towards her, kissing her on the cheek and placed his graded report on the Seven-Years-War on the kitchen table – an A minus. Professor Davenport never gave out straight A's, so an A minus was about as perfect as it came.

“So... have you thought about where we could go today?” he asked as he walked to the fridge and opened it, leaning forward so he could look at its contents and settled on a can of Mountain Dew. “Somewhere quiet maybe? Where we can talk?” Popping the lid he pushed the fridge shut with his foot and seated himself on the edge of the table, his back to Haytham.

If he couldn't fight with his father in front of Ziio, then he would just completely ignore his presence all together. Maybe, if he ignored him long enough he would simply cease to exist. Wouldn't that be awesome?

-=-=-=-

Neither of them heard the door open, Ziio in the middle of explaining her situation to Haytham. "Our feelings are mutual, as ever. I just don't want the both of you to live like this, at each others throats. It isn't fair to either one of you."

Before Haytham could respond, could dare ask how it was fair that he had to loose her all over again when he wasn't acting particularly horrible, Connor himself waltzed through the door. The glare didn't go unnoticed, his eye twitching as he kissed her, completely ignoring him to turn to his mother.

Already she looked pained, but she hid it well, though not as well as she used to. Motherhood softened her, he could see it in her eyes; she was no where near as delicate or emotional as the other women he'd encountered, but her eyes had a softened touch, the sharp edges of her demeanor smoothed.

And that was fine, it just meant one thing; tactic change.

"Connor, we'll leave shortly-"

"Right after we all have a brief conversation."

Surprise, quickly hidden as unsure eyes met his, but he wouldn't give her the chance to refuse that offer – not that she would, but he wouldn't risk the chance.

"Connor, you've probably noticed that I'm a total douchebag." Said in his same matter of fact tone, he watched the corners of Ziio's lips twitch upwards, continuing. "It's not something I attempt to be, I just simply am. It's a matter of upbringing and I don't particularly care to change."

Ziio hid her confusion, watching Connor's face before darting her gaze back to Haytham.

"You're immature and childish, though I assume there are some decent qualities that I've yet to encounter. One of my better qualities is my unyielding, brutal honesty." A pause and Ziio moved to make room for Haytham; Connor wouldn't look at him, but Haytham stood in front of him none the less, looking into his face and blatantly, softly declaring the truth.

"I don't like you, you don't like me. And that's fine." Haytham searched eyes that matched his mothers. "We don't have to like each other, we don't have to have the great father-son relationship every hallmark card shoves down every family's throat. I personally despise sentimentality, the notion of one unified family. There is no such thing, not truly-"

"Haytham." The softness of her voice, and he shook his head, getting back to the point, all too aware of her fingers grasping his dangling hand. Comforting, even now, even on the urge of giving him up. No, he wouldn't lose her, he wouldn't.

He swallowed thickly, standing up right, eyes drifting back to neutrality. "As I said, we don't have to like each other, you can go on hating me. But there is no reason civility has to be abandoned, and no reason to make Ziio suffer for our inability to get along. She doesn't deserve it, we can both agree her... her happiness is important. Our civility will make her happy, and hence, I call a truce."

She was in awe of him, staring at his back blankly, just listening to his silken words.

"I'm going to continue to be a douchebag, but I'll consider what I say a little more, under the pretense that I don't get chestnuts flung at my head for taking your mother out on dates. I'll be back when you get off work, you spend your evenings and Thursdays with her, I spend my lunch hours and other free time with her."

"… and you both agree to do lunch bi weekly."

Pausing, Haytham frowned. "… Oh?"

"Mhm. You may not like each other now, but in order to be civil you need to bond, not avoid each other."

Damn, she had a point. "… Alright. Lunch, you attend school not far from me, Connor. It shouldn't be an issue." He extended his hand, but not before turning to Ziio, her hand still tight around his. "Will this make you happy?"

"Yes." It was whispered, softly, and he had to look away from her glistening eyes, listening to her cough slightly behind him before he straightened. "Good. Connor... what say you?"

-=-=-=-

"Connor, we'll leave shortly-"

Yay!

"Right after we all have a brief conversation."

Oh balls...

Connor angrily sipped his mountain dew, keeping his eyes in front of him as Haytham spoke. And after barely a minute he couldn't even do that anymore as the bastard found it necessary to invade his personal bubble and stand right in front of him, nearly trapping him between himself and the table. Seriously, dude?!

Grimacing Connor straightened, leaning back slightly and turned his head, staring at a dirty smudge on the fridge as Haytham continued his rant, about how they didn't have to like each other, it was fine to hate, they didn't need a decent relationship, but-

He frowned... he didn't want to admit it but Haytham was right – hell he had already known himself – Ziio's happiness was important and if that meant a... truce... oh dammit. Just what he didn't want. He wasn't looking forward to spend time with his father, why the hell would he even want to? But one glance at his mother's face, catching the hopeful gleam in her dark eyes, Connor knew that this was something he simply couldn't refuse.

He wasn't that selfish, or cruel. He supposed... he could make a bit of an effort to at least be, as she called it, civil around the guy... as long as he promised not to keep baiting him like that on purpose. Ugh... well, alright then-

"… and you both agree to do lunch bi weekly."

“What?!” Balking Connor's wide eyes settled on his mother, barely believing what he had just heard. She wanted them to do what exactly? Lunch? With him? Twice a week? The empty soda can cracked a little as his fingers tightened around it, every muscle in his body growing tense. Please disagree, please say no, please say no, please say n-

"… Alright. Lunch, you attend school not far from me, Connor. It shouldn't be an issue."

Dammit!

It seemed to please Ziio though... a lot. That much he could tell from simply glancing at her and he sighed, staring down at the offered hand before he reached out and shook it. “Fine.” For her... he was only doing this for her. His eyes flitted up to his father's face and his hand tightened but he didn't expect to even see a flinch; Haytham was far too stoic for that, despite the strength Connor had in his hands.

Letting go he resisted the urge to wipe his hand with his shirt and hopped off the table, dumping the empty soda can into the trash as he turned to face his mother. “Shall we then?”

~*~

It was settled that lunch with Haytham would happen every Tuesday and Friday, from 12PM to 1PM. Today was such a Tuesday and he wished he could have stayed in bed this morning. What sucked the most was that he couldn't spend his lunch hour with his friends, and from their reaction he could tell that they were equally bummed by the news as well. Bummed... and morbidly interested.

“Soooooo... tell me again just how they managed to convince you to have lunch with your disgustingly rich, world famous father, whom you can't stand, every other day?” Shaun asked as he twirled a pen between his fingers, walking with him and Myriam through the hallways down to the cafeteria.

“Blackmail.” Connor answered darkly and hoisted his bag up so the strap stopped digging into his shoulder. “And it's twice a week. Jesus Shaun, don't make it sound even worse.”

“Where is he taking you? Do you know?” Myriam asked and he shrugged.

“Not a clue. I hope it's not something fancy. I'm really starting to hate fancy.”

“Hmmmm.... dinner with Haytham Kenway.”

The dreamy look on Myriam's face was more than a little disturbing and Connor cleared his throat loudly, shoving her shoulder. “Cut that out!”

Myriam just smirked and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a quick peck on the lips before she took Shaun's hand pulled him into the cafeteria. “Good luck! I wanna know every little detail in class later on!”

He watched them go until they disappeared in the stream of hungry students and sighed, turning on his heel to leave campus.

A short bus ride later found him once again in front of the steps leading up towards the large entry doors of Kenway Corporations, where he was supposed to meet his father. The security guard at the entrance was a different one from last time but as Connor stepped inside and entered the lobby he saw that it was the same secretary. Great.

At least he wasn't trailing mud with him this time.

He moved in line and waited for her to deal with a cranky old businessman standing in front of him, and stepped forward when it was his turn. Clearing his throat she looked up and immediately her eyes narrowed as she took in his appearance. Oh, she remembered him! Yay...

“You again?” She asked and her hand drifted towards the phone, much like she had done the last time. No doubt to call security and he quickly raised his hands to stop her.

“Whoa now, I actually do have an appointment this time.”

Her thin eyebrows rose up even higher and he sighed... why was that so difficult to believe? “Do you now?”

“Yes! Could you just...” He wildly gestured towards the phone. “do whatever it is you do and tell him I'm here? The name's Connor. And tell him to hurry, I only have an hour before class starts again.”

Still she did nothing, just stared at him, clearly not believing a word he said and Connor felt his frustration grow by the second. Had Haytham not even bothered to inform her that he'd be coming today? He probably thought this was all very funny!

“Please?” he asked through gritted teeth. Come on lady!

-=-=-=-

Thankfully Connor cared more about his mother than his own immature agenda, the first aspect of of his son he found himself not repulsed by.

They stuck to their agreement, and Ziio – quite happily in her own way - met him for lunch on Monday, much to the irritation of Charles who demanded to know what was going on with Haytham.

"Three missed meetings, Church filling in for you at a press conference, lunches at strange hours and..." He paused, Haytham's eyes on his phone, the barest of twitches encompassing full lips. "Are you listening to me?"

"Of course, Charles." His fingers nimbly typed back to Ziio.

HAYTHAM 12:56PM:

Help I'm being nagged at, SOS- save our souls- our being my majesty and self, I presume you know as much but in case you're suffering a lapse

The phone was almost snatched from him but Haytham recovered quickly and fixed Charles with a blatant frown, finishing his text by adding:

HAYTHAM 12:56PM:

in judgment. And now he's touching me

He knew Ziio hated Charles and vice versa, and in moments like this, where Charles was nagging him, he didn't mind in the least. Granted, Charles was his right hand and confidant, but sometimes he needed to relax – the company wasn't going anywhere, missing one meeting wasn't going to destroy twenty years worth of work.

"You're acting strangely, you're hiding something from me." And Haytham never hid anything from him... so what was this obvious secret he kept? Blue eyes narrowed as Haytham's phone beeped once, the man checking a text and covering his mouth, the slight crow feet crinkling at the corner of his eyes as he read Ziio's message.

ZIIO 12:58PM:

Quickly, tell him a joke, if he smiles the grease from his hair might drip into his eyes and you can run away

HAYTHAM 12:58:

Ziio, I'm sure his, er, issues are glandular

The response was immediate, Haytham watching Charles become increasingly aggravated out of the corner of his eyes.

ZIIO 12:59PM:

Yeah, his issues are glandular and my chest is a G cup. I call bullshit

He had to stuff the phone away, shaking his head and giving Charles his full attention – he was still a close friend after all. "It's nothing, really. I'm just having a bit of fun, Charles. I take my work very seriously, you know that."

"I'm aware, but for success you need to stay on top of it, you know that better than anyone." Yes, yes he did... work was a constant, he knew that. He performed well, disregarded excuses and commanded excellence. He was a presence, he knew that too.

"We'll talk more after lunch, alright?" Grabbing his jacket, Haytham leisurely left, Charles walking behind him.

"Lunch?" But they always ate together, except for yesterday... what the hell was going on? He followed Haytham to the lobby, again in awe of what he found there – that half breed again, probably a Native mix judging by the ornaments in his hair. How second class, average, mundane-

The secretary went to page Haytham, only to find him a few feet away. "Mr. Kenway, your visitor is back, shall I show him the-"

"That won't be necessary, he'll be coming by Tuesdays and Fridays, be sure to escort him to my office next time. I have lab work to attend to."

Stunned, she nodded, Charles watching the pair, glowering. Why was Haytham giving this... this... random vagabond child his attention? He already gave him money last time, what more did this boy want?

"Hope you don't mind take out, I do have a lab exercise to complete." Not that Haytham cared if Connor minded, but it sounded so much more polite to sound like he did. He'd give it a try for Ziio, she was worth that much.

"Haytham, where are you two going?"

A raised eyebrow and Haytham's arms crossed over his chest. "My lab, for lunch. I need to reconfigure the molecular schematic on the soft tissue scanner, the pixilation is a tad dull for the presentation. Simple enough to do while we eat." Not that he owed Charles an explanation, it was his company, but he didn't like the look in the other man's eye. They'd known each other for too long, and while Charles allowed them to step into the elevator alone, Haytham's eye couldn't help but twitch.

This wasn't over, Charles was a friend but he had a habit for being notoriously mouthy.

Pushing that thought aside, he turned to Connor as the elevators opened, his entire laboratory empty and ready for his personal use. It spanned an entire floor, everything from bio-engineering to medical supplies and radioactive pharmaceuticals were in separate, organized units. He walked briskly, the clack of his expensive dress shoes loud against the marble.

"How's school coming along? What are you majoring in exactly?" He knew it was history of some sort – ugh, liberal arts – but he'd feign curiosity to make this tolerable and he provided a few menus to Connor before grabbing a set of tools. This part wouldn't require goggles or gloves... yet. Hopefully the boy wasn't too squeamish.

-=-=-=-

Ah, there he was. And ugh, Greasy was with him. Connor met Charles' gaze without flinching; this wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with someone who thought less of someone of mixed blood and darker skin and it certainly wouldn't be the last time either. Go figure that his father would hang out with someone like that. He kept silent though, swallowing whatever nasty reply he had at the ready; he wasn't even five minutes into the first lunch with his father, it would do him no good to already fuck it up.

With one last glare at Charles Connor turned and followed his father into the elevator, leaning against the mirrored wall and looking everything but interested in where they were going. So this was his personal lab. Who cared?

“Take-out's fine.” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders, and straightened as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The laboratory was pretty much as he had expected it to be; large, white, sterile looking in a way that instantly reminded him of the dentist and full of equipment he couldn't even guess the name or function of. It was huge, spanning an entire floor and Connor arched his eyebrow at Haytham's back; overcompensating much?

Following him towards a table he pulled a chair back and turned it around, set his bag on the floor and flopped down, resting his arms on the back rest. “It's fine.” he answered, catching the feigned curiosity and interest in Haytham's voice; it was well disguised but it was there. “I major in history, American history for the most part but European history as well. Right now I'm involved in a big project about the Revolutionary War, but I'll spare you the details because I know you don't give a crap anyway.”

He took the menus and skimped them over quickly – truthfully he wasn't all that hungry and there was nothing on there that really tickled his interest – or his stomach. Oh... speaking of food. Reaching down he zipped open his bag and pulled out a square plastic container. “Left over macaroni casserole from last night. Mom told me to give it to you. Heat it up or throw it away, I don't care.” Tossing the container on the table where Haytham was doing... whatever it was that he was doing because he certainly didn't have a clue, Connor slowly swiveled the chair around to better observe his surroundings... until his phone started vibrating.

Frowning he reached down and fished his phone out of his pocket, looking at the text message flashing on the screen.

MYRIAM 1:09PM:

Hey hows it goin? What u eatin? Is he behavin? Give ur hot dilf a hug for me! Xxx M

Jesus, Myriam! Haytham was a DILF? Fuck no! Unfortunately he knew all too well what that meant; Connor felt the redness creep to his face as he quickly texted a 'ur insane!' back to her and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“So uh...” Clearing his throat he pulled his hoodie over his hair and tugged it down over his eyes as he gestured around the lab, desperate to have something, anything to talk about to get the horrible mental images Myriam's text message had provided him with out of his head. “What do you do all day? Have you cured cancer yet?”

-=-=-=-

He frowned but left Connor's comment alone. No, he didn't give a crap about history to be honest, although... oh he'd mention it later maybe. Just maybe. Only because it was an interesting tidbit of information.

Hm? Eyeing the container he felt his tips twitch and he made for his own phone, texting Ziio.

HAYTHAM 1:09PM:

Lunch? How courteous. Am I often in your thoughts during the twilight hours?

While Haytham's talents extended to the kitchen, it remained a wasted one, what with cooking for a single person. He placed the container in the fridge a few feet away, getting back to his task before tilting his head curiously. He wasn't sure if that was a quip or not...

"Not... precisely." He mulled it over, Connor probably didn't care about what he did either, but he had to fill the space with something other than silence. "I'm a medical doctor with a PhD. in medical technology. My company is in charge of mass producing radioactive pharmaceuticals that are beginning to specialize in targeting individual cancer cells within a patient." He paused, thinking of an example.

"Say a person develops cancer of the pancreas. Instead of being treated to doses or radiation that would expose the entire body to its massive effects, including loss of healthy cells, hair and the increased bouts of nausea, this concentrated dose, targeted for a certain area would limit the amount of exposure to chemotherapy and would save them from the after affects. Or such is the hope in the near future. So I suppose the answer to your question is, I'm working on it."

Right. The small computer screen brightened before him, Haytham widening the image before squinting and adjusted the setting quickly before taking a small screw driver to the back. "My particular job is mass producing the molecular technology to make detection possible, which is what I'm working on configuring as we speak. Hope you're not squeamish, I need to get a few kidneys to run a scan." A slight pause, and he turned to Connor impassively.

"How... is your mother?" Yeah, he'd seen her yesterday but... "Any idea of places she'd like to visit? It's for Saturday." They couldn't say he wasn't trying to bond, he was extending the olive branch. His son was just making it... difficult, as per usual.

Heh, his lips twitched upwards at the thought. He was like his mother in that respect.

-=-=-=-

… ah. Well then, he wasn't completely useless then was he? If he figured out a way to cure cancer then he could earn bonus points. Myriam would like this news though. Her grand mother had died of lung cancer a few years back and though it was too late for her, if Haytham managed this... then again that would probably make him even more of a DILF in Myriam's eyes.

Eeeew.

“No I'm not squeamish.” he answered with a shrug and waved his hand. “I gut and skin my own game during hunting season, I can handle a few kidneys.” Pft, please. He had gotten his hands bloody on nastier things.

The next question caught him off guard a little and blinking at Haytham he wasn't sure what to think. It wasn't really surprising that the topic would eventually turn to his mom because that was pretty much the only thing Haytham was interested in and could talk to him about. And the question was valid true enough. He had plans himself this upcoming Saturday and they had agreed that Haytham could take Ziio out on the days he worked or was otherwise busy.

So alright then. He kept his stare up for a few more seconds but then his shoulders sagged and he leaned back, thinking the question over. “Well you already met the other clan members, right?” Yeah he did, when they had a bonfire in his name, ugh. But hey, even he would agree that it had been for a good reason and that yes... maybe Haytham deserved that one. What he had done for their clan leader was very nice indeed.

Of course he'd never admit to that out loud.

“Mom's like me in a lot of ways, likes going outdoors. Nature, going on walks, that sort of thing. Occasionally she likes to go to the shopping mall but...” Hm. Yeah well... occasionally, because where was the fun when all you could do was look and watch other people buy the things they wanted because you had to watch your own money because you were tight on it?

But Haytham had plenty of money, more than he knew what to do with. Of course there was the problem with Ziio not wanting to accept any of it.

Brows furrowing Connor turned around in his chair, away from Haytham and crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess you could take her out to the mall, it's been a while for her.”

-=-=-=-

Outdoors, yes he was aware of that. Normally a snide comment about stating the obvious would be made, but it was more than likely that Connor didn't realize how many camping trips they'd been on, or the fact that he had been in military boot camp from the age of seven until he graduated high school. His eye twitched at the thought of his own mother, but he shoved it aside.

No way he was telling him that, however. No, only Ziio and Charles knew of that part of his life.

He noticed the pause and frowned ever so slightly, concentrating and fixing one last wire, putting the back in place and tightening screws before setting it down. He searched briefly for disposable gloves, removing his suit jacket and dawned the lab coat hanging from the hook by the door to replace his dress coat with it. Really he shouldn't be doing this here, he'd need to clean up extra fluids from the surfaces, but that was fine.

"Mm. Stereotypical, but understandable I suppose." He walked past Connor, out into another room briefly, before walking back in with an iced container, opening the contents and revealing the fresh kidneys, setting the box right on the table before setting up the dyes and injections. "The issue is, your mother has a habit of not accepting any of the money I send her or attempt to give her."

He kept his eyes on the task at hand, brows furrowing – scalpel? Oh yes, in the drawer by Connor. "Fetch me the scalpel, second drawer on the right, in the black and I stress black cloth." How many times did they hand him the brown cloth? Honestly, simple directions...

"… Give me your mother's credit and debit card numbers, and her paypal account if she has one."

-=-=-=-

Stereotypical up your ass , Connor thought and scowled as Haytham donned a lab coat, looking every bit the crazy scientist in his eyes.

Ah well, nothing that he could say would please the bastard anyway. He didn't need to get to know the guy to figure that Haytham would always find something to complain about, would always find a fault somewhere and deem it necessary to point it out.

Whatever the guy had up his ass, clearly it had been stuck in there far too long.

“She doesn't want a pity party, that's why she doesn't accept it.” Money was something you worked for, though the occasional gift on special days was always nice and never turned down but other than that... that's how it had always been, that's what he had grown up learning because that's how Ziio saw things. Money honestly earned.

The more money Haytham tried to shove into her face, the more reluctant she'd be to accept it.

“Yes yes, black. I heard you the first time.” Grumbling Connor shifted and yanked open the drawer, fishing out the requested scalpel and handing it to his father. Couldn't even get a please... nor even a thank you. Christ, this guy... if this was what a lot of money did to a person then he didn't even want to be rich!

“I'm not giving you anything. Firstly, what makes you think I know my mother's credit and debit card numbers from the top of my head? I rarely use them.” Usually only when he was send out for groceries and the like. Which fortunately wasn't often. That was one chore he really, really hated to do. “No paypal either. What are you planning anyway? Force money on her that way? I can tell you right now that that won't make her like you more and she won't accept it either.” It was said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Connor leaned back, propping his feet up on the table and folding his hands behind his head.

“Just do the traditional thing, take her out and buy her nice stuff. Really old man, it's not that difficult.” Ugh god, was he really explaining to his own father tips on how to take a woman on a date?

-=-=-=-

-=-=-=-

Connor rolled his eyes and zipped open his bag again, reaching down for the bottle of water he always brought with him to school. Pft, just because he didn’t switch girlfriend every other week didn't mean he didn't know how to treat one right. And from what he had seen so far, Haytham's own methods weren't exactly normal either.

Either way, he did not dignify it with a verbal response and instead just tipped his head back, the mouth of the bottle on his lips. Whatever man.

“You've allowed her to struggle for twenty years.” Yes, because she didn't accept any of his money, but it was still an odd thing to say. 'Not while I'm here.' Oh please, that was the lamest excuse he'd ever heard. Connor watched his father work for a while, handling the sharp scalpel with a skill and efficiency that was actually somewhat impressive, and glanced at the clock. Hm, twenty minutes left before he had to take the bus back to school. He wished time would go faster... never would he have thought he'd be eager to get his ass to school, but it beat this.

Connor took another chuck from the bottle, just as; “ Speaking of women, impregnate Myriam in the next few years-” His breath hitched, water flowing down the wrong way and he slammed the bottle on the table as he doubled over, coughing and hacking. “W-what the fuck, o-old man?!” he gasped and rubbed his throat, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, glaring imaginary daggers at his father's back. Did he have to be so blunt about it? “We're not in a relationship!” he growled as he screwed the cap back on his water bottle and stuffed it down in his bag. “We tried, it didn't work out. We grew up together, she's like a sister to me and mom knows that.” They remained best friends... with benefits. Occasionally he and Myriam did have sex but it was a purely physical thing, a way for both of them to vent and release and relax. It was fun. He wasn't looking for a relationship and neither was she, plus Connor was pretty sure that she didn't want kids anyway. Myriam didn't seem the type.

As for him, fifty percent chance that he'd end up with a guy anyway and he wasn't going to adopt. Hell... he wasn't a kid person himself either.

Only mom, Shaun and Myriam knew that he considered himself bisexual and he preferred to keep it that way.

“You really have to work on your delivery. Then again, you're probably an asshole on purpose.”

-=-=-=-

Oh, they weren't even dating? Huh, Ziio was strange sometimes, maybe that was supposed to be humor? Ah well it made little difference, Connor's reaction was thoroughly amusing.

Except for the one part that made Haytham's eyes narrow, and he stopped for just a moment to peer at his son. "You're mistaken." He'd offer no further elaboration, Ziio kept the details to herself, and he understood why. She had done what she had to, and he in turn the same given the circumstances. Perhaps Connor would mature one day, allowing for a proper explanation... but that day was clearly in the far future.

"I make no attempt at behaving either poorly or politely, I simply behave in my own, unfiltered manner, as is practice. Whether that's perceived as being an asshole is open to interpretation." Pausing he set the first slide in place, thin glass adhering to the small strip above. He'd run it under the microscope momentarily, all this slicing made him hungry. "Put your mother's food in the microwave, I'm famished. And fetch me the sugar. And stop glaring at me, my head won't explode no matter how long or often you wish it would."

-=-=-=-

... yeah, he was an asshole. An asshole, a douchebag, a bastard and everything else. And surely he wasn't the only one who thought that way. There was nothing anyone could do about though. Haytham wasn't going to change, he probably didn't even want to.

Was being an asshole genetic? He sure hoped not.

Aaaand there he went again, bossing him around like he had the right to do so. Haytham was his father maybe, biologically, but that didn't mean he had to listen to a word he said or do as he was told. He glanced at the fridge holding his mothers casserole and sighed. Yeah, how about no?

Standing up Connor pushed his chair back and walked over to where his father stood, stopped next to him and leaned sideways, blocking his view from the slices he had been working on. Peering right up into Haytham's face Connor blinked and smirked, his lips pulling back. “How about a please or a thank-you, hm? I'm not one of your employees you can boss around and expect I'll do whatever the hell you want me to do. Mom told me to give it to you, I did, it's yours. Warm it up yourself.”

-=-=-=-

And now he couldn't see, his slightly shorter son blocking his damn view. And Haytham couldn't help the scoff that left his mouth, arms crossing over his chest.

"How about I don't say please, and you heat my food up because I said so, and never you mind a thank-you, just do as you're told." Honestly, he was twenty, he wasn't asking him to run a marathon, it was just a plate of food. How melodramatic must he be?

He would have added to it, said something snarkier until Connor too crossed his arms, taking a little stance that Haytham recognized immediately. His weight rested on one hip, lips pursed, and brown eyes narrowed angrily, a perfect replica of irritated Ziio.

He couldn't help it, he snorted, his lips twitching, and his voice soft.

"You look just like your mother, sparing the masculinity." It was endearing, her sass on someone else, and for a moment he simply, almost grinned. "But you're not so go heat my food like a good lad."

-=-=-=-

Connor quickly took a step back, not having expected a reply like that. The sudden softness in Haytham's voice was the most disturbing of it all and he grimaced. “You know what?” He turned and stomped over to the fridge, yanking it open and reaching for the plastic container inside, then ripped the lid off, walked to the nearest trashcan, pressing the pedal with his foot to open it and turned the container over. The cold casserole flopped into the smelly mess that was already inside and Connor stepped back.

“Go hungry. I don't care. If you insist on being a dick...”

Pressing the lid back onto the container he walked back to his chair and lifted his bag onto the table, zipping it open and stuffed the container inside. His lunch hour wasn't over yet but he was sick of this, dealing with his prick father and his bossy ways.

Hoisting it onto his shoulder he turned and shot Haytham a glare. “Thanks for nothing by the way.” What a waste of time... “I can find my own way out...” Turning on his heel he stomped back towards the elevator.

Tuesdays and Fridays were gonna suck from now on...

-=-=-=-

... He could could only stare at the waste bin, eye twitching as Connor dumped what Ziio made for him into the trash and took off.

His fingers twitched, the only reason he wasn't out the door chasing him down was due to the fact he would have punched Connor in the face. That in itself didn't sound horrible, but he promised Ziio.

He could come back to the specimens in a moment. Removing bloody gloves and his lab coat Haytham walked slowly, wondering if there was a point in even going after him. Connor blamed him for everything anyway, and he wouldn't offer apologies when he hadn't done anything wrong. Yes he was bossy, that didn't mean he had to overreact like some sort of child. Insolence on legs, he wondered if Ziio ever took a hand to his backside... probably not, she didn't share his view on physical discipline. A shame, Connor could use a session of physical repercussion, but it felt out of place here.

Strange, there was no elevator movement... had Connor tried to loose him and take the stairs? Wonderful, he really wanted to check ten flights of stairs-

"-running in here like some barbarian in a playground, half dressed in Indian clothing. I can tell you're trash, your mother is an Indian, isn't she?"

Haytham knew that voice, and the one that commented, though he couldn't hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears. He thought Charles was better than this sort of behavior. Had he learned nothing all those years ago?!

The voices came from the open office of a random technician and Haytham walked quietly, nearing the door as Charles continued his tirade, his back to Haytham and Connor's angry face. Again, reminiscent of Ziio, it seemed Charles would not get along with either.

"Haytham may have taken an interest in you, but I see what you really are. In time he will too, you savage."

In his son's face, spewing filth, Haytham reacted before fully thinking when the next word left his lips.

"Bet your mother is a savage too, the only Indian I ever met was as savage as a wild dog-"

Connor needn't do a damn thing, Haytham already had Charles against the wall, fingers straining in a tight, forcible grip around his neck in what was a fit of rage. "What venomous, false garbage are you spewing at my son? "

-=-=-=-

On second thought, Connor avoided the elevator. It was less likely that he would run into anyone if he took the stairs and seeing as he had left early, he had plenty of time.

Christ, what did mom see in him anyway? Of course Haytham was kissing up to her, throwing in all his fake charm so she wouldn't see what he was truly like. He couldn't imagine that she liked the real Haytham, the kind of guy he was when Ziio wasn't there to keep him in check. He wasn't nice, he wasn't friendly, he was rude, he was cruel, he was-

“Hey, watch it!”

Connor blinked, quickly taking a step back and blinked, having been so lost in thought he'd nearly run into someone between the sixth and seventh floor. “Sorry.” he muttered and attempted to walk past the man, but a strong hand curled around his upper arm and pulled him back. Stumbling back he tilted his head back to get a better look at the man from under the rim of his hoodie and frowned – oh great, it was Greasy. Just his luck.

He glanced down at the hand that still held a tight grip on his arm and reached out to push it away – instead, Charles tightened his grip and dragged him to the other side of the hallway, away from the stairs and into some kind of office. Once there he let go, only to wipe his own hand on his shirt as if he'd just touched something unsanitary – the movement wasn't lost on Connor but he remained silent about it as he straightened his sleeve. This wasn't the first time he had dealt with situations like this. “I said I was sorry, alright? Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bus to catch.”

Again he tried to walk past Charles, hands shoved into his pockets but the man quickly side stepped and blocked him from reaching the stairs. “You have some nerves, boy.” he sneered. "Running in here like some barbarian in a playground, half dressed in Indian clothing. I can tell you're trash, your mother is an Indian, isn't she?"

Charming. Connor stayed silent, narrowed eyes glaring at him from the shadow cast by his hoodie. Clearly Haytham was keeping secrets from his colleagues; not his problem but seeing as Greasy was someone he went out to have lunch with Connor had thought that Haytham would have told him they were related at least. Obviously not.

Hidden in his pockets his hands slowly clenched into fists, his anger bubbling under the surface; oh how he would love to beat some sense into this guy. It was 2012 but some people still thought that racism was perfectly fine!

Connor tried to control his temper though, difficult as it was. He kept his eyes away from Charles, glaring at a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall a few feet away, his shoulders shaking in silent anger.

He had once beaten a guy straight into the hospital for saying similar things Greasy was saying to him now. He'd been arrested by the police and had spend a few days in jail until a family friend in Boston had put forth money to bail him out. He'd been summoned to court as well later on to defend himself against the accusation of the man he had beaten but fortunately that hadn't led to more problems. For one thing, Myriam had been a witness and secondly, the guy had not just insulted him and his mother, but had threatened them as well.

The court had been in his favor that day, almost by a miracle.

Still, he wasn't eager to repeat it by beating up one of his father's co-workers, that wouldn't go over well. He had gotten lucky once, it was unlikely he'd be lucky a second time.

"Haytham may have taken an interest in you, but I see what you really are. In time he will too, you savage. Bet your mother is a savage too, the only Indian I ever met was as savage as a wild dog-"

A white blur, a short cry and a loud thud, and Connor blinked, stepping back and eyes widening as he watched Haytham push Charles against the wall with a grip on his throat. He was more than surprised to hear him admit that they were related out loud, but he still quickly stepped forward and put his hand on Haytham's shoulder, tugging lightly. “Just leave it. I'm used to it, he's not worth it.” Shooting Charles a glance he narrowed his eyes before tugging on his father's shoulder again. “Just drop it, dad.”

-=-=-=-

Charles said nothing, gaping in shock. Haytham hadn't done this to the other man, the last time a comment he made about... Oh no. No, no, NO!

As Charles began his mental panic, Haytham's grip remained as tight as ever. He didn't care how many times Connor may have been through this prior, it was unacceptable! Racism, bigotry, in this day and age was completely unacceptable.

The second time a hand shook him his grip actually tightened, only ceasing as he blinked in surprise.

He'd realized what he said, sure, but he never expected Connor to acknowledge it.

"… As you request, Connor." Oh he let go all right, immediately, allowing Charles to collapse in on himself, sputtering as his mind clearly reeled. Haytham simply turned to his son, mask back in place. "Get back to school, I'll handle this." A pause, and Haytham added almost out of nowhere. "Your great something or another grandfather immigrated to the states before the Revolution. I'm sure I can dig up information regarding his involvement, he lived in New York at the time. I wouldn't mind ascertaining more information for your project, if need be."

His eyes darted back to Charles, who had seemed to regain his composure and breath. "Emergency meeting for all the executives. Call them now ." A hissed demand, and Haytham turned on his heel, fingers twitching. "Until Friday then." For lunch. He'd take Ziio shopping the day after... his fingers still twitched and he allowed the brief contact, patting his confused son twice on the back before departing. Time to get everything out in the open, then.

Chapter Text

Winter had really kicked in by now, covering the streets of New York in a thin layer of snow that would soon be thickening, the skies grey and the winds cold and piercing. Most students were in a hurry to reach the warm interior of the school, but Connor took his time. The wind was annoying but he had always liked the sound and feel of snow crunching under his boots, how it turned the world white.

These were perfect times for him and Myriam to go into the woods, to track animals and have a competition about who could find the most. That was for later though. First he still had to struggle his way through half a week of school and work. Luckily it was Wednesday, meaning he had the next day off. As much as he hated to admit it, Haytham's help in that department had been appreciated.

It was lunch hour; he and Myriam sat slouched at a table stashed in the back of the cafeteria. Shaun would have joined them under normal circumstances but he had run off to the library as soon as class finished, yelling over his shoulder that he had need of a couple of particular books for a project he was working on and that he'd join them later. Connor knew he wouldn't. Knowing Shaun he'd completely lose track of time and not pull his nose out of the books until the bell rang for the next class.

It was fine really. It gave him an opportunity to talk.

“Sooooo... do you ever want kids?”

Myriam, who was halfway through taking a bite of her burger, paused and slowly turned her head to look at him.

Connor avoided her eyes at first but after a few seconds of no answer he glanced up, meeting her wide open eyes. “I mean,” he quickly stammered and shrugged, fidgeting with his fork. “Out of curiosity, you know? You're a woman and everything-”

“Really? I'm a woman? Gee, I hadn't noticed, thanks for telling me. And here I was starting to wonder what these balloons on my chest are all about.” Dropping her burger on her plate she turned in her chair to face her friend fully. Connor couldn't help but notice that she was doing that thing where she frowned with her whole face, a sign that she was thoroughly confused. “What prompted this question?”

Another awkward shrug and he already regretted he had asked. “You know... just curious.”

“Just curious...? Really? You just asked me if- oooooooooooooooh.” Slamming her fist on the table Connor jumped slightly and blinked at her, not sure if he liked the sudden smirk on her face. Myriam leaned forward, getting right into his face and waggled her eyebrows at him. “Do you want kids?”

Connor balked. “No!” She kept staring, and he quickly raised his hands, leaning away from her until he almost lost his balance and fell out of his chair. “No! I don't want kids, I just-”

“Then why did you ask?”

“...”

Raising one of her eyebrows she watched as Connor slumped down in his chair, his chin resting on the table. Okaaaaay? “Let me guess... your dad?” A tense nod and she had to stifle her giggle with the back of her hand. She shouldn't be laughing but it was funny! What had his father said to him to make him ask such a question, to her of all people?

“Right on the first day, he butts into my private life and pretty much demands that I give my mom grand kids within the next three to five years.” He turned his head so that it lay flat on the table. “With you.”

“Oh really? I'm flattered he wants me to be the mother of his grand children.”

“Ugh, he doesn't want grand children. Besides, I told him that we didn't work out as a couple.”

“Oh? And what did he say?”

Connor shrugged. “He didn't seem fazed by it.”

“Hm. And did you tell him that we still occasionally boo-ha despite not being a couple?”

Connor scrunched his eyebrows together. Boo-ha? The hell was boo-ha? “It's none of his damn business who I do it with.”

Myriam smirked and clapped him on his shoulders before standing up and grabbing her bag. “Come on, on your feet. Class will start soon and we still have to drag Shaun away from the library.”

Grumbling Connor stood up as well and slung his bag over his shoulder, following her out of the cafeteria and towards the library where they, as expected, found Shaun behind a pile of open books. By the time they had put every book back into its proper place class had already nearly started and they had to run to make it on time before the teacher arrived.

Shaun rushed inside the classroom to ready his things but when Connor tried to do the same, Myriam stopped him by pulling on his sleeve. “Going back on our previous conversation...” she purred as she ran a finger along his jaw and leaned closer. “We should have a little get-together again some time soon. Whaddaya say?”

“Errrrr...” Swallowing thickly Connor felt the redness creep to his cheeks as Myriam leaned even closer, so close their lips almost touched. His own lips suddenly felt dry but licking them would mean... she was so close...! “Er... y-yeah, okay.”

She grinned. “Great. My place, I'll call you when I have a date.” With that she closed the distance between them, catching his lips in a kiss that despite it lasting only a few horridly short seconds, told him everything he needed to know. She pulled back then and with a last wink entered the class room.

… hot damn! He didn't think he'd be able to wipe the smirk off his face as he cleared his throat and adjusted his collar before entering the class room as well, his mood significantly better.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't believe he was letting them do this, and yet it was almost comically appropriate that they would. Two weeks had passed since the incident with Charles Lee, whom Haytham let the grudge go only because he'd been a significant and valuable friend for so very long.

That same day as he requested, it had happened. All his executives – Benjamin, head of treasury; Thomas, head of radio-pharmaceutical distribution; William, co-founder and head of marketing; John, head of sales, and naturally Charles, the seething but silent Vice President of the company. He couldn't even look the man in the face, he'd been so infuriated.

To say they were shocked would have been an understatement, the only one believing him to be serious being William and Charles, who balked openly before shutting his mouth.

Calm, as always, and much more polite than most the company he kept, William silenced the other men with a glare. "How old is... he or she?"

"He is twenty, to be twenty-one some day soon." An inward wince – he didn't know the date, Ziio never told him and again, he never asked. He should find that out though, shouldn't he? That would be... fatherly, right? Oh, like he even knew how to be fatherly.

John kept shaking his head, leaning against their table in boredom. "Right there, Haytham, 'em sure you 'av a lil bloke runnin' aroun'. I think you'd 'ave more sense than using unprotected sex."

"Unless he was whisked away in a moment of passion."

Haytham glowered as Benjamin snorted, Thomas chiming in. "Oh yeah, 'cause 'Aytham's a regular volcano of passion. The only girl t' ever inspire any emotion from the guy was..."

Silence, and like something out of a movie they all turned to him, Haytham's expression betraying nothing.

"No way."

"You're bluffin'. You gotta be."

"… you can't be serious."

"Oh but he is, gentlemen." Eyes drifted towards Charles, his silence duly noted by a few men. "Alive, in his twenties, and very Indian."

"Native, Charles. Watch your tone lest you test me once more."

Blue eyes stayed defiant but spoke nothing further, the men looking amongst themselves before William cleared his throat. "I suppose... this was meant to be kept a secret because of the..." he paused, knowing full well how the corporation had started, with the help of a businessman who wouldn't aid them if they started families.

‘Businessmen do not and can not have families.’ Side by side they stood, William not bothering to look at Haytham, already obviously fancying that Native girl from a large New York suburb. ‘It distracts from work, staves production... no, family men soon lose their motivation. If I am to invest in you two, this cannot happen, or consider our agreement undone.’

They'd agreed upon it, sure; they were young enough, just graduated with doctorates. Bred for success, despite their own personal issues. They had little choice but to comply, their business idea, their strategy was new, and while invigorating in its originality, it needed a strong, powerful sponsor. There was only one.

Give up on hundreds of thousands of dollars of education, years of experience or practice, or submit to a foolish rule in their prime? It was the obvious choice to make...

Of course, the original backer was long gone but by the time he died... William understood completely.

"Have you seen Ziio then?" Haytham stilled, before nodding once, his old friend's face breaking into a grin. "Is she well?"

"Yes, very." No one could miss the softening tone, though it left one man smiling and another scowling.

"Perhaps we could meet him, sometime." William couldn't imagine a small Haytham running about, not one with both his and Ziio's, erm- delightful demeanor.

"Perhaps. But onto a few other things, facts I'd like to make clear." A silence engulfed the room as Haytham straightened, meeting everyone’s – even Charles' – eyes.

"Since I'm now a ‘family man’, I'm going to be taking more time off." There was no discussion there, though there were some curious glances. “No one need cover my shift, I simply won't be here on holidays or working extreme amounts of overtime.” They nodded, the idea was fair enough; Haytham was here constantly, even when he need not be. “Furthermore, one day a week I am going to start taking off, completely. As in, do not contact me on this day or I will own your testicles and place them in a jar on my shelf.” Again, a nod and a few chuckles; it wasn’t a big deal, the man was entitled to a day off, the terms were fair enough. They partially ran the company too, it made little difference in the long run.

Besides, most of them were still wrapping their head around Haytham Kenway; mighty, wealthy businessman, and now – daddy dearest.

A couple of days later, and they all sat together, Haytham still befuddled as to how this came to be. One moment they were eating sushi, the next moment, he received a call from Ziio.

The phone was snatched from his hand by William, Haytham's glare having little affect. "Is this really Ziio?"

A pause, and the man's face lit up, glancing back over at Haytham. "Awwwww, congratulations on the baby! It's a bit belated but I'm sure you understa-"

He almost tore William's arm off to get the phone back, Haytham looking around the restaurant and glaring. Really, William? He was supposed to be the smart one...

Oh no, wait, that was him. William was the nice one.

Sighing, he ignored the very immature cat calls from the other men and answered. "Hey."

"... what in the fuck?"

"I'll explain later."

"Do so in person, Connor works a straight shift until ten."

"Sure, can do... does he like sushi?"

"Connor?"

"No, the other son."

"Har har. And yeah, but he prefers pizza." Of course he would. "But I love sushi. Tempura is just okay, but the eel rolls are amazing, so is anything spicy. Like, spicy tuna or salmon or-"

"Yeah I got the hint."

"Can't wait to hear this story... who's there with you?"

"The usual executives... it's just them who know."

"Oh. Well, tell them I said hello. Except Charles. Tell him he's a dirty bastard and if he ever insults my son again-"

"Already handled, dear."

"Right then. See you tonight."

"Mm." he hung up with a click, everyone at the table staring at him, John's eyes wide, and Benjamin and Thomas in the middle of a bet.

"Told you he really bastarded a child."

"Bullshit, that was just Ziio, there's no proof. Only what Charles said and he's loopy."

"I most certainly am not!"

Frowning, Haytham ignored them for the rest of his meal, ordering extra food for Ziio before they all hopped into the company's limo, about to request to head back to the office. "Driver-"

"To the pizzeria, and then, Berkley College!"

What?! He stared at William, his grin a shit eating happy one that made him question his sanity. "What in the literal fuck are you talking about?"

"I want to see your son, you said he goes to Berkley and I heard Ziio say he likes pizza... so, lets get ten pizzas and raid his school."

"No."

"I second William's vote!" That was John, glaring at Thomas. "On the off chance this kid does exist."

Thomas glared back. "That condo in Miami is mine if he does, so count me in."

"This isn't a democracy, it's a monarchy! Now shut up, all of you, we're going back to the office!"

"… I want to go too." That was Benjamin, Haytham's eye now twitching as he entered the vehicle. "College girls? Count me in."

… Ew. Nasty, bad images almost circled his mind as Charles sat next to Haytham angrily. "We're going to the office!"

"Sorry, four against two, and we have a co-founder on our side. You lose, we're going to Berkley."

There wasn't much he could do to prevent it, so Haytham sighed, before smirking. "Wait until I point out Myriam to you."

~*~

It was strange, walking through the school corridors. Berkley was a small sort of college, and the stares they received from being recognized were down right hilarious.

"I think they know who we are... or at least you and William."

"That condo in Miami is mine."

"Shut your trap."

Supposedly Connor had Social Studies on the second floor at this hour... it's what the Dean had said, who blatantly ignored the ten boxes of pizza split between everyone save Haytham. Like hell he'd carry pizza around a college.

The population in the halls waned and Connor was nowhere in sight. Haytham tapped his foot if only to get this over with when he suddenly spotted him, right around the corridor...

Oh, well then. Averting his eyes he couldn't help but smirk, shaking his head as he approached from behind, pressing a finger to his lips so the others would remain quiet.

"So, I see you're keeping good on that proposal your mother sent me on. Fancy that then."

-=-=-=-

Connor nearly jumped out of his skin, that voice being the last one he'd expect to hear and in his haste to turn around he nearly tripped over his own feet.

It was even worse than he thought as he quickly grabbed onto the door frame to keep himself upright, panting slightly as his wide eyes settled on the group. It wasn't just his father, here, in his school but he was accompanied by Greasy and four other men in fancy business suits – colleagues no doubt... and they were all staring at him!

“What's going on, Connor? Who- oooh.” Myriam's voice behind him nearly gave him a second heart attack and she peeked over his shoulder to stared at Haytham with large, interested eyes.

More students joined in now, gathering around them all and forming a tight circle, all staring and pointing and whispering behind their hands. Oh god he was never going to live this down. Most, if not all, would recognize Haytham for who he was. He was on the news plenty. His face was on the bus stop across the street of all things! They would all want to know why he'd come here to talk with him. So far for keeping things a secret...

Teachers were joining in as well now, professor Davenport limping around the corner while professor Vidic stuck his head out of his classroom to see what the commotion was, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands.

Balls.

What the hell was Haytham thinking, coming here?

Gritting his teeth Connor slipped off his bag and shoved it in Myriam's arms before he stomped forward and grabbed Haytham by his arm, yanking on it harshly. “What the fuck do you think you're doing here?!” he hissed through gritted teeth as his eyes darted around like that of a deer caught by a hunter, wide open and frantic – he didn't want his entire school to know! “Have you gone completely insane? Get the hell outta here! Go away!”

-=-=-=-

"Yes because shaking the billionaire isn't going to draw attention, genius." Rolling his eyes, Haytham simply stepped back, mask in place, though his lips twitched in amusement before he whispered. "I didn't want to come here, they wanted to make sure I wasn't lying."

Stepping away, he turned to all of them gesturing vaguely. "Great, nothing to see now, can we move along?"

"Hi, I'm William Johnson, a friend of your fa- uhm, Haytham. I knew your mother as well, wonderful woman, so nice to meet you."

Oh he wanted to gag, William was shaking Connor's hand with one arm and tipping the pizzas with the next. "Hope you and your classmates like pizza, we brought ten!"

The others stared, Charles in disgust – while Thomas whooped loudly, garnering attention. "Condo in Miami is miiiiiiine!" He had the sense to whisper the next words, Haytham barely hearing but rolling his eyes. "It's all in the build, nose and lips. That is his kid."

"… Dammit, thanks a lot, Haytham."

His eyes twitched, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is that even my fault? And where is Benjamin?"

"… So ladies, as you know I'm pretty rich..."

Yup, Haytham shook his head, a massive migraine coming on. These were the finest people he could pick to run a company with, this bunch of lunatics. He had to literally pull Benjamin away, much to his dismay. Disgusting, bleh.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Haytham exhaled, eye twitching. "Fine, if we can leave immediately after!"

"I'm William, as you already know" He leaned into whisper in Connor's ear, "Uncle William is fine too." Haytham wanted to gag, glowering as William movied onward, "And this is-"

“Allow me." Sarcastically, Haytham pointed to each one of them individually. "The leecher, the cheapskate, the nice but dumb as fuck one, Charles, and yes I know you two know each other, and the other one."

"Ahem, the other one with the new condo."

"Whatever! Can we leave?! I have things to do that don't involve stalking colleges – oh bother, are you kids recording this?!" Really, fucking cell phones and technology! He turned to say something to Connor before waving once at a person behind him. "Myriam, Ziio wanted me to tell you that she wants grandchildren. Get to, chop chop. Bye now." And with that he held his chin in the air in attempt to take some of his dignity with him, the others placing boxes of pizza in random students hands.

He'd strangle them all, each and everyone of them when he got into the limo.

-=-=-=-

“Hehehe, bye Mr. Kenway!” Myriam waved at him as he left, the others following after Haytham after they had dealt out the ten pizza boxes to her classmates, and she turned to Connor who seemed to be making a serious effort to melt with the wall. “Oh come now, it's not that bad.”

“Not... that... bad?” Connor wheezed and he slumped further down the wall.

“I think it was very nice of him to come visit.”

“There was nothing nice about it! God, why did he even?! I don't get why... crazy asshole...” Muttering to himself Connor got onto his feet and yanked his bag out of Myriam's arms, but before he could even take a step into the classroom the other students swarmed him.

“Dude, that was Haytham Kenway!”

“You know Haytham Kenway?”

“Of course, they share the same last name! Are you related?”

“Oh man did you see? He totally looked at me! Kenway looked at me!”

“Are you family?”

“Hey Connor, you're still single right?”

“That guy is filthy rich, isn't he?”

Connor seemed ready to either have a mental breakdown, or beat everyone unconscious, whichever got them to shut up the fastest. The arrival of their teacher finally got him out of his sticky predicament, Mrs. Thorpe shooing them all to their seats. He had avoided admitting to anything thus far but he wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. Even as he dragged himself into the classroom and slumped down in his seat, the whispers and stares kept going. Before long the whole school would be buzzing with the news, and this would find itself on youtube before the end of the day, no doubt.

This was going to be a very, very long day indeed.

~*~

Connor was never more glad to leave campus and take the bus straight to work. Myriam traveled with him but she was smart enough to not bring up the subject and distracted him with small talk instead so that by the time they arrived at the Red Mango, Connor was mostly calm again and even sported a small but tired smile.

That was the key, she found. Bring up anything that had to do with Haytham and Connor's mood dropped like a stone in a pond. Therefore it was best to be avoided to save them both a lot of headaches. She tried to help him as best she could, because despite her ability to cheer him up, Connor remained grumpy and short with the customers. She could only hope that no one would complain and that the manager wouldn't see. In the mean time she tried to take as much work off her friend's shoulders as she could, to give him a chance to relax and let the aspirins he had taken do their job.

As much as she'd been surprised by Haytham's sudden arrival at school... yeah, it wasn't nice to Connor at all.

“You'll take care of yourself, alright?” she asked him when their shift had finally ended. They were in the back, gathering their things and she reached up to straighten Connor's scarf, making sure it covered everything it needed to cover to keep as much of the cold out as possible. “Don't worry yourself too much, it's unlikely he'll ever visit college again. He didn't seem to like it. So cheer up okay?”

“Thanks Myriam....”

“See you at school on Friday?” She wouldn't blame him if he called in sick to avoid the questions that he would no doubt be asked, but he surprised her by nodding.

“Yeah I'll be there.”

“Good, I'm glad.” She pulled him into a hug, pleased when he returned it and stroked his back with her hands before pulling back. He looked a little better now.

They parted ways at the bus stop, Connor taking the bus in one direction as she took the other. His head was still pounding, no doubt from all the stress and angry worrying he'd been doing. Ugh and the day had started so good as well... leave it to fucking Kenway to ruin it. Again.

He jogged the last part from the bus stop to his house in an effort to stay warm, and dropped his keys on the doorstep as he tried to unlock the front door with numb fingers. He was tired. He wanted a shower and something warm to eat, have a moment to relax and get to ass to bed.

Shrugging off his jacket he tossed it on top of his bag, gloves and scarfs following and toed off his sneakers. So glad to be home. Rubbing his hands he yawned and scratched his head. Food first, then a shower. That sounded perfect, he mused, and opened the door leading into the kitchen.

-=-=-=-

He was going to murder them all.

The moment they stepped into the limo was the end of his calm facade, the rest of the trip filled with death threats and promises of future pain to be had by all if any of them decided to ever out-vote him regarding anything ever again.

Needless to say, he couldn't concentrate at work, not in the slightest. Hands shook during dissections, he snapped at everyone and anyone in his general vicinity, and made two interns cry before his day was through. Damn them all, damn everyone of them to hell! They were polite enough as he left, urging him to take the day off, especially William, who ignored the death threats much to Haytham's eye-twitching irritation.

"Really Haytham, we have everything covered. Spend a day with your new found family, I'm sure they miss you."

"I already told you Saturday was my day off-"

"Yeah, well consider this one a special request." William appeared genuinely concerned, even going as far as to nudge him into his own car. "C'mon, I'm sure Ziio would really appreciate some time with both of the men in her life, even if they argued a little bit."

Undignified was his scoff, though he did climb into his car, placing Ziio's meal next to him.

"At worst, what's a little extra sleep going to do, hm? The holidays are almost here, do some Christmas shopping... the point is we have you covered."

Well, there was some truth to that, wasn't there? He hadn't given Christmas much thought, nor the gifts he'd give... perhaps that was an idea, maybe he could get something nice for Ziio, and a muzzle for Connor. "I suppose the company will not falter..."

He calmed considerably, a hand patting his back before turning away, waving him off. "Glad to hear it! Enjoy Haytham, you certainly deserve it."

Damn William... always had a way of improving his mood. He was noticeably more cheerful, driving in silence for half the way and turned on the radio to hear news of himself; pictures were already circulating, as was the rumors regarding his visit to Berkley. The most popular theory seemed to be him dating an attendee, namely Connor's little friend despite what he had said... something about a triangular romance between the three? "Oh bother..."

He silenced the radio immediately and parked a block away from Ziio's house, the street congested this early on in the day. He wasn't surprised to find her waiting by the window, watching her disappear before opening the door seconds later and greeting him, taking the bag from his hands, her face blank as they entered silently.

"So..." She opened a container, happy to see what she suggested, along with miso soup and a salad. "When did you start dating vanilla girls? I thought the darker the berry the sweeter the juice was your concept."

She smirked as he choked, glaring, her eyes alight with laughter. "Ziio."

"Not that she's that young, but what, nursery school students were pushing the boundaries, Haytham?"

Again a blank stare, his eyes twitching erratically as arms crossed over his chest. "Woman."

"Just one more."

As if he had a choice but to listen. "Last one?"

"For now."

He sighed, slumping in a chair. There better be alcohol in her home... "Mm?"

"So what, you change her diaper, she changes yours?"

"Oh hardy har har, I'm not that old!"

"You're not that young either."

He moved to stand but she halted him, hands on his shoulders. "I'm joking, Haytham. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay. This is going to be everywhere, in the news and trailed through papers. The last thing this is is okay."

-=-=-=-

He should have known. Could have known.

Connor had gotten cautious when opening the door to the kitchen ever since Haytham had returned. The first time he had walked in and found his father sitting at the table wearing only a towel. Later on, on a day when it was supposed to be just him and his mother Haytham had once again graced the kitchen with his unwanted presence making a mess out of their lives. Needless to say, perhaps he should have seen this coming too.

They hadn't spotted him yet, both too lost in the throes of their passion and all Connor could do was stare, frozen in place with one hand on the doorknob, eyes wide open and mouth fish gaping, his mind struggling to cope with what he was seeing.

There was little he could do to stop his parents from getting back together and so he had always known that they would also get back together in the literal sense of the word – though he tried his damnedest not to think about that. And now here it was, happening right in front of him.

On the goddamn kitchen table no less!

The moment Haytham groaned his mother's name was the moment Connor snapped back to his senses and his mouth closed with a loud clack, before opening again to yell: “What the FUCK?!”

Ziio jerked, her own eyes flying open; spotting her son in the doorway trying to shield his eyes and cursing loud enough to make a priest's toes curl, she struggled upright, attempting to push Haytham away from her with one hand while trying to cover herself with the other – shit where were her clothes?

“C-connor! I didn't hear you come in!”

“Obviously!” he snapped back, his face beat red and he peeked through his fingers, only to immediately look away again when it became clear that Haytham didn't seem to be in a great hurry to pull his pants back on. His father's junk was the last thing he wanted to see. “What the hell is wrong with you two?!” Sex, fine, he didn't want to think about his parents getting it on, but it happened, he could deal with that.

But not in the kitchen, where he could run into them without warning, right on the table where they ate their dinner every evening!

-=-=-=-

So close, so tight and perfect-

“What the FUCK?!”

… Oh no, no, no, no! Ziio frantically moved beneath him, Haytham pulling out and away almost immediately but doing little else if only because he was stunned.

Never in his forty plus years of existence had someone caught him in the… passionate act, let alone his own son. All attempts at sarcasm, horrid humor, condescension he couldn’t fathom a damn thing to say.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

“It just… it… we’re sorry, really we didn’t mean for it to happen here.” Haytham shook his head and handed her her bra, still impossibly stark naked – though completely flaccid. Having your son walk in on you at almost the peak height of pleasure did that to a man. He already ached because of it.

His main concern was covering her, Connor turning away for that much as Haytham retrieved her pants, sans underwear because he couldn’t find them. His flush was ear to ear before he pulled his pants on, frantically searching for his hair tie. Ziio handed it to him wordlessly, Haytham’s eye twitching. No matter how subtle his reaction, Ziio could tell he was embarrassed, panicked. And rightfully so.

“Connor, really we apologize. I swear this wasn’t planned or intentional or…” Brown eyes pleaded with Haytham, and he spoke only because of that, the flush evident on his face even though his words reflected nothing.

“It was an… unfortunate accident and wasn’t exactly what it… looked… like?” Honestly, he had no idea what to say here! He was sure Connor felt it was intentional, but in that sense it wasn’t what it looked like, not at all! “Just got caught in a… moment and-“

He didn’t get to finish his pathetic statement; a hard strong fist collided with his nose almost immediately, Haytham too stunned to even react, let alone defend himself as he took a staggering step backward, unable to breathe through his nose, the crack signifying what he knew to be a break. A severe break at that. Ziio hopped off the table quickly, going to grab her son.

“Connor, stop!”

-=-=-=-

Connor slowly dropped his hand as they were making excuse, stumbling about to get themselves dressed and somewhat presentable again, though they remained flushed and sweaty, their hair all tousled from the wild act.

Under normal circumstances, he would have found this amusing, to hear his stoic father who always had a snarky reply ready, sputter and stumble, trying to figure out the right words to say and sadly failing. This however, was far from normal and he felt his right hand slowly clench into a fist.

He reacted before he even knew what he was doing, before he could realize and tell himself that this wouldn't make things better, but he'd already turned around on his heel and had taken the three large steps he needed to reach his father. With his face set into a furious grimace Connor pulled his fist back and swung it forward, slamming his knuckles into Haytham's face as hard as he could.

He had a lot of strength behind him, gathered from years of free-running through the forest and city and practicing with his Winchester Tracker compound bow which he had saved up for months to buy; as such he more felt than heard Haytham's nose break under the force of the blow, watching him stagger back and flailing to keep his balance as blood poured down over his lips.

Ziio latched onto his arm almost immediately, preventing him from going after his father for a second swing - not that he didn't try but he registered the weight of his mother pulling him back and, not wanting to hurt her, relented just a little bit.

“Caught in the moment? I never figured you for the kind of guy to think with his dick instead of his brains!” he yelled and took a step forward again, Ziio's grip on his sleeve tightening. “You never once heard of the phrase 'taking it to the bedroom'? Have you lost your mind, doing it on the fucking kitchen table where we eat every day? How many times have you done this here?!” First him showing up at school, humiliating him like that, and now this!

What was he trying to do, ruin his life? “Get up! Fucking hell, get up! I'll gladly beat some sense into you, you son of a bitch!”

-=-=-=-

Head back his fingers glided over his nose, feeling the break and he exhaled, long and steadily before applying significant amounts of pressure until it popped. The fresh gush of blood covered his lips, but at least he could breath, albeit painfully.

“Connor, stop! It wasn’t just his decision; it’s not only his fault so stop it!”

Haytham paid no mind to the insults, though he did raise an eyebrow. Thinking with his dick? Oh Connor, if only you knew the truth about that too…

He slowly grew aware of just how much it actually hurt, and it wasn’t the punch to the face that provided the most pain. He let Ziio stand between them as he turned to the sink, washing the blood off his face without comment, finally beginning to grow irritated.

“I’ll buy you a new table then; I already apologized, as did your mother.” And why was blame solely placed on his shoulders, as always? Oh right, his mother could do no wrong. Had he been less inclined to let Ziio live as guilt free as possible, he may have brought up a few truths about their relationship. But no, she didn’t deserve that, even if he was growing tired of being blamed for everything.

“I’ll answer this only because I am genuinely sorry this happened; this was the first time, there will not be a second, not here anyway.” If anything, it was the perfect reason to go to his penthouse, she might like spending a night overlooking the Atlantic and the skyline.

“As for beating sense into me, I wouldn’t recommend you try it.” Granted, Connor was probably sprier, perhaps stronger, but he wasn’t exactly a push over or weak in any sense of the word. Though that was hardly the reason he gave, face locking with a well hidden but distraught Ziio. “You’re upsetting your mother. Stop.” It was nicer than saying ‘I could probably hurt you as well, you little twit,’ no matter how true.

-=-=-=-

… Grumbling Connor slowly dropped his fist. He was still angry, furious, but he knew when to stop. This was never going to work out, him bonding with his father. As much as Ziio wanted it to happen, want them to get along, it was unlikely they ever would.

They had started off completely on the wrong foot and Haytham had proven time and time again that he wasn't interested in pursuing a father-son relationship with him. Connor didn't want it. Haytham didn't want it. So why bother anymore?

Like these bi-weekly lunches on Tuesday and Friday... so far there had only been a handful of them and while he hadn't stormed out the last time he had been on the verge of doing so after his father had once again pushed him to the brink of his patience with his never-ending bossy, snobby holier-than-though attitude.

“Keep it to the bedroom next time.” he growled and moved to the fridge, grabbing only a can of mountain dew and leaving the plastic-wrapped dinner Ziio had put for him in the fridge to heat up after he came home from work – what he had witnessed here just now had completely ruined his appetite.

He managed to refrain from slamming the doors on his way out, making a bee-line straight towards his bedroom. There he flopped onto his bed with a deep sigh and pressed his face into his pillow, head pounding. He wished Haytham had never come to New York. Hell, he wished he had never gone and tried to find him... he wished he hadn't succeeded in doing so.

Reaching down Connor felt around in his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, turning onto his back as he browsed for Myriam's number. She always managed to cheer him up again, maybe she could do so again...

-=-=-=-

~*~

-=-=-=-

Christmas was so tedious. Haytham should have had everything catered, it would have been so much simpler that way. Then again, when did he ever do something simply because it was easy?

It wasn’t that he was bad at cooking, far from it – living alone for twenty plus years made someone learn the way about the kitchen. It was simply more convenient to order out with constant meetings and two-in-the-morning ideas; that and making meals for just him grew boring, no matter how lovely his cooking was.

Well, at least it all smelled nice; his oven was packed with a turkey, ham, three types of stuffing because he was bored that morning, the potatoes were done but still on the stove and the cranberry sauce was cooling in the fridge.

And his kitchen was an utter disaster.

Immediately cleaning as his eyebrow twitched, he was almost surprised Ziio had agreed to bring Connor and Myriam over for Christmas dinner. A few nights after the incident with Connor, he did bring Ziio to his home for the evening and they completed what had been unfinished, falling asleep sprawled out together for the first time in so many years. Waking to her against his chest was a most welcomed surprise, no matter how subtle his smile may have been.

Ziio had mentioned Christmas then, almost offhandedly inquiring as to what Haytham would be doing this year, if he’d be working. Much to her mute pleasure (and the growing dissatisfaction of a certain Charles Lee) he had promised to not only take Christmas off, but had offered to prepare a meal for her, seeing as how she always cooked for him.

It was hard to regret the decision with her body moving against his rhythmically for the mere offer. Though he supposed it was a huge step, inviting everyone.

Even Connor.

They’d hardly spoken the past few weeks, even during their required lunch together. Haytham hardly minded, keeping to his work and eating Ziio’s homemade meals in a content silence. Connor could hate him all he wanted, he wasn’t doing this for him anyway.

A sound at the door, and Haytham was satisfied with his cleanup, removing his gloves and washing his hands before answering, thankful Ziio’s face was the first he made contact with. “Welcome Ziio.” A small smile graced him, almost waning as his eyes met the unimpressed look of his son. “Connor. And Myriam, right?” He turned to let them in, tight black turtleneck clinging to him in ways that made Ziio’s eyes trail down his back, a tight pair of taupe pants clinging to a certain region of his backside.

Ziio felt a nudge from Myriam and chuckled. Right, enter the house first, Ziio. Then ogle your boyfriend.

-=-=-=-

He felt so out of place here.

He had donned his best looking clothes for this, everything neat and tidy, his hair slicked back, not a thing out of line. Ziio had urged him again and again and again to please please please put on his best behavior tonight and he'd promised to do so. It was Christmas: if it was going to be ruined tonight, it wouldn't be by his hand.

At least Haytham hadn't minded him bringing Myriam along. She often spent Christmas with them anyway, what with her family living out of state; she walked next to him and it was just... odd seeing her in a dress. He'd never seen her in a dress before and honestly... she looked stunning. While the dress itself wasn't anything special – she'd borrowed it from a friend – it accentuated all her curves, clinging to her body in all the right places while leaving other parts to the imaginary. Even her hair; she always kept it in a simple ponytail or a braid, but it looked as if someone had taken a curling iron to it and had turned it into a piece of art.

Okay, that was sappy, but the way her curls bounced right above his shoulders with every step, catching the light... well, he had a hard time not staring.

They were greeted by Haytham who, for once, wasn't wearing a suit but something a little more casual. It made him look more human, Connor mused as he greeted his father with a simple nod before stepping inside. This would be the first time for Myriam to actually spent time with the man, as all their previous encounters didn't really count. He could only hope that things would go well for once.

“Here, let me.” He took her coat and put it on a coat hanger for her, receiving a smile and a whispered thank-you in return before they all entered the grand living room, the smells from the kitchen wafting towards them. Huh... he hadn't thought his father to be the cooking type. He was there, checking up on the turkey, his back turned to them and next to him Myriam took a deep whiff before looking at Haytham with an appreciative look in her eyes. “Hmmm, delicious. The food smells great as well, by the way.”

Connor couldn't help but chuckle. Myriam's silly man crush on Haytham, as disturbing as it was in some ways, was amusing, no way around it.

And fortunately, Ziio knew her well enough to know that everything she said wasn't meant to be taken that seriously, and so she laughed as well as Myriam leaned closer and spoke, not bothering to keep her voice down: “Screw Christmas dinner, I'll take a bite out of that right there.”

Rolling his eyes Connor turned and walked around the table, taking in his surroundings. The whole place just screamed 'filthy rich guy living here' and he whistled as he looked out of the window, showing a spectacular view of the Atlantic. He didn't mind admitting this: this place was damn nice.

-=-=-=-

Alright, everything in place as it should be. He bent to check the turkey, watching the thermometer and re-moistening meat with the baster, he blinked before clearing his throat, smirking. Only the faintest of pink dusted his cheeks as he shut the oven. He was a blusher, couldn’t be helped no matter how in place his mask was… and he was quite fond of honesty, especially honesty of the ego-inflating variety.

“Now, now ladies, behave. Lest we all become unnecessarily hot and need a dip in the pool.”

“It’s heated.” Ziio sat by him as he checked the cranberry sauce, comfortably seated by the breakfast nook.

Myriam frowned fakely and added an over-exagerrated; “Darn, and I don’t have my bathing suit.”

Haytham smirked, sending a wink Ziio’s way. “Me neither.”

“You’re going to get it after this, I’m warning you.” Playful was Ziio’s tone, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“One can only hope for as much.” It was foreign, to genuinely smile at the dual laughs from behind him, his eyes resting on Connor’s back, watching him take in the ocean. Funny, that was the same spot he always stood in, contemplating issues with the company or simply lost in thought.

Strange were the oddities they shared.

“I’m uncertain if you’re of drinking age, but you’ll probably want to try this… something called mulled wine. I have enough room for you to stay the night otherwise.” It would be rude if he didn’t offer some to his son…

“Connor, care for a try?” He’d be on his best behavior tonight, he’d promised.

-=-=-=-

Myriam accepted her glass without hesitation. “Not of drinking age but that has never stopped me before. Thank you, Mr. Kenway.” She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped from the mulled wine, humming appreciatively and nodded. The good stuff.

Connor was a lot more reluctant to accept though, not because it was his father offering, but because his twenty-first birthday was still four months away and unlike Myriam, he had never made it a habit to drink before it was legal for him to do so. Not that he had never touched alcohol before, but it had only happened a handful of times and his mother didn't know about it.

So he glanced at Ziio, a questioning look in his eyes until she nodded and mouthed 'just this once' with a smile, before he reached out and accepted the glass from Haytham. “Thanks.” He sniffed it, cautiously and his face scrunched up into a grimace after he took a sip – ugh, definitely a taste to be acquired, but it wasn't all that bad.

“You need more practice.” Myriam quipped, and Connor rolled his eyes as she swirled the wine around in her glass.

“I doubt I'll ever be a fan of alcohol.” he muttered with a shrug and tried another sip as Myriam chuckled and clapped him on the back.

“Not even champagne?”

“Ugh, no.”

“Then I'll be sure to get you a bottle of non alcoholic Disney champagne for New Years Eve.”

“Har har, very funny Myriam.” He smirked though, seeing the humor in it. The words came from Myriam, he could handle her teasing. They did it all the time.

“You're welcome, sweety, as always.” Tipping her head back she downed the glass, aware of Connor's eyes on the smooth column of her throat and ignoring it, setting the empty glass down on the table. “So, Mr. Kenway, is there anything I can do to help out, with dinner preparations perhaps? I'd hate for you to do all the work alone.”

-=-=-=-

He watched his son take a gulp, his lips twitching upwards for a change. Like his mother, he wasn’t one for the refined. It was hardly a negative thing, particularly as he watched Ziio do the same, though she seemed to thoroughly enjoy her serving.

He filled up another glass for Myriam, shrugging as Ziio raised an eyebrow.

“Last one.” It was only a little wine, anyhow, virtually slightly spiked juice with everything he put in it. Besides, watching his son watch Myriam was quite amusing. He vaguely wondered if he was that obvious watching Ziio, the smooth skin of her face, the way her lips moved as she spoke in soft tones, like now.

Oh… she had spoken.

“Pardon?”

Ziio looked amused and set her glass down. “Did you need help with anything? Myriam asked first though, she gets dibs.”

Oh, hm. No, no everything was settled… except… “I suppose I could use a bit of a feminine touch wrapping presents…” He wouldn’t have to show them to Ziio or Connor that way, that would certainly be helpful.

“Haytham, that wasn’t necessary.”

“Oh bother, it’s just one thing for you and Connor to share, and it’s a necessity so none of that.” He pointed to her pseudo frown, unable to resist pecking her lips chastely, just enough to get her lips to stop twitching downward. “Do I need to go over proper gift accepting etiquette with you again, woman? Step one, say thank you. Step two, accept gift. Step three, like the gift.”

“Step four; temporarily forget the fact that you’re a condescending douche bag.”

“If you can temporarily forget such an evident fact.” Dual lips twitched, and he leaned in again, kiss only a little deeper this time, hand cupping his face-

“Tonsil hockey for all!”

He almost sputtered, backing away from Ziio slightly. Right, company.

“Aw not fair, I was getting dinner and a show.”

And yet again he found himself chuckling at Myriam's choice of words, almost surprised that he would do so. “You’re quite cheeky, aren’t you?” It was said kindly, and he offered Myriam his hand. “To my room, for present wrapping. Ziio, you can give Connor a tour if you like, or help yourselves to anything you desire.”

“What I desire is leaving.”

“Only for the moment. My, aren’t we all in good humor today?” Goodness, is this how two women were? How playful! Connor was nothing like this. A shame, he couldn’t help but like Myriam quite a bit so far – perhaps it would have been different had he created a daughter.

He’d wonder some other time. He had no idea how to wrap a set of car keys.

-=-=-=-

Connor shook his head and rolled his eyes at the ceiling, watching how Myriam practically skipped after Haytham in excitement, her hand in his as she flashed them a smirk over her shoulder.

“Someone has a crush.”

“It's far worse than a crush, believe me.” Connor picked up a frame photo and held it at arms distance, scrunching at the picture of a younger Haytham surrounded by a group of men. He assumed it were the same men that had visited his school as he recognized Lee to be among them, looking less greasy but no less gross. There was just something... creepy about the guy, even in this picture. “Trust me mom, if it wasn't for you she would have flung herself at him already.”

“Hm, and what about you?”

Connor blinked at her and nearly dropped the framed photo. What about him?

“You and Myriam.” Ziio continued as she sat down on the leather couch and folded her hands under her chin. “Any chance of you two getting back together...? I know you have tried but...”

Connor didn't answer and carefully set the photo back down. Sometimes, he wished things had worked out between him and Myriam. A solid relationship with someone you truly liked and trusted, who didn't want that? But it hadn't worked out, it didn't feel right. Casual sex was one thing, and so was staying best friends but combining it all? Adding in love? No... not happening. “I don't know.”

“Ah.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them and Connor turned to look out of the window again, taking in the spectacular view before he glanced at the door Myriam and Haytham had disappeared through. Their return would be welcomed, if only to break this awkward silence.

~*~

“No no, big ribbon bows. Like this! The bigger the better!” Really, what was so difficult about wrapping a set of car keys? Put them in a pretty box, wrap the pretty box in a pretty paper and finish it off with a pretty ribbon. She sighed. Men...

“I used to work in a gift shop, I wrapped a ton of these every day. Here.” She handed Haytham the small package, a perfectly neat ribbon bow on top.

A new car... it was a really nice gift, she couldn't think of two people who deserved it more than Ziio and Connor. The car they had was ready to fall apart.

“He'll come around, you know.” she said softly, her eyes on the small package. “I'm sorry, it's not really my place to say, but Connor's a good person. He just has... trusting issues. And a temper. He needs time.”

-=-=-=-

Ah, grand and ornate, a gigantic looping bow over the small box provided. He honestly had no concept of where to begin; he’d never been one for art or designing. Anything nonfunctional and purely spectacle was saved for the fairer sex. They seemed to know about those sorts of things anyway.

He was content, with her, just listening to her explain where she used to work, silly idle chatter. Goodness, why was this so much easier? Already he knew her favorite color, where she worked, where her parents lived and her favorite food. It took ten seconds to aptly learn more about her than about Connor.

Her soft voice hit him, lips twitching in a frown. “Mm. Doubtful. He isn’t into reasons, just into blame.” He paused, examining the package. “It’s lovely, thank you.” He meant it, she made it look terrific.

“Aw, you’re welcome.” But just as she was going to head to the door he whispered, lowly. Haytham didn’t even know why he said it.

“If he knew what truly happened, he wouldn’t hate me.” He kept his eyes on the glistening paper, not daring meet hers. She was so easy to talk to, so polite. Perhaps he was just more affluent with women, whether friendly or otherwise. But she was Connor’s friend, she may divulge sensitive information. Information that may in fact put Ziio in a predicament, given the circumstances.

He couldn’t allow that, also for the sake of his son. “Damned if I tell him, damned if I remain silent. I doubt he’d believe me anyway. He prefers hatred, at least with me. I don’t blame him, not entirely. It is an issue of maturity, surely, but…” He shook his head, glancing over briefly and offering an almost embarrassed smile. “It’s not your concern though. Apologies, it’s hardly the time for such talk.”

-=-=-=-

Frowning Myriam stopped with her hand on the doorknob and glanced back at Haytham. Wow... was he really indulging personal information with her? He barely knew her. Her hand slowly withdrew from the door and she turned fully, a small frown on her face as she listened.

It... made sense. She was aware that Connor knew little about how his parents had gotten together for the first time and what had led up to them splitting up again. Perhaps if he knew more, understood why, he'd be less inclined to show so much hate... but it wasn't her place to say. There was little she could do about it, as much as she wanted to help them both. Connor was her best friend and she liked Haytham, he seemed like a decent enough guy despite the fact that he had given her a bad first impression at the Red Mango. They deserved a good, healthy relationship, didn't they?
If there was anything she could do to make that happen, she would... but she wouldn't spill information she wasn't supposed to share with others.

“He acts that way because he doesn't know how to deal with you.” she said and folded her hands behind her back again, toeing the plush carpet with her foot. “He doesn't know you well enough to show anything but hatred and anger, so he lashes out whenever he can. That's how he deals with situations that are difficult. I'm not saying that it's the right way to handle things, but good luck trying to change that. I'm sure that once he gets to know you better, things will cool down but it has to come from both sides.” Her eyes flicked up and she fixed Haytham with a firm stare after she said that. She knew that Haytham liked to bait Connor and that wasn't helping the situation, but at the same time Connor wasn't giving his father any chance to improve on things. They were both at fault and if they wanted this to work, they both had to actually put in some serious effort.

She kept her stare up for a few more seconds before her face suddenly split into a big smile again and she stepped forward boldly, wrapping her arms around Haytham's shoulders to pull him into a tight hug. If this surprised or bothered him, she didn't seem to care and she let go quickly enough anyway, though her hands lingered on his shoulders as she smiled up at him. “A hug always makes Connor feel better! I figured it was worth a try.” Plus she got to hug Haytham, yay! Despite being in his forties, he was all hard, solid muscle under there. Rawr, sexy!

Too bad he was already taken. And... ya know, the father of her best friend. Clearing her throat she stepped away, removing her hands from his shoulders and gestured towards the door. “Shall we then? If we take any longer they might get suspicious, this being your bedroom and everything. Not that it isn't nice but you know, I want to stay on Ziio's good side.”

-=-=-=-

Fingering the wrapping paper, he fought a frown. Well yes, he baited him, only because he was a little twit, but he wouldn’t say that aloud. Honestly, what was he to do? Say ‘thank you for coming into my corporate office and almost getting thrown out, son. Oh, don’t be upset that you broke my nose when I didn’t realize you were coming home and you caught me in the act with your mother. No Connor, it isn’t polite to fling chest nuts at your father's head, but I understand the misconception. Also, you have wonderful aim.’

Yeah… no. No, it was ninety five percent Connor's fault, with maybe a tiny bit being Haytham's own anger. But that was only because Connor’s attitude made him that way! Still, the encouragement was nice.

He hadn’t expected the hug though, and tensed briefly, relaxing just a little before she let go. Hugs cheer Connor up? They… made him uncomfortable, but she meant well, he could see that quite clearly.

“Indeed we shall.” He offered his arm this time, bowing when she mock curtsied, other hand firmly wrapped around the package, and wandered over to Ziio who raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we’d need to send a search party.”

“Never. I’m simply refraining from being a jack ass.”

Ziio scoffed, Haytham untangling his arm politely. “I’ll believe it when I see–“ He bent over again, this time to check the stuffing. Ziio couldn’t help but lean back, just to follow the curve of his delectable looking… “So, when do I get to see the contents of the package?” She paused, grinning as Haytham donned oven mitts and removed a tray. “Also, what present did you get me?”

That made him falter, almost dropping the turkey as he glared, the faintest of flushes gracing his cheeks. “Perhaps later.” What was it about these pants, anyway? His flush deepened further as he caught Myriam’s eyes on him, feeling more edible than the damned turkey.

While flattering, it unnerved him.

“Ziio, silverware. Connor, plates. Myriam, glasses. I can carry the rest.” There was a blink, Haytham watching the confusion come over Connor’s face as Ziio nonchalantly grabbed silverware. What, what had he done now?

-=-=-=-

For a moment it looked like Connor would go against it. He was so sick of his father bossing him around, treating him like he was one of his lowly employees or even an intern, someone he could scold and commandeer around. Was it really that difficult for him to ask nicely for a change?

Ziio grabbed silverware without even a blink, and Myriam opened a cabinet to take out four clean glasses before fixing him with a glare. Right... Christmas, and he'd promised to behave. He even refrained from rolling his eyes at his father as he too turned to the cabinet and grabbed four plates, following Myriam and his mother to the dining table to set everything up. He was quite hungry by now and he didn't mind admitting that... well... it all smelled very good indeed. He pulled a chair back for Myriam, gesturing her to sit down which earned him a pleased smile and a wink before taking a seat next to her. His parents took the opposite side of the table, with Haytham sitting right across of him.

“It looks delicious, Mr. Kenway!”

Hm, yes, he'd agree with Myriam on that one. But just because it smelled and looked good didn't mean the taste was anything to write home about. By the looks of things it was likely it tasted just as amazing, but Connor wouldn't be Connor unless he tried to find flaws in everything his father did.

Haytham did the same to him anyway.

Meanwhile Myriam had sparked up a conversation with Ziio as Haytham readied everything and once again did not bother to keep her voice down. “He's really quite a catch! It's hard to find a man who does not only look good but knows his way around the kitchen as well.” She batted her eyelashes at him before giving Ziio a wink. “He's a total dilf.”

As soon as the word left her mouth, Connor made an odd, garbled sound in the back of his throat next to her, nearly choking on his own saliva; raising his hand he coughed into his fist and turned his eyes on Myriam, who met his surprised stare with an even look and a shrug. “What? He is.”

-=-=-=-

He would never understand the lad, though he fought back the scoff. Both women had no problem following what he requested, there was no need for the attitude. He'd follow up on it with a 'do what I say' and a scoff, but no. It wasn't worth the effort.

Carving the turkey, he couldn't fight the grin off his face. Ah, seemed Myriam quite liked him, her compliments were nice... but...

He blinked, tilting his head. Connor choked, glaring imaginary daggers at the girl who nonchalantly shrugged. More importantly, Ziio eyed him, tilting her own head with a very obvious repressed grin.

"A... dilf? I'm... sorry, is that slang for something? I'm unfamiliar with American slang." Such an odd word, what could it mean?

He frowned as both women giggled, furrowing his brow in a manner that was undeniably child like, practically pouting. "Haytham, you remember that movie we saw? American Pie and the sequels two Saturdays ago? Remember Stifler's mom, what she was called?"

"… the acronym, milf. Yes I quite recall. But how does that..." Oh.

OH.

His gaze briefly flickered to Myriam, to Ziio's encouragement, and then to his now fidgeting hands, the deepest crimson flitting over his features.

"Haytham, what do you say when you get a compliment?" Oh her teasing voice, he glared but only managed to blush further, thin fingers pinching his cheek.

"… I don't like flattery."

"Well, good thing it's a truth then." Damn her and her sing-song voice! What, he promised to behave so she could pick on him?

It burned, his entire face burned. Grey eyes averted to stare at the floor, muttering. "… let's change the topic?" To anything else but him?!

-=-=-=-

Myriam's smile was positively devious, her eyes twinkling in delight. Oh goodies, she got Haytham Kenway to blush! Now that was something to brag about! And it wasn't just a blush, this was an over-the-top, red-as-a-tomato oh-god-I'm-so-embarrassed kind of blush. Those were the best.

“I only speak the truth.” she purred and picked up her napkin, unfolding it and draping it over her lap. Next to her, Connor sat with his face buried into his hands, clearly embarrassed in his own way but from where she sat she could see the grin on him. Clearly getting his father all uncomfortable did wonders for Connor's mood.

“Yes, lets please change the topic.” he muttered, his voice muffled his palms. Anything was better than a topic that mixed his father with sex, he'd seen enough of that to last time a life time, thank you.

“You're no fun, Connor.” Myriam pouted and she nudged his shoulders, causing him to drop his hands. He glanced at Haytham quickly, eyeing the clear redness on his face and the corners of his mouth twitched before he turned to Myriam again.

“As much as I don't mind you getting him uncomfortable, it is not something I want to be a witness to.”

“You were smirking though, I saw it!”

Damn. “Yeah okay, you caught me. I did. But... ugh, can we talk about something, I dunno... Christmas-y instead and not about how eager you are to get into his pants?” Anything, any topic but that.

“Hmmm...” Eyes rolling up towards the ceiling Myriam tapped her lips with her index finger and hummed softly, brows scrunching together in thought. It was a look Connor recognized... no doubt she was trying to think of a way to include the topic of Haytham and what he was hiding in his pants into a conversation about Christmas, just so she could keep on teasing him and making him blush.

“Forget I asked...”

-=-=-=-

Oh for heaven’s sake! “You realize blushing doesn’t impede my ability to hear, right?” Just wonderful, let him blush himself into a coma for the amusement of others. Ziio wasn’t making it better, playful smile intact.

“It’s the flush on your cheeks, the dimples...” And so loud, so loud was the slap to his ass that he let out an undignified gasp, wide eyed and horrified. “Then there’s your face.”

That was it. Removing himself from the table, he made for his bedroom, Ziio frowning. “Haytham...”

“I’m getting changed.”

“We’re only kidding! You’re...” She fought the original term, choosing another. “... endearing when you blush.”

He didn’t close the door, but the ruffle of clothing could be heard. Even he could admit this was somewhat drastic, but he felt entirely nude, like some piece of meat on display. He’d never understand, women hated it being done to them, but objectifying him was alright?

Grey eyes narrowed, head peering out from the door frame of his own room. “Endearing? For heaven's sake, woman, I’m nothing of the sort.”

Some more ruffling and Ziio rolled her eyes, shrugging at Myriam. “I found it amusing.”

“Well that says a lot about you, doesn’t it?”

She turned, intent on retorting, something about his immaturity when she blinked. And opened her mouth, shutting it softly, just looking at him.

Red. Matching the ribbon in his hair, a long, red over coat that was obviously tailored, diving in at the waist and following the curve of his hip. Cream colored buttons lined either side, the black turtle neck still visible over the shallow collar of the coat.

She said nothing, their eyes meeting, and he simply tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, most of the flush gone. He said nothing either, though his eyes didn’t leave her face as he began to serve dinner. Myriam’s eyes were on his as well, and he sighed half way through.

“... what is it now?”

“Haytham, get changed.” He simply blinked, Ziio moving to serve food for him, his expression completely mystified. What, he hadn’t acted so horribly, had he?

“I... did I do something?”

She couldn’t even look at him, her eyes meeting Myriam’s and they shared a look. “Haytham, you’re wearing a red leather coat with belted buckles.” Indeed, one around his waist, two around his wrists.

“I do not follow.”

Again she looked at Myriam, and Haytham was so lost and confused it hurt, having no choice but to look at his son. “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?" He hadn't a clue anymore, women were very, very complicated. He sighed, and reluctantly removed his jacket, unsure why he was even doing so. He was beginning to prefer the arguments with his son over whatever this was.

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked slowly as Haytham abruptly stood up and left the table. Okaaaay? Well, it wasn't his fault for once!

He returned shortly, wearing a – was that leather? It was!

Who in their right mind wore a bright red jacket made out of leather, indoors at Christmas dinner? Must be a rich-guy thing...

Connor kept himself out of the conversation that followed, not really understanding what Myriam and Ziio were going on about and not really wanting to know either. It didn't involve him, it wasn't his problem, let Haytham deal with the consequences of his fashion failure- “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting Haytham's as if to make sure that yes, his father had actually asked him an honest question. Whoa. “Er... no, I don't.” he muttered as he probed his turkey with his fork and glanced at Myriam, who was still eyeing the leather jacket. “You'll never hear me say I ever understand women. They're like aliens.” From Venus. Women came from Venus, right? Haytham definitely came from Mars, no doubt about it.

He stuck a piece of turkey in his mouth and chewed carefully, eyebrows raising just a bit as the rich flavors nearly overwhelmed his taste buds – holy shit! If it weren't for the Corporation his father could have earned a fortune as an executive chef in a five-star restaurant, this was good stuff!

Myriam was still staring and this whole situation was getting way too weird, even to him; Myriam snapped to and tore her eyes away from the leather jacket draped over the back of Haytham's chair as Connor harshly nudged her foot under the table, and blinked. “Get it together!” he hissed at her and she blushed, clearing her throat.

“I... I apologize, Mr. Kenway. That was too much, I went too far. I'm sorry.”

-=-=-=-

Aliens... oh yes. Good, it wasn't only him. He couldn't fathom the inner workings of their minds, let alone what he'd done to cause such a reaction, from both of them.

He sat uneasily, allowing Ziio to finish serving simply because he was lost in thought, so lost he almost didn't hear the apology. "Hm? Oh, no need for that." He waved his hand almost dismissively, mask back in place, even with the traces of embarrassment left on his cheeks. "Merely meant as a joke, I'm simply... unaccustomed to the behavior." Truth be told those he knew wouldn't dare pick on him, not even at Connor's school had they dared to push his buttons too much. He was feared, revered, powerful.

But not in front of Ziio, in front of his family? He almost jumped at the thought. It had been some time since he had that... a family. Families didn't fear one another.

Unless of course you were his mother. He shoved that thought aside with his appetite.

Checking his watch he winced, excusing himself much to everyone's confusion. "Apologies, I had timed dinner to be concluded at this point." He hesitated, unsure of how to state this without giving the present away. "… I need to pick up the gift, it's downtown."

"How are you getting there?"

He shrugged, nonchalant as always. "Never mind that, it's of no importance, Ziio. I'll be back shortly."

"… The buses and subways closed at seven, Haytham."

He blinked, lips twitching into a frown. "Why?"

"Blizzard warning in affect for the area."

Damn it, he hadn't thought of that! It was hardly snowing, though he understood the precaution but... his present. "That... complicates things." Shit, he needed someone to drive it back, and it wasn't like he could ask Myriam if she had a license, that would destroy the surprise! So much for the custom paint being a nice touch.

He didn't want Ziio to find out... which left one option.

"Connor, I need you to come with me, to pick up your mothers gift."

-=-=-=-

“Excuse me?” Looking up from his plate, a piece of broccoli half on its way to his mouth, Connor fixed his father with a blank stare. Go with him? Ugh, why? He didn't want to go out into the cold, least of all with him!

Ah, but it was for his mother... Oh Christ, he didn't want to go. He wanted to finish his surprisingly good dinner. Couldn't it wait?

“You should go.” Myriam whispered and he glared at her – whose side was she on anyway? - but it made no difference; the grin on her face remained. “I know what it is. Trust me... go with him. It's gonna be awesome.”

Huh... really? The glance he gave his father was wary to say the least, but eventually Connor nodded reluctantly, biting back a sigh, and pushed his chair back. “Alright then...” For mom. Not to make things easier for Haytham, he'd do it for mom.

Feeling his pocket for his cellphone he went to grab his jacket, wrapping the scarf around his neck before pulling it on and zipping it all the way up. “This had better be good. Where are we going?”

“Don't worry about us!” Myriam called after them, having claimed Haytham's seat next to Ziio. “We can keep ourselves entertained.” Connor grimaced; that meant girl talk. Girl talk was terrifying. Glancing at his father he quickly nodded towards the door, suddenly eager to get out. “They're going to talk about you again, so...” Another nod at the door. That was something he was sure they both didn't want to hear.

-=-=-=-

Oh bother, he hardly doubted that. "All the more reason to leave quickly." And he did leave quickly, let the women chat about... whatever women chatted about. Based on the interesting things Myriam had already called him, he'd no doubt they'd already had such conversation prior.

The thought made him shiver in trepidation. He hardly minded having a place on Ziio's mind, but Myriam was another story entirely.

He walked briskly as always, militaristic and on point to the garage, unlocking the door to his Rolls Royce. Of course it was blue, a deep navy blue with black accents, and he sat in the drivers side, cautiously looking towards Connor.

"I cannot stress this enough, be careful." Though his voice was softer than usual, and he added quickly. "Lest you scratch her, the paint is new and the interior is custom made."

He ignored the glare, taking a few back streets, noting Connor shivering and quietly pressing the button on his steering wheel, the heated seat coming to life. Couldn't risk him snotting all over the new steering wheel if he caught a cold.

He pulled up quickly, with only five minutes to spare and held his hand up. "Wait here."

Within two minutes he returned, watching Connor's expression change from frigid and cold to something more unreadable, Haytham stepping from the brand new Mustang. It wasn't too expensive, Ziio wouldn't have liked it otherwise, but simple and exquisite, a two door, five seater with custom dark brown leather interior and a mural painted on it: the symbol of her tribe on the hood.

Connor had yet to say anything. Haytham tossed him the spare set of keys, calmly, devoid of emotion.

"I'll be following you back. Remember, careful." He didn't bother to give an excuse as to why, and patted his back once. "Happy Christmas..."

-=-=-=-

Yup! Connor quickly followed after his father, the closing door drowning out the giggles coming from Myriam. Taking the elevator down Haytham led the way to the garage, walking straight towards a navy-blue Rolls Royce – not really surprising, that was a car for rich people but he had never seen one up close before.

He almost didn't dare to touch it, in case he did something wrong and be rewarded with Haytham yelling at him or something.

Exhaling slowly through his teeth he reached out and opened the front passenger door, carefully sliding into his seat and very much aware of any potential dirt under his sneakers.

The drive was short and Connor remained silent, pressed against the window as the scenery flashed by, using his hoodie to shield his eyes from the head lights of the cars speeding past them. He noticed the temperature in the car rising steadily but he didn't comment on it, preferring not to say anything at all.

The moment they pulled into a garage his eyebrows lowered into a frown and he sat up straight, watching with confusion in his eyes as Haytham got out and told him to stay put. What... were they doing here? Weren't they supposed to pick up mom's gift? He watched his father walk inside and grumbling he flopped back into the seat, arms crossing over his chest. Whatever...

He ignored the other cars passing by, instead keeping himself occupied by fiddling with the sun visor until he noticed that one car had come to a halt right next to the Rolls Royce. Frowning he glanced up – and had to take a double look at the driver. What the hell?!

“Whoa, what the... what is this?” he stammered as he quickly got out of the car, his wide-open eyes roaming over the Mustang in front of him – holy crap was that their tribe's symbol on the hood?

This was Haytham's gift to mom?

He almost missed the keys that were tossed at him, catching them and almost dropping them in the snow, his eyes still on the brand new Mustang as Haytham got out and walked back to his own car but not before he patted him on his back.

It was a soft clap on his shoulders and Connor still stumbled forward, too surprised to even give a coherent answer.

It was a car. It was a fucking, brand spanking new, beautiful car, and even though he knew Haytham had bought it more for his mother's sake than for him... just... wow...

Connor opened his palm slowly and stared down at the keys in his hand, the trademark logo of a running stallion staring up at him. Oh Jesus... this was too much. Way too much. Would mom even accept this?

Turning Connor glanced over his shoulder, looking at his father who had already climbed back behind the wheel of his own car with an uncertain glimmer in his eyes before his fingers tightened around the keys again.

The new leather of the seat creaked as he sat down and the whole car came to life when he turned on the ignition. Honestly, even though he'd gotten his driver's license in one go, he didn't really have all that much experience outside of the lessons he had taken. Mom usually had the car with her. And no doubt Haytham would be watching his every move. Fuck, if he put even a scratch on this thing his father would have his hide!

He breathed out slowly and steeled himself, getting a good look at the dashboard and where everything was so he wouldn't make any mistakes, and gripped the wheel tightly. He could do this, without screwing up, and take this car back to his mother, safely.

He hoped.

-=-=-=-

He waited, watching Connor get into the car, frowning as his hands seemed to shake. Perhaps the grand nature of the gift simply caught him off guard.

Coming to life, he was slow to pull out of the drive way. Haytham raised an eyebrow as he waited for his son to turn. My, he was a cautious driver. Overly cautious, though he supposed it was better than reckless.

The first block or two went slow but steadily until a light changed, the car screeching to a halt and jolting, Haytham's brow furrowing. Okay?

Two blocks later and another abrupt stop made him frown, the lack of a turn signal another block down causing him to shake his head. Who gave Connor a license? He was a horrid driver!

He chose the next red light to call, Ziio picking up her phone and he placed it on speaker. "Ziio, quick question."

"Yeah?"

"When was the last time Connor drove your car?"

"Five or six months ago. He's only driven a few times."

… Son of a bitch. That explained a lot, and Haytham grunted with a scowl, biding her a good bye with a click.

The worst part was he couldn't be angry with him; he never told them they were to pick up a car. Taking a deep breath, Haytham waited to the next signal, ignoring the still obvious abuse of the break paddle.

Connor didn't answer his phone, and Haytham felt his lips twitch upward; good lad, he probably shouldn't while driving anyway. He did however still needed his attention.

The horn was loud enough to make Connor jump, and Haytham looked at him through the mirror: nervous, exceptionally so. He motioned and mouthed 'pull over', following Connor to the side of the road and parking in an empty shopping area. Connor stepped out as he did, Haytham locking his car door and stared at him blankly.

They were about half way back, snow falling heavier now, dotting his tied back hair heavily. "Rusty, huh?" He'd leave it at that, leaning against the passenger door. "You need a refresher; open the door, buckle up. I'll instruct you on how to get back."

-=-=-=-

Fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! Oh god he sucked at this!

Well, normally he didn't. Really, he didn't. He wouldn't say he was good at driving, but he wasn't bad either. But god, every time he looked into the rear mirror he saw the head lights of the Rolls Royce behind him, Haytham watching his every move, seeing and remembering every mistake he made and that made him horribly, hopelessly nervous.

And when he was nervous, that's when he began making mistakes.

By the time Haytham signaled him to pull over Connor was a nervous wreck, his fingers clenching around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, sat completely rigid in his seat. Not exactly how he wanted his father to see him but there was little he could do about it now. He couldn't order himself to 'man up' like that. Not now anyway.

And they weren't even halfway there yet.

As he noticed his father getting out of his own car and locking it, Connor worked on schooling his face back into something a little more masculine and took a deep breath. “Yeah.” he answered curtly. Rusty sounded about right.

Pressing a button on the dashboard he heard the door on the passenger side unlock, and Connor shivered at the sudden gush of cold wind flowing into the car as Haytham opened the door and sat himself down next to him. “You... you're going to leave your car behind?”

-=-=-=-

"No Connor. I'm going to replicate myself mitotically and my clone will handle my car." Honestly, what a dolt of a question.

Sighing, Haytham buckled up blinking. "Never you mind the car, Charles will be more than happy to pick it up later. Focus instead on your driving, you appear to have inherited your mother's lead foot." He needn't worry though, he'd remedy that, one way or another.

"Now, pull back onto the main road street and ease, I emphasize that, ease the car forward, big toe only if you must. Just because the car can accelerate from zero to seventy in three seconds hardly means it should."

Blinking, Haytham watched him again, frowning as his hands shook. What the hell was making him so damn nervous? No matter, he wasn't a coddler, though he could instruct if necessary. "Just try to not kill us, hm?" There, that should lighten the mood.

-=-=-=-

Connor's nervous glare faltered a bit as Lee's name was mentioned, but it quickly returned as Haytham pointed out what he had to do. Right, ease the car forward, he had a habit of slamming his foot on the gas and the breaks.

Adjusting the side mirror he waited until a few cars had passed and did as told, slowly easing the car forward without any hitches... maybe this would work out, as long as Haytham stopped staring at him and stayed quiet aside from giving good instructions he could actually use, so-

"Just try to not kill us, hm?"

The effect was immediate; Connor's foot slammed on the break again and his hands left the wheel as the car came to an abrupt halt, though not so abrupt to jostle anything as they hadn't been going fast at all. “Screw this! Either shut up, or take the wheel yourself. You are not helping! I admit, you're making me nervous and I'm not ruining this car just so you can put the blame solely with me!”

-=-=-=-

He grit his teeth as the seat belt held him in place, the comment on his tongue snide until Connor beat him to it. But it wasn't what Haytham expected in the least.

He balked, openly as if Connor had just grown another head. "Nervous?" He assumed that came with driving a new car or not wishing to ruin it, but he was making the boy nervous? He'd hardly spoken to the lad.

Try as he might, he couldn't understand it, his expression carefully blank as he looked at his son, knuckles clenching the steering so hard they were almost white.

"Relax. That was an attempt at humor." A failed attempt at humor, and he contemplated taking the wheel, but no. No, that would be the easy way.

"I require elaboration regarding my abilities to make you nervous for no apparent reason, but I'll inquire later." And he would, truly, because he couldn't comprehend how just sitting there made Connor nervous. He wouldn't harm the lad, what was there to be nervous about? He could only remember such an emotion occurring in his youth; weapons training. He'd hit every target despite the shaking of his fingers. Yes, he'd made his father proud-

No. No that couldn't be it. It was beyond fathomable to believe such a thing; Connor hated him, why would he care about his opinion?

Yet, that was the only thing that made sense. And his lips twitched, unsure of whether to smile or frown. This... complicated things.

"… Take the wheel, Connor, and relax. As I said prior, ease your way. Should you need more instruction, let me know." That was... how his father used to do it, yes? Perhaps correct him if a grave error was made, otherwise let him be.

"Let's get back before they start to worry." He couldn't look at the boy now, his voice not quite soft but losing its bite. He just realized, he had no idea how to be a father, not really.

Now Connor was making him nervous, not that he'd admit it aloud. That was new.

-=-=-=-

No apparent reason? Connor scoffed and let go of the wheel, running his fingers through his black hair before adjusting his seat belt... to have something to busy himself with in the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over them both.

He wasn't looking forward to the talk Haytham promised they would be having, but he'd deal with that when the time came. For now, he still had to take this car back to his father's apartment in one piece.

The change in his tone though... it didn't go unnoticed, Connor catching onto the sudden lack of bite Haytham usually carried with him when speaking to his son. Even so, he did not comment on it and took the wheel once more. Haytham was avoiding his eyes now, keeping his gaze on the street in front of him and knowing that he wasn't staring and watching his every move helped a bit, and so did his promise not to say anything unless he specifically asked for more instructions. He was glad to see that his father at least seemed a bit more willing to show him some consideration for once.

As Connor pulled onto the main road again it was again without any hitches, focusing on the road and the traffic around him. He was still visibly tense but no longer slammed his foot on the break whenever a traffic light flashed to red, and remembered to use his turn signals this time. His driving still wasn't perfect, but better than it had been fifteen minutes ago when they left the garage. Still, he was more than relieved when he could finally pull the car into the garage of Haytham's apartment building and parked in the spot next to the one the Rolls Royce had occupied.

“Jesus...” he muttered under his breath and slowly eased his grip on the wheel, taking out the keys before unbuckling his seat belt and opened the door. Stepping out he stretched slowly and tossed the keys to his father, though he avoided meeting his eyes. He wanted to back up to mom and Myriam. Or go back home. Something. Anything.

-=-=-=-

He didn't say much, pointing out an imperfection or two authoritatively but without his usual snark, his own eyes remaining on the outside scenery. He was wrong, he had to be. Perhaps he could not think of a reason yet, but Connor had no wish to make him proud or anything of the sort. He hated him, and Haytham clung to that tidbit until they arrived, catching the spare keys singlehandedly before pocketing them. It was better, that he hated him. He couldn't recall why, but it was.

They took the elevator up in silence, they both did, Haytham content with having some more mulled wine before conversing once again. Something to relax him.

They were still giggling when they walked in, or at least Myriam was as Ziio listened silently, corners of her mouth twitching until she laid eyes on them. "Where'd you go, space?"

Haytham failed to respond, not bothering to toe off his shoes. "Your present, before it gets any darker."

"You haven't eaten yet."

"I'll eat afterwards, it's worth seeing."

Hm, must be something important, especially with the way Haytham was acting. He didn't seem excited, but he was acting... differently. She couldn't quite put a finger on it, and she whispered into Connor's ear, curious. "What happened?" She frowned, biting her lip as she eyed Haytham's retreating and rather tense looking back. "Did you two fight again?"

-=-=-=-

Connor shook his head slowly. “No, there was no fight. Honestly.” he answered as he too looked at the retreating figure of his father leading them back to the elevator. “It was... more like a case of miss communication I think.” He forced a smile on his face before they stepped into the elevator. “Don't worry about it. Focus on the gift, it's pretty awesome.”

As they entered the garage Haytham led the way to the back where the Mustang stood waiting. Connor lingered behind, following at a distance and remaining so, with his hands shoved into his pockets even as the car came into view.

Myriam squeaked and immediately circled the vehicle, loudly proclaiming that it looked absolutely awesome. This at least got his lips to twitch a little... that was Myriam alright, always getting excited even over the things that weren't hers.

It wasn't difficult to guess what was inside the small package Ziio still held in her hands, still unpacked as she stared at the car with wide open eyes, clearly at a loss for words. He hoped at least she would be happy with it. His first ride with the thing hadn't been particularly nice, but perhaps that would change with time. He doubted he'd get a lot of chances to drive it anyway, but it was of no concern. The bus worked just fine for him, it had never let him down before and if he really needed a car he could always use their old piece of crap.

-=-=-=-

He wished he was in a better mood, but kept his face blank none the less, attempting impassive. Hard to do, with what his mind was reeling out but he'd try.

By the time he'd reached the garage he calmed considerably, almost back to a state of normalcy – or what he considered normalcy as he very plainly walked her to her new car, stepping back with a nod. Well, Myriam seemed to like it.

Ziio was completely silent, face betraying nothing as she examined the hood, the dark earthy interior and the tiny dream catcher on the drivers rear view mirror, dangling and moving slightly in the breeze. Her favorite earthy colors, her favorite designs, tailored to her liking.

"Haytham."

He watched her still, her voice steady. "Mm?"

"You suck." She turned unblinkingly. "This will make every present fail for every Christmas to follow. You truly are a douche bag."

He smirked, an arm briefly wrapping around her shoulders, squeezing. "Glad you like it."

"You're coming with me for a test drive in the morning."

"I could think of nothing better."

"So..." They turned on heel towards the elevator, her arm wrapping around his back. She'd heat their plates for them upstairs, this was a hell of a gift. "… how does it drive?"

"I wouldn't know." A curious eyebrow raised, and he explained shortly. "You'd have to ask our son."

"You let him drive a brand new car, through the city?" Haytham tensed immediately at her tone. "Are you insane? I told you he hadn't practiced in months."

"He was already driving by then. I was with him, I wouldn't have let anything happen."

She frowned, not entirely satisfied but let it go. "All right then, Connor, how does it drive?"

-=-=-=-

Connor caught the words. He wanted to butt in and say that Haytham had only gotten into the car with him halfway through, not the entire ride but he didn't feel like getting into an argument now. So instead he just shrugged. “Fine.”

Figuring that that wasn't much of an answer, and after a sharp nudge from Myriam he elaborated. “Everything drives better than that thing we have back home, but... this one is very nice. Starts without any hick-ups and the wheel responds quickly and accurately, nor it is too heavy to become a nuisance. And the seats are great.” There, that would have to do.

Even heated up, the turkey still tasted delicious and so Connor indulged himself; it was a shame to let it go to waste and he was hungry, it was too good for that. Afterwards they all retreated to the living room for coffee and mulled whine who wanted it. He and Myriam had small talk about silly things, upcoming school projects and things they wanted to do once they had a few days off again and the weather improved, leaving his parents to sit on the other couch and talk about... whatever it was that they talked about.

This was nice, Connor thought as he set his empty coffee cup on the table and stuck the spoon in his mouth, toying with it with his tongue. It was a habit of him, he always chewed on his pens as well.

Eventually Ziio stood up and offered to clean up the dinner table, much to Haytham's protests saying that it wasn't necessary and that he'd do it later on, but she couldn't be persuaded. Myriam too offered to help, quickly setting her wine glass down as she stood up and smoothed out her dress before following Ziio to the dining room and the kitchen.

Connor became instantly aware that he was now alone in the living room with his father and abruptly stood up, angrily biting down on the spoon between his teeth. He was in no real mood to talk, surely once Ziio was done cleaning up the table they would go home? Unless she wanted to stay the night... Haytham had offered at the beginning of the evening. He supposed that wouldn't be too bad, it was just... he wasn't used to spending so much time with his father.

Walking back towards the window he leaned against; it was already dark out, snowing quite heavily and hiding the many night lights of New York behind a haze of white. It really was a pretty view...

-=-=-=-

Oh of course they'd insist, not that Haytham truly minded. Truth be told, cooking in the large quantities he had was rather exhausting, the prep had been tedious. Work from the previous evening was also less than pleasant, with Charles angry for his seeming lack of commitment to the company. The tone on his tongue when he'd mentioned Ziio's name... Haytham had threatened to remove it permanently, Charles both taken aback and sneering. Yes, their relationship had declined quite a bit since Ziio and he became an item once more.

In leaving them alone, Haytham was tempted to fulfill his promise, instead noting Connor's odd tendency with silverware, watching him take in the sight of the city-scape, once again in his spot.

He found himself less bothered by that than before, his shoulders squared and tall, watching the snow fall. It reminded him of London, of Queen Anne's Square; of home before it became a shell of what it was. No, he hadn't had a home in a long time.

"Still bothered by my presence?" It was barely above a whisper, Haytham's eyes scanning the large buildings before him, looking at anything but his son right now. There were some things even he couldn't hide.

-=-=-=-

Connor made no sign he even acknowledged his father taking a place next to him in front of the window, and kept his eyes on the heavy snow fall on the other side. He seemed lost in thoughts, lazily swirling the spoon around in his mouth with his tongue and did not even answer Haytham at first... until he sighed.

“No.” he answered, pushing the piece of silverware to the corner of his mouth so he could speak. “Not really anyway. That depends on you whether or not I'm bothered by your presence.” Whether he behaved, or did anything to draw a negative response from him with his baiting. As long as Haytham acted in a way that was normal – which was difficult enough for him anyway it seemed – then no, Connor wasn't too bothered by it. That was up to his father.

The metal of the spoon clacked against his teeth as his dark eyes caught the lights of a helicopter in the distance, and followed it until they disappeared out of sight, the silence heavy between them. “Dinner was good by the way. You're a pretty good cook.” he finally muttered. It was Christmas, he should at least tell the old man something nice. He really should wish him Merry Christmas too but... it hadn't happened yet, nor did he feel like saying so now.

-=-=-=-

-=-=-=-

Rolling his eyes Connor ground his teeth down on the metal in his mouth and pressed his head against the carved wooden frame of the window, stubbornly keeping his eyes away from his father. No shit Sherlock. As far as he was aware Shaun wasn't from London but he was still a Brit and his sarcasm sometimes knew no bounds. It was like the tea thing.

He wasn't particularly eager to explain why he had been so nervous while driving the Mustang back to his father's place, and clearly Haytham couldn't figure it out on his own. Probably because he didn't think he was doing anything wrong, or even realized what an effect he had on him.

So he remained quiet, watching as the helicopter appeared back into view and circled around for whatever reason. He wasn't accustomed to this, he said? Why was that? Even before this, hadn't he at least celebrated Christmas with that greasy friend of his and his other pals who worked with him? Or did it run deeper?

Shifting on his feet he took the spoon out of his mouth and absently twirled it around in his fingers, giving his father a short side-ways glance. “You were in the military?” Huh... that explained things. Some of it anyway, his dickish behavior for one. “I contemplated joining them myself.” he muttered, not really sure why he was even telling him this because surely he wasn't interested in hearing, or would think of him a coward for not going through with it.

It was true, he really had wanted to join, to go out and do something meaningful for his country... but he hadn't because that would have meant leaving mom behind in uncertainty, alone to fend for herself. He couldn't do that to her. So he stayed and pursued a Major in history instead. A very different course of action.

“Look,” he finally said and straightened, tapping the spoon against the window frame as he searched for the proper words to say this. “I don't like you, and you don't like me. We both know that and honestly, I don't even care. It wouldn't even surprise me if you consider me an accident that shouldn't have happened. Again, I don't care.” Well, he did care, and he really hoped that Haytham wouldn't confirm that little bit of information.

“I can't do right in your eyes. Everything I do, you always see something to complain and nitpick about and you do so without restraint. To you, I'm just an ungrateful selfish brat with a temper, I'm sure. Everything you do, you do for mom and if I can somehow benefit from it, I should probably consider myself lucky and be grateful. The car, as genuinely nice as it is, you bought that with mom in mind. Yet you made me drive it, and I knew, just knew that if I accidentally put a small scratch in the paint or a dent in the hood or even a tiny, minuscule tear in the leather seat, you'd have my hide for ruining mom's gift. I knew that when you handed me the keys, that was why I was nervous. Don't get me wrong though,”

Connor turned fully, his back towards the window as he fixed his father with a firm glare, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows lowered and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I am not afraid of you. I know that you're pretty much an asshole by nature and that you're not going to change for my benefit. However, I do not want to deal with any fits of anger you decide to throw in my direction whether they are justified or not. I don't want to deal with you venting your frustrations and irritations out on me simply because you don't like me, yes that is exactly what you do and I have to deal with it because I promised mom I'd hang out with you.”

Putting the spoon back into his mouth Connor turned to face the window again and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the window frame once more. It felt good getting that all out of his system... it had been bothering him for a while. It was stressful, always having to be on his guard whenever Haytham was around, or even when it was just him and mom and the topic was about his father. He had to be so careful not to say anything that wouldn't be received well, because in the case of Haytham he would immediately seize the opportunity to throw his words back at him with a bonus, or in the case of mom, she would be saddened that her son and the man she loved couldn't seem to ever get along.

“I'm willing to try harder for mom's sake.” he muttered after a while. “I'm even willing to try and understand why you are the way you are if you let me. But only if you promise to make more of an effort as well. You're an asshole. I don't care if that's 'natural' for you, you can be a dick to your employees and co-workers all you want but I'm not one of them so stop treating me as such. I'm your son, whether you like it or not so try to tone it down a bit and I will do the same. That's what mom wants... that's what would make her happy. And that's all I wanted to say.”

He sighed and then added a soft, “Merry Christmas, dad.” before he turned to walk away.

-=-=-=-

Chapter Text

New Years Eve came and went, signaling the start of the new year and marking the end of the holidays – and the end of Connor's free days.

The news about Haytham Kenway being quite possibly his father had spread like a wild fire. They remained rumors, nothing was official but that made the others only more intent on finding out the truth, bothering him between classes and pelting him with questions about his relationship with Haytham.

It wasn't just annoying, it was stressful and they wouldn't leave him alone. Eventually teachers had to step in and order the students to leave it and give him some space, though it was clear that they were just as curious as the students were.

At least things had quieted down a bit.

Connor still went to his bi-weekly lunch hours with his father. Ever since the dinner at his house and their talk there... well, he couldn't say that things had truly changed between them; those hours together were still awkward and strained, even now, but perhaps... perhaps Connor hated his father a little less now. Still disliked him greatly, but it had been a relief to hear that he wasn't seen as an unfortunate accident that was now getting in the way of his father getting back with Ziio.

But yes, still hated him, and the feeling still seemed mutual.

The security guards at the Corporation, and the secretary whose name he learned was Catherine or simply Kate, were no longer surprised by his visits. They had probably been informed and whatever Haytham had told Kate, she was no longer the uptight bitch he thought her to be. Actually, she was quite pleasant, often sparking a short conversation with him when he arrived before allowing him through to the elevator.

Connor had also had a few more run-ins with his father's colleagues. Charles Lee was still a bigoted dick, and while he usually kept his mouth shut when Haytham was around, Connor was all too aware of the hateful glances sent his way whenever they were in the same room. He had never done anything wrong to the man, it was simply because he had Mohawk blood in him, or was a half-breed in Lee's words. That was enough to be labeled as scum or trash it seemed.

The others, Hickey, Church and Pitcairn were alright, but it was William Johnson who Connor really liked. Johnson was pleasant company and often showed a genuine interest in his studies, which was nice (seeing as his father didn't give a damn).

“I'm home!” Tossing his backpack in its usual place on the floor Connor quickly removed his jacket and sneakers and walked through the short hallway; pressing his ear against the closed kitchen door he was relieved to not hear any... unwelcome sounds and opened it, finding his mother seated at the (new) kitchen table. “Hey mom.” Leaning down he kissed her cheek and moved to the refrigerator.

“Hey son, how was class?”

“Fine. Not much to tell. It's been quiet.”

“Good.”

Hmhm. Yay, there was still mountain dew left. He might be a little... addicted to the stuff.

“Connor, I have to talk to you.”

Connor froze and slowly straightened, closing the fridge behind him as he glanced over his shoulder. “Whatever it was, I can assure you I didn't do it.”

“It's not about anything like that, Connor. Please sit down.”

Oh dear... Taking a seat opposite of his mother he popped the lid of the mountain dew can, staying silent as he waited for Ziio to explain what this was about. He really hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't gotten into fights, hadn't gotten into heated arguments with his father lately, had done his homework and continued to get decent grades... so what was the problem?

“Have you made any plans for the upcoming weekend yet? You're going to the woods right? To hunt?”

“Yeah... probably.” What did that have to do with anything though? “I asked Myriam to come along but she said she couldn't make it this weekend, so I'm not entirely sure yet whether I'll go.” Even though he was itching to get out of the city again, even if it was just for a day or two.

“Well, I was thinking...” Ziio continued and fingered the rim of her coffee mug, a trait Connor knew meant that she wasn't entirely sure about what she wanted to say. “Your father... we used to go out hunting a lot before you were born. If Myriam is not going, maybe... perhaps you could go with him to-”

Connor barely refrained for spitting out his drink and his expression scrunched up as he strained to swallow it properly without choking. Say what now?! Go out camping and hunting with his father? “... why?”

Ziio sighed. “Because... I think that it might be good for you both. To do something different together, depend and rely on each other-” But he didn't want to rely on the bastard! “-a change of scenery and maybe it will improve things. Perhaps this is exactly what you two need.”

“Ugh, mom, the last thing I need when I go out hunting is a... a business man making a racket and chasing all the game away.”

“Connor... Haytham knows how to hunt.”

“Maybe, but I'm sure he hasn't done it in at least twenty years!”

“Will you at least consider it?”

He sighed. He wanted to say no so badly. “... have you asked him?”

“Not yet, I wanted to run it by you first.”

Gee thanks. But hey, good chance that Haytham wouldn't even want to go! “Ask him first then, before I make a decision.” He'd probably say no and all would be well, he wouldn't even have to agree that way.

-=-=-=-

Sneaky, he had to be sneaky about it, though truth be told he hated such things.

New Years had been pleasant, the few months to follow even more so; almost everyday he'd see her, no matter how briefly. Connor wasn't entirely pleasant but he'd grown accustomed to awkward lunches, going as far as to not pay them any mind. Yes, it was going smoothly, the company was doing well, and it seemed the other executives- namely Johnson, unsurprisingly- had taken a liking to Connor.

All but one.

"Fiscal reports were left by Hickey, did you want me to review them now?"

Haytham ignored the yipping of the Pomeranian by his feet, tempted to kick the dog out of the window- out of any dog why a Pomeranian? Why not a Mastiff, or an Irish Wolfhound or perhaps a Great Dane?

"That would be fine, Charles." What the man brought to his own office wasn't his concern, be it his overly exuberant little dog or what have you. It merely irritated him that he couldn't see the comparison; the glares that accompanied Connor's every movement needed to stop. Connor was his son, no matter how much the boy would probably prefer a father like Johnson. Respect need be paid.

-you are a sweet carress, you've shared my loneliness, you are a dream come true, that's what you are-

He recognized the ring tone, they all did. Ignoring the heated glare sent his way, he answered swiftly. "Woman? Everything alright?" She wasn't one to call during his work hours.

"I have a question for you."

He blinked, already expecting it to be asked; it was almost as if she was gauging his response beforehand. Which meant one thing... "What activity regarding Connor am I to partake in this time?"

"God, you're charming."

He heard her sigh and thought against saying anything further, already high strung regarding a certain missing ring that she hadn't seemed to notice. Yet. It was a matter of time, he needed the jeweler to hurry up.

"High strung, I'm afraid." For reasons she needn't know, and would hopefully not ask.

"Oh?"

… Damn it. "Unimportant, really. Tell me of my next mission." Because that's what they were, missions that would attempt to cause them both to 'bond.' "Are we to wage war against a common foe and call a temporary truce?"

Ziio's lips twitched. "Something like that. If you consider turkeys and rabbits to be foes."

"There is no greater foe than a rabbit, fluffy bastards." She spared a chuckle, and he blatantly glared back at Charles until he turned away, rolling his eyes. "When?"

"Well, this weekend..."

He hesitated, blinking twice. "I thought we were going camping this weekend?"

"I'd really like if you and Connor would instead... he was supposed to go with Myriam but something came up, and I want you two to bond."

He barely held back a sigh. So, no weekend with Ziio, he traded the company for Connor? Down grade, definitely a massive down grade. "...Have you asked Connor about this?"

That time she did sigh, he could almost hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes. He said it was up to you."

Which meant he wanted him to say no. It also meant if he said no Ziio wouldn't go anyway. Regardless, his plans for this weekend were thoroughly destroyed. He'd find another way to approach it, then...

"Haytham?"

"… Alright." He sighed, somewhat heavily but said nothing else. He supposed he could let the boy know of his intentions, and at the very least could blow of steam by shooting some fluffy animals. The little yipping dog next to him only furthered his desire.

"Really?"

"No, fakely. Yes, really... I'll pick him up the same time I would have picked you up."

If she heard the remorse in his voice, she ignored it. "I do appreciate this."

"Mm."

Yes, perhaps the silent treatment was a bit much but that was too bad. He wasn't in the mood to talk at the moment, nor to deal with the glares Charles was sending him. He'd deal with it after he came back in a few days. He wondered if Connor had ever used a rifle before shoving the thought away. He could work a sling shot well, surely he had some sort of experience with aim...

He left his office after giving Charles a few instructions, heading back to his home to pack. So much for looking forward to some time off.

-=-=-=-

Friday came far too quickly for Connor's tastes. He had requested the next day off from work, but he almost wished he could just ditch this whole trip and get his ass back to the Red Mango anyway. One lunch hour with the old man was already difficult enough to manage... let alone an entire weekend.

Ah well... he'd make the best of it. He was too eager to get out and breathe in the fresh air of the forest again, and do what he loved doing whether Haytham was there or not.

Unlike driving, at least this was something he had experience with so there wasn’t a lot his father could nitpick on. Heh, it might even be the other way around. Surely the old man was rusty when it came to hunting.

“You finished packing?” Ziio stuck her head through the doorway, scrunching her nose at the mess in his room – bah, he'd clean up after this trip.

“Yeah, almost.” Lets see... fresh clothes, a small med-kit for emergencies, his set with skinning knives, a couple of bags, ropes and sheets of plastic to wrap the meat in, camouflage outfit, a camera, his phone, gloves, provisions, plastic cutlery, mugs and plates, a lighter, compass, tent, sleeping bag and of course his trusty Winchester Tracker compound bow plus arrows. There were probably still some things he had forgotten but Ziio would remind him of those.

Running a cleaning rag over his bow for the final time he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the door and sighed... his father would be here in less than fifteen minutes to pick him up. Grumbling he carefully put his bow and arrows into its carrier bag and zipped it shut, taking it and his backpack to the kitchen. They wouldn't get any hunting done tonight, they had to drive for two hours at least but at least the weather forecast for this weekend was positive. There was unlikely to be any rain.

Despite not looking forward to go out hunting with his father, as the minutes ticked by Connor couldn't help but start feeling eager for this; it had been quite some time since he had last gone out into the woods to hunt. He missed doing it and he wasn't going to let his father's presence ruin this.

Heh, who knows... perhaps he could teach the old man something.

The doorbell rang and sighed... that had to be him. “I'll get it.” Leaving his bags on the table Connor stepped into the hallway and unlocked the front door.

-=-=-=-

Black powder muzzle reloader rifle? Check. Multiple scopes? Check. Adequate ammunition and camouflage? Check. Cooler for meat and plastic wrap? Check. Extra Swiss army knife and cutlery? Check.

Haytham stared about the neat surroundings of his car, doing a last minute run through before sighing. To think, he could be hunting with Ziio again, in a shared tent - and perhaps sleeping bag - under her favorite skins as they used to, curled beneath the sky. Instead, he got to share a tent with his son, hater of his very existence and troublesome lad who'd do anything to increase his misery. For two nights.

Oh yippee skippy.

He pulled up almost slowly, dreading it beyond comprehension but he remained silent, fingering the small, concealed object in his pocket with a sigh. It was even ready on time.

Pushing thoughts aside, he knocked softly, door opening to reveal Connor. Haytham nodded once, watching Ziio turn the corner, caught between asking her to come along and ignoring her completely.

"I made you tea."

Well, damn.

He found himself seated almost immediately, putting on his best happy face - or what could be considered happy for Haytham - before sipping his tea. Horrid. Water bogged. Dreadful. She never could make tea. "It's quite nice, thank you."

She almost laughed and filled his thermos with it. "That bad, huh?"

"Probably worse." And he'd drink every drop of it, accepting the thermos back as Connor sulked. The feeling was mutual, he wasn't looking forward to a two hour drive either.

Well, maybe he could ask during their drive, or something. Perhaps Connor had a taste for music that wasn't that god awful rap these people from the States loved. Ghastly, what was a superman and why would one do so to a woman paid for pleasure?

"Ready then?" He'd stop stalling and Ziio offered a lip twitch and a kiss on the cheek.

"Behave." She looked between the both of them seriously. "Both of you. I mean it."

"I'll be on my best." He wanted a proper kiss before he left, but accepted another to the cheek. "Let's go then, Connor."

No reason to delay the inevitable any longer. This would be the longest drive he'd ever made.

-=-=-=-

Right then... Grabbing his backpack and the carrier bag holding his bow he kissed his mother on the cheek as well, bidding her a soft 'see you soon' before following Haytham out of the door. His stuff went into the vacant back seats before he opened the front door at the passenger's side, and waved at his mother one last time as she stood watching in the doorway and raised her hand in return, before he slipped in.

Buckling himself in Connor pulled out his phone to check for messages – nothing – and called up the text menu, writing a quick text to Myriam.

going hunting with dad for a whole weekend, save me DX

Pressing send he placed his phone on the dashboard and kept his eyes forward, pointedly not looking in his father's direction. This was going to be so weird and awkward... He managed one last glance at his mother before Haytham stepped on the gas and drove forward, Connor keeping his eyes on her until they turned a corner and she was cut off from view.

He sighed. “Soooooo...” he started as he plucked at the hem of his shirt... they had a two hour ride ahead of them, and after this was over at least no one would be able to say that he hadn't tried to spark up a conversation. Perhaps it would even be pleasant. “Mom said you and her used to go out hunting before I was born. Just how much experience do you have? You're not too rusty I hope?”

-=-=-=-

He blinked in surprise, keeping his eyes on the road. A question with only a hint of possible insult? Well that was odd.

"Not as rusty as you may think. Our idea of a date is a shooting range or hunting trip followed by eating whatever we happened to catch." Immediately Haytham let out a low laugh at a particular memory.

"She once convinced me she could behead an animal with her tomahawk alone. Intrigued, I grabbed a fish we had already caught and laid it on a rock. She somehow convinced me to hold it, out in front of me and over my head before she threw it." He paused, eyes flicking to the red light and turned so his son could see his left arm, bunching the sleeve over his bicep and showing off what had been a muscle deep wound, one that had not only bled profusely but had also hurt horribly at the time. It still did when it rained.

"Needless to say I moved, she missed... and fourteen stitches and four staples later our third date came to an end."

He was smiling, he could feel it, and for once didn't do anything about it. "I haven't been in sometime, but I'll never forget how to use a gun. Military, if you recall." Speaking of which, he'd meant to ask, prior... and they had plenty of time to kill.

"Why didn't you join?" His tone was completely neutral, save for a twinge of curiosity. "I assure you, it's not as horrid as most would have you believe." His best memories stemmed from there, both Charles and William; he'd met William in that juvenile training facility, Charles would come a few months to follow. Two of his closest friends, really.

-=-=-=-

Oh right, military. Yeah, he'd probably be good with a rifle then. Connor eyed the scar curiously, his eyebrow rising slowly as he listened to what had caused such an injury. Oh, that sounded like his mother alright. That had been a dumb move, ducking away if she had told him to stay put. Haytham should consider himself lucky that the tomahawk had only nailed his arm and not his head.

“Sounds like mom.” he muttered and picked up his phone again when it dinged, quickly skimming over the teasing message Myriam had sent him and that she'd handle his funeral. Har har, funny.

“I wanted to.” Placing his phone back on the dashboard he offered a small shrug of his shoulders, his eyes on the car next to him. Two little girls sat in the back, both with a Nintendo DS in bright pink in their hands. He couldn't see what kind of game they were playing. “I really did. I seriously considered going, but... well, you know. It would have meant leaving mom behind to fend for herself.” He tried not to make that sound like too much of an accusation, but it was the truth.

“I couldn't do that to her, so I stayed and pursued a Major in history instead. I didn't-” Clearing his throat he stayed silent for a few short moments, tapping his fingers on the window as he searched for the right words. He could now see that the girls were playing some kind of Pokémon game. “I didn't want to be selfish.” he finally mumbled. “Mom said it didn't matter, said I should go and join if that's what I truly wanted. But I didn't want to leave her in that kind of uncertainty. What if something happened to me? She'd be alone, she'd have no family left. I couldn't be selfish in that way. So I stayed.”

-=-=-=-

So many things he truly wished he could say, but what would they truly remedy? No, Connor, I didn't leave your mother in uncertainty, she chose it. No Connor, you have no idea what it's like to be cast aside, whether or not it was for your own good regardless. He refused to admit he had a heart in the romantic sense, but what was stepped on that day had been replaced with something colder, and he was fairly cool to begin with. For years he'd acted as if all were alright, but he'd tried to find her, and after three years of dead ends he gave up. He had no idea what he insinuated - none too subtly - was falsity.

Yet, telling Connor this would accomplish nothing. What then if he knew? He wouldn't let Ziio bare blame, he had failed to keep his wits about him, becoming indecisive in his final days. There was no bond to be had for them, he was a dead beat father by another name, that was all.

"… ah." No trace of humor or smile to be seen, he drove onward, jaw clenched.

Just accept the hatred, Haytham, don't try and understand it, or fix it. It was easier this way.

He was completely silent save for one syllable answers until they reached their destination and parked. He popped the trunk wordlessly and gathered his own things, expecting Connor to do the same.

In times like this, he wished he believed the bullshit he fed everyone else.

"Camp is ahead. Let's go." The most he said in almost two hours, walking in learned military stride, tense as always. A long two days indeed.

-=-=-=-

Ah. That was all the answer he got. A flat simple 'ah'. One word. Why had Haytham even bothered to ask then?

And it didn't improve... the entire ride his father was mostly silent and when he did say something, it was more of those short one-worded answers. This was a great beginning of the weekend, note the sarcasm.

By the time they arrived it was already nearly dark out. Connor got out of the car and removed his bags from the trunk after his father did and watched as he locked the vehicle. They had a map of the area and it showed a river nearby... he preferred to make camp there, it made the most sense but if Haytham decided to be stubborn...

Heh, but he held the map though. Shifting his bags to make them a little more comfortable to carry he broke off into a short run to catch up to his father who was already walking ahead, and pointed at the map. “There's a river nearby, we should go there, make camp and move deeper into the area tomorrow.” Perhaps they could catch some crayfish in the river if they were there, to add to their dinner. He was getting quite hungry.

“Unless you have a better idea...?”

-=-=-=-

A better idea? Coming without him for one was certainly bound to better.

"River is fine." No more than what he needed to say, he'd follow Connor if need be. It was just as well.

A shame the company he kept was so poor. Crickets chirped, the twilight of the evening upon them and for a moment Haytham stilled. It had been far too long, since they'd gone hiking or camping. Next time it would be he and Ziio, let Connor stay with Myriam.

The thought made him smirk. "Are you working on those grandchildren yet? I wouldn't mind a granddaughter myself." As long as she was nothing like his son...

-=-=-=-

Connor sighed. Not this again... “No. And I already told you why.” He wasn't going to keep bringing this up, was he? It was unlikely he'd ever have kids, even if he ended up with a woman. He just... wasn't interested in starting a family. Perhaps that was because he had grown up in a family that hadn't been complete. He honestly didn't know. Could be because he simply didn't care.

Either way, that was all he'd say about the matter.

The trip to the river only took thirty minutes or so, helped along by the map and the light of the moon filtering through the canopy above. 'River' was overrated though, it was no more than a stream. Even so it would serve its purpose and there was plenty of room on the bank to set up a tent and make a camp fire. “I assume you do know how to built a fire?” he asked as he set his backpack down with a sigh of relief. The back of his shirt stuck to his skin, sweat seeping into the material. Good thing he had brought extra.

“I can set up the tent unless you want to switch? Er... I also assume that you brought a tent of your own with you?” Oh please let him have his own tent! The tent he had could fit two people but it was a tight squeeze... which was absolutely fine when it was just him and Myriam, but this was his dad!

-=-=-=-

Scoffing, he about threw his own bag down, intent on ignoring his son. Could he set a fire? For fuck's sake.

"Yes, I can manage." For goodness sake, it was hardly all that difficult, no more difficult than setting a tent. Ziio would- "Oh fucking arse."

The moment after Connor asked it slipped from his mouth, hand cradling his forehead in his trade mark 'dear god why' pose. Ziio always brought the tent, he always brought a sleeping bag, they always shared blankets.

"… My tent is conveniently located in the spare bedroom’s walk-in closet, some three hours away." Because he forgot like a true champion that Ziio wouldn't be, and considering she was the only person he went camping with... bullocks. Just bullocks.

He set the fire quickly, using steel wool from the laboratory and a simple match, eye twitching. The steel wool would keep embering for some time, he merely needed to gather wood and stone, before...

"I'll sleep in the car. " After he set a fire, if only because it was technically his fault for forgetting the tent and it was his steel wool, therefore his fire. "I can meet you in the morning, I know where to look."

-=-=-=-

… he wanted to groan, he wanted to kick something, he wanted to punch him. How, HOW could he forget his tent?! Now they had to share the one he had brought along and oh god, they would be pressing up against each other in the small space inside. That was wrong in so many ways.

Shit shit shit shit shit. Should have stayed home, he thought as he unpacked the tent and grabbed a handful of pins to secure it with. “Genius... how could you forget your tent when you know you go out camping?” he muttered under his breath as he attached the poles to one another to create the tent's frame.

Feeling the warmth begin to spread over their camp site, chasing away the cold of the night, Connor couldn't help but roll his eyes at his father. Hell no, he wasn't staying behind. “You're not going anywhere. As long as you don't snore I can deal with sharing a tent with you for two days. You won't be able to escape this tomorrow anyway, unless you fancy sleeping in the open air.” And if that was the case he hoped it frikkin' rained, though the weather report said it was unlikely.

“I don't like it either, but you don't see me running away from it.” The nights were still chilly enough that they would both benefit from sleeping in the same tent, body heat and all, and he wouldn't pass up on some more comfort despite hating how to achieve said comfort. Connor remained quiet as he finished setting it up and, flashing his father a smirk, began to unpack everything he would need for tonight; he'd secure everything else to a branch high in a tree in case a bear decided to come snooping. “Of course if you want to run away, I guess I can't stop you.”

There, a challenge. He knew his father well enough by now that he wouldn't let that slide. He'd stay.

-=-=-=-

Oh he would make this into a challenge, wouldn't he? Still, he needed to reason, if only to better explain the situation. Not that he owed Connor an explanation, he simply wasn't incompetent.

"Your mother always brought the tent, I the sleeping bags. While I realize she isn't here, that is what I am accustomed to and was therefore preparing for if you must know." There, it wasn't his fault she'd changed her mind last minute on what was to be his nicest weekend in years. He frowned, eyeing his son who set up camp. So much for that.

He didn't snore, that wasn't what he was worried about. No, there was something much more intimately embarrassing that he didn't need his son to witness under any context. But he had no choice... he'd regret it in the morning. They both would.

"I run from nothing." Gee, wonder what the hidden message was in that remark, Connor. No matter, he wanted sleep. Anything to escape this terse conversation. "I'm getting changed. Good night." And he did, ignoring the eye roll he received as he settled in, boots pulled back on as he slept in a red flannel sweater, a favorite of Ziio's, and a pair of black slacks, to the left of the tent. Always to the left of the tent, that was his spot regardless.

Before he could fully lay down, he took out his phone, typing quickly: You should have come.

Not a minute passed before he received his reply, the edges of his mouth twitching. I miss you too.

Feeling warmer, he settled against his sleeping bag, but not before toying with the ring in his pocket. Perhaps tomorrow, if he was lucky, would leave them the opportunity to talk about his next step.

-=-=-=-

Alright, good point. Still, it was dumb of him to forget. “You're not hungry?” he asked as Haytham made it clear he was tucking in for the night. So soon already? Fine, whatever, not his problem.

Turning his back on the tent Connor took out his supplies; a few sandwiches he had prepared beforehand plus a cup of chicken noodle cup-a-soup would be enough to soothe his rumbling stomach for now. He had a canteen filled with water he could use to boil for the soup.

Despite the horrible silent trip and the less-than-pleasant company, being out here in the fresh air with the smell of leaves and pine trees around him and the stars over his head made him feel better than he had in a while. He was looking forward to tomorrow, and nothing, nothing Haytham could or would say, would ruin that...

Connor climbed into tent about an hour later, having cleaned everything up and secured away from any wild life. Dressed in a fresh shirt and sweatpants he was fairly sure Haytham was already sleeping; still, getting into his sleeping bag without disturbing the man proved to be a challenge in the small space of the tent. He managed after a few minutes of carefully maneuvering himself inside, and laid down, pulling the sleeping bag up to his chin. Glancing to the side he stared at his father's face; it was too dark to see more than a silhouette of him, but it was still a weird feeling; they usually avoided being this close to each other.

No doubt tomorrow morning was going to be awkward, he though as he turned his back on Haytham and closed his eyes.

-=-=-=-

As a silent sleeper, Haytham stayed almost perfectly still throughout the night, only inching closer subconsciously as he felt something shiver in the morning. Stirring, he caught a glimpse of dark hair, the very small glint of beads catching his line of sight, almost impossible to catch. The glow of an opened cell phone barely made it visible.

He did what she always allowed of him, one broad strong arm enveloping a smaller waist, offhandedly wondering in his sleep-addled mind when she had bulked up. Such strong abdominal muscles, hm. He'd worship them later, with his tongue.

He was more than content to lay nestled, strengthening his grip as he shifted closer. Didn't smell like Ziio, did she change her shampoo?

Come to think of it... a pale grey-blue eye opened blearily, thigh pressed to... that was not Ziio she simply didn't have that much, er... padding in the rear end, so to speak.

He moved, attempting to free his arm but he was trapped, a hand locking over his wrist and holding tightly, and Haytham stilled as the severity of the situation finally dawned on him.

Camping trip. Only one tent. Sharing with his son.

Who would not let him go!

Granted he wasn't cuddling him but Haytham was practically flush against Connor, and yanking too hard would wake him up causing him to see... this moment! Their relationship was already strained, he did not need this!

Another low mumble and he was nestled closer, his thigh and other areas uncomfortably nestled at the cleft of... oh he didn't want to think of it! He'd never been more thankful for his lack of morning wood than in this moment.

There was no getting around it... he had to wake Connor up. He tried clearing his throat but it didn't work, and coughing loudly didn't work either. Why the hell was he such a deep sleeper?

It left him no other choice; Haytham wiggled to get his very much asleep other arm out and tapped his son on the head. "I feel uncomfortable, give me my arm." Now, damn it!

-=-=-=-

Connor had pleasant dreams that night. The details slipped away faster than he could hold onto them but he remembered that they were pleasant. Almost like trying to hold water in your hands; most of it seeped away between the cracks between one's fingers but there always remained a small puddle behind.

There was movement behind him, the warmth of another body pressed up against his back and stirring him enough to vaguely realize that he wasn't in his bed, because he could hear the birds chirp outside, and smell the fresh air of the forest. Right, camping trip. Hurhur Myriam, a little closer wouldn't hurt.

Smiling in his half sleeping state Connor pressed back against the presence behind him and buried his face further into the pillow, grabbing the arm that wrapped around his waist. He fully intended on sleeping for another hour or so; they had all day, those rabbits and turkeys weren't going anywhere.

He dozed off again, barely even acknowledging the sudden tenseness in the body behind him, nor the noises in his ear as Haytham unsuccessfully tried to wake him up. It took a sharp tap on his head and Haytham's actual voice to pull him back to the land of the living.

Connor blinked blearily, staring at the canvas wall of the tent. He was still holding onto to someone's wrist but it was too thick to belong to a woman... and he noticed a distinct lack of boobs pressing against his back. His eyes widened; oh fuck!

The yelp that left Connor's mouth bordered on the edge of un-manly as he jerked away from his father, scooting towards the wall of the tent and turned around; his face was flushed and his eyes were wide open in a mixture of surprise and shock as he stared at Haytham and realized that yes, it really had been his father spooning him just now. “What the fuck were you doing?!” he gasped. Huh, Haytham looked just as flushed and uncomfortable as he felt. But still! “Don't you ever do that again!” From pleasant dreams straight into a nightmare...

-=-=-=-

"Oh right, Connor, because that was my intention, to touch you of all people." Really now, completely ridiculous. The lad was handsome enough, with some of his features, and the complexion of his mother with slightly darker eyes, but for goodness sake, it was his son. His unruly, difficult, pain in the arse son.

"I tend to show... affection whilst sleeping, and bug off with the expression. You weren't exactly kicking me away either." More like pulling him closer, which was odd being that he was so obviously masculine. He'd dare not delve into his son's sexual preference, he'd rather not know.

"I want to change. Leave." Ignoring the glare that was precisely what he started to do, undressing as Connor started flailing around in his sleeping bag in a desperate attempt to flee the tent, a smirk on his face. "Go make breakfast, I'm hungry. Try not to burn anything." With the grace of the faceless gods may Connor cook with half the skill he did.

He attempted to ignore the glare he was receiving but wound up looking back, his son staring at him, and for a moment Haytham was silent.

"… I'll rephrase that." Tentatively touching Connor's shoulder his lips twitched. "Please leave, now, and thank you for making breakfast in advance. Try not to burn anything, please." See, diplomacy wasn't dead... but he was, he needed some damned coffee.

-=-=-=-

Almost impossibly Connor's face reddened even further and he quickly ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his face, a nervous trait he had adopted from his mother. “I thought you were Myriam.” he muttered, grumbling as his bed-hair fell back into his face. Dammit.

It was a good thing he wasn't aware of the fact that Haytham had mistaken him for his mother as well, he'd probably promptly keel over in embarrassment.

He fixed his father with a venomous glare, as he always did when ordered around like a servant, and sat up, zipping open his sleeping back to create more room. Pfft, he wasn't going to make breakfast for him. He already had that covered, for himself at least. He still had a couple of sandwiches left and he wasn't eager to share.

Connor jerked, nearly shuddering and despite the surprising pleases in Haytham's words, he was out of the tent in record time. “Gross, ugh, bah.”

He shivered in the chilly morning breeze and rubbed his arms before he pulled his shirt off and draped it over a low hanging branch; he'd get changed after Haytham was done.

Strolling over to the nearby stream he knelt down and cupped water into his hands, splashing it into his face; his skin prickled and formed goosebumps where the near-freezing drops dribbled down his throat, collecting in the dip between his collarbones before making a trail down his chest.

He stayed there for a while, with his eyes closed so he could focus on his hearing, listening to the sound of the forest; the soft trickling of the stream, the rapid tat-tat-tat of a woodpecker nearby, the happy chirping of finches, sparrows and blackbirds all around, and, way in the distant, the bellow of a stag.

“You nearly done?” he called out as he stood up and made his way back to the fire; it had nearly died out overnight but some of the embers were still glowing. Connor knelt down next to it, added some dry kindle and twigs and prodded the embers with a stick and leaned forward, blowing on them until it caught fire once more. The growing warmth spread over his skin and he sighed, satisfied before he glanced at the tent again, and resisted the urge to yell at his father to hurry up already. His bags were still inside and he couldn't do much without them.

-=-=-=-

He kept his amusement to himself, changing in relative peace as silence engulfed them. A brisk morning, but a fine one. The air lay thick with moisture, undoubtedly leaving dew along the grass. Haytham dressed quickly, finishing in mere moments but halting as he switched the ring again, into his new set of pants. He should pack it away but no. Leaving it somewhere made him anxious.

Sighing, he folded up his sleeping bag, tidying up the inside of the tent as was his custom. A place for everything and everything in it's place, after all. Still, fingers traced the silhouette of the ring with a sigh. He should ask Connor about it, shouldn't he? Of course he was bound to say no, refusal was imminent, but he should ask him, even if that was the case. Perhaps her own happiness would outweigh his discomfort?

"You nearly done?"

Shaking his head, Haytham grabbed a comb from his back pocket, letting out his hair tie and stepping out of the tent, giving his hair a brief run through. Still wasn't hungry, but he'd force himself to eat. He hadn't actually expected Connor to make him anything.

"Mm." He'd untie the bags in a moment, there was a chill to the air and his watch read seven. Early enough to choke down something before hunting. Which meant, inevitably, more bonding time.

Oh yay.

He gestured to get his belonging from out of the tree but... he rose an eyebrow, not seeing any levy or rope, leverage, support... not anything.

Just how the hell did he get it up the- ohhhhhh.

It dawned on him with a twitch of his lips. "You climbed up there." Not a question, but a statement, a surprisingly nonjudgmental one. He could never climb trees aptly, unlike Ziio. He preferred to take to the sea, or the land, he wasn't one for the air. "Fascinating." He would have said impressive, but that would surely inflate the boy's ego, one couldn't have that.

"Do you hunt in the trees too?" Hopefully not, though with his luck, the answer would be a resounding yes. He simply didn't climb trees.

-=-=-=-

Ugh finally. Took him along enough. Connor eyed his father as he prodded the flames; huh, he had never seen him with his hair down before.

“Yes and yes.” he answered and tossed the stick to the side before getting onto his feet and brushed the dirt from his pants. He hadn't really expected for his father to have the climbing skills he and his mother did. Every moron could climb a tree, but the way they did it required a lot of practice, falling and trying again to master. Ziio had taught him that and other things since childhood.

“I'll get the bags in a moment. If you put some water on the fire to boil...” Let him sit there and wait for a while longer, he thought as he disappeared into the tent and zipped it shut. Changing into the camouflaged clothes he usual wore when out hunting he folded up his sleeping bag as well and checked his phone for messages, finding none. Too bad, he had hoped for at least one message from Myriam, or perhaps his mom asking how their first night had gone. Meh... stuffing the phone back in his pocket he opened the tent once more and dragged out the carrier bag holding his bow – no way he was storing that up high in a tree – and placed it on the forest floor near the fire. It didn't need any more maintenance but he liked having something to do while waiting for water to boil.

Glancing up he eyed the bag he had tied up high and rubbed his hands together before running the short distance towards the tree to gain enough momentum to jump and reach the lowest branch. He felt Haytham's eyes on him as climbed, twisting around the trunk and jumping from branch to branch with the grace of a feline, higher and higher until he reached the bag. With his legs dangling on either side he carefully untied the knots that kept it in place and slung it around his shoulder; climbing down was more difficult than climbing up, especially with the added weight throwing off his balance, and he was too high up to jump. Still he managed, making it back to ground level in under a minute and set the bag down on the forest floor with a grunt. Nothing wrong with a bit of showing off.

“Right... tea or coffee?” he asked as he zipped it open and began taking out more cooking gear and supplies.

-=-=-=-

"Mm." Psh, so because he could climb a tree or two he was suddenly uppity? Oh havens no, that simply wouldn't do. There was only one person who gave orders, and that was him.

… And maybe Ziio. But only because he allowed it.

Still, there was something to be said of his rather nimble climbing. Vaguely aware of his hair whipping about his face, Haytham tucked a piece behind his ear as he watched. Alright, it was impressive, his ability to balance was quite extraordinary.

Didn't mean he was getting that water.

"No one likes a gloater." It lacked bite, truth be told he gloated constantly himself. He winced at the question. "If you make tea like your mother, coffee." He paused, looking at the empty pot before him. "And watch your tone." He didn't need to have another tiff quite this early, so long as he realized making demands would get him nowhere.

That and he wanted his morning cookies. Sugar was so very underrated at this time in the morning, and Ziio made them for him. They weren't nearly as ghastly as the tea she made.

Haytham reached into his bag and pulled out a container before flopping back, pleasantly observing the sky. Nice weather, he hadn't been out in a while. There was something to be said of the tranquility of the wilderness.

Sardines in mustard sauce in one hand, cookies in the other, it could be a pleasant day. Could be... he eyed Connor for a moment, contemplating, speculatively chewing the end of a cookie slowly.

"So... when's the last time you went camping?" There, something neutral.

-=-=-=-

… still no boiling water? Fixing his father with a stare Connor furrowed his eyebrows; la-zy! “No one likes a slacker, either.” he bit back and grabbed one of their canteens filled with water, pouring it into the cleaned metal can he had used the night before to make his soup.

What tone? It had been a perfectly normal question! He hadn't said anything wrong! Ugh, always searching for a flaw, his father. Sitting down next to the fire, opposite of Haytham he unpacked his sandwiches, raising an eyebrow and the cookies and the... sardines? What kind of a lame breakfast was that?

He mulled the question over as he tossed a clean mug over the fire into his father's lap, as well as a plastic spoon, and three small paper packets with instant coffee, creamer and sugar. He wasn't sure how Haytham liked his coffee but once the water was boiling he could pour it himself. No way he was going to do it for him.

“The first weekend of October last year. Me and Myriam, deer season.” Emptying the three packets into his mug he leaned forward and peered into the can to check whether the water was boiling already, and took it off the fire, filling his own mug first and then carefully handing it to his father. “Shot a buck of about six years old. Big antlers, they're on my bedroom wall and the skin is on my bed.” His best kill so far. “I really want to go bear hunting sometime but so far I haven't had the chance yet. Maybe this fall.” Stirring his coffee he popped the plastic spoon into his mouth as he waited for his coffee to cool down a bit, warming his hands around the mug, and raised his eyebrows.

“You?”

-=-=-=-

The cup and individual packets landed on top him, Haytham adjusting with a glare as the cup thudded his stomach. A bit close to the jewels, Connor, just a bit close.

Still, the response was hardly what he expected; he was sure he'd somehow be blamed for any lack of hunting excursion, simply because he hadn't been around. But no, an honest answer and an attempt at conversation. Well, alright. He could do that.

"Greece, a few years ago with William. Quails and rabbits, mostly." A pause, and he breathed deeply. "Bear are quite interesting. The meat itself is quite good, I assume that's why they often saved it for Russian nobility and often gave lampreys to subjects. Lampreys are dreadful." He abandoned the creamer, opting for a single sugar in his otherwise black coffee, sitting up and adjusting his now slightly tousled hair. He really needed to tie it back, so irksome it was, hanging freely about his face.

"I have the skin of a bear in my bedroom. Use it as a blanket, actually.” He warmed his hands on his cup, chuckling. "You should see the stares I get when I bring it with me. It's quite humorous."

His lips twitched upward before he stopped suddenly. "… Perhaps a trip to Appalachia, towards Virginia sometime is in order." As quickly as he mentioned it, he looked toward his watch, quickly finishing his breakfast and began to put things away. "About time we start heading out. You've the map, what's the destination?"

-=-=-=-

Oh, Johnson hunted as well? Awesome! That earned him bonus points! “Myriam doesn't want to hunt bears, says they are too fluffy. Which is... a really weird thing to say, with the claws and teeth and everything.” He shrugged and sipped his now adequately cooled coffee, temporarily taking the spoon out of his mouth to do so.

He had never eaten bear before... this wasn't the first time he had heard it was quite good. Hopefully he'd be able to get a pass this upcoming bear season. It'd be so awesome to have a bear rug in his room!

He frowned a little, not sure if... was that truly... had Haytham really just made the suggestion that they should do this again sometime to hunt bears? Huh, fancy that... He wasn't given any time to answer it though – not that he had any clue as to what kind of an answer he should give – as his father suddenly seemed in a hurry to pack up and get started. Connor nodded and finished his coffee and sandwiches quickly, cleaning up their supplies, dousing the flames and packing up the tent.

“There should be an open field to the West about a mile from here, it's said it's a good place for hunting rabbits and hares. Turkeys might be difficult to find though.”

Zipping open his carrier bag he took out his trusty bow and slung the quiver of arrows over his shoulder, binoculars around his neck and a compass in his other hand. “This way...”

-=-=-=-

~*~

-=-=-=-

A combination of skill and luck, that's what it had to be. Haytham woke the following morning early enough to examine the full bounty of their catch of the previous day. Five rabbits and six hares, not too shabby. The turkeys had proven illusive for most of the day, but the rest had been a fairly easy catch, despite how quick they could be.

His son's archery was spot on, his aim nothing short of his own inherited perfection. The thought alone was new, almost foreign, an odd swell of something akin to warmth in him. He had offered a shoulder pat and little else; it was the only praise he knew.

It didn't make him less impressed.

All in all it had been pleasant; pleasant enough for him to consider telling Connor about his idea. Of course there was the large chance he wouldn't appreciate the gesture but his current mood rationalized a different out come.

He'd have to wait for Connor to wake to get the rest of his belongings, which were tied and tucked safely in the tree, but until then he'd revel in the small victory that was turning to be a pleasant weekend. With his son, no less.

Happiness bestowed itself as a twitch to lips and a slight gleam in blue grey depths.

-=-=-=-

Connor stirred slowly, blearily blinking up to the canvas roof of the tent. He was more than relieved to have woken up without his father spooning his back like yesterday. He offered a soft 'good morning' after he saw that his father was already awake, and stretched out slowly, arching his back until his spine and shoulders popped.

“I guess you want to get changed. I'm going, I'm going...” Not waiting for an answer Connor stood up and stumbled out of the tent, grimacing as he stepped into the dirt with his bare feet, wet from the dew. It was a little misty and from the looks of things it had rained a bit during the night... the fire had died out completely.

Bugger... Well, he wasn't going to make a new one. If dad wanted a fire he could do it himself.

Honestly, he was rather surprised at how... pleasant and easy going the day before had been, as he slowly climbed the tree to remove their belongings. It had actually been quite enjoyable; Haytham was a pretty good hunter, better than he had expected him to be, and knew how to handle his rifle. He had expected a snippy comment about his own choice of weaponry, but his father had remained silent on that as well, even going so far as to give him an awkward, short pat on the shoulder.

Weird, but not unpleasant. If they could keep that up today as well...

-=-=-=-

"Morning." A nod and a chuckle, he watched Connor leave quickly. Perhaps there was hope for them yet, if the boy could remember routine, anyway.

He was quite comfortable, taking a moment to lounge before dressing. The chilled air hit him, a few locks of hair escaping the confines of his ponytail and hanging about his face. Damned fire.

He'd prefer dryer tinder but the gathered wood could suffice; it was but damp. Steel wool was in his bag in numerous amounts anyway, Connor already working on bringing them downward.

The moment he landed Haytham took his bag, actually murmuring a small thanks as he removed steel wool and a full canteen, pouring the contents into a pot for coffee for the two of them.

It was now or never, he'd need to say it, and he simply wasn't one to tread gently.

"I want to marry your mother." So lightly he barely heard it himself as he tended to the fire, restarting it. "I've no intention of leaving..." His eye twitched, but he continued, "… and thought it best to..." he frowned.

Why was he asking permission to marry Ziio ?

He couldn't quite recognize a valid reason for it, save one. And he needn't confess to it aloud. "I'm running it by you, as a pre-caution." To alert him, of course. It was inevitable, what would happen. It certainly wasn't for approval.

-=-=-=-

Oh wow, even a thank-you. Clearly the fresh air was doing Haytham good. Staying cooped up inside an office all day surely did no wonders for one's mood.

Connor sat down next to the fire, glad to see that his father already begin working on rekindling it without even needing to be asked. He was even preparing everything they would need to make coffee! Miracles did happen!

Smiling to himself he took out his bow again as the water began to boil, doing some light maintenance where it was necessary and cleaning up the arrows he had used the day before. He really hoped to bag a turkey today before it was time to go back... they still had quite a walk ahead of them back to the car, which meant less hours hunting. There were turkeys around at least, he had heard on gobbling in the distance as he sat in the tree minutes prior... they just needed to get lucky and find some decent tracks.

Haytham's words were so softly spoken Connor barely heard them over the happy crackle of the flames, but he paused what he was doing anyway and frowned... say what now?

He looked up slowly, the confusion on his face slowly making way for anger. Marry his mom? Seriously?!

“Are you fucking kidding me?” A pre-caution? Fucking hell! So far for the pleasant morning. “You are twenty years too late for this! This better be a sick joke!”

-=-=-=-

The softened edges of his voice faded, the mask he'd been comfortable to let slip firmly back in place. "Language boy, and this is most certainly not a joke, I'm quite serious." As was his tone. CEO Haytham Kenway was quickly emerging, jaw tight and eyes the shade of tumultuous storms. "Not that I need to explain the reason to you but the opportunity evaded me twenty years ago where as of now I can't think of a reason to decide otherwise." Because Connor was certainly not a reason. Nor would he ever be with his outbursts and accusations...

What had he expected anyway? Connor knew nothing of what happened decades ago, nothing of what he went through. Damn it, it wasn't his fault he wasn't there!

There was no point to argue, it was beyond reason. He would remain the bastard father that had abandoned Connor and his mother before his birth. His grandchildren would hate him, as would his son, never knowing an ounce of the truth.

Haytham snatched his food and went to get his rifle. Fine by him. He didn't deserve to know any differently.

"Find a turkey and shoot it so we can end our little 'trip'." If he was a little less proper he would have spat. "I've a to-be-fiance waiting for me."

-=-=-=-

“I beg to differ, seeing as you're a laughable excuse of a father anyway.” he snapped back. “I don't care for your reason. You're too late to pull this shit off, that's a fact!” Tossing the rag he had been using to clean his arrows with Connor abruptly stood and brushed the leaves off his pants before storming back to his tent to get changed, leaving his bow near the fire. He wasn't interested in the damned turkeys anymore, whatever good mood he had before his father decided to drop this bit of information on him had long since evaporated into nothing.

For a second he contemplated on calling his mother, to inform her... and to ask her... she wouldn't go through with it right? She would say no, because she too realized that it was too late? Because if they got married, then no doubt Ziio would move in with Haytham, and he... he would either have to follow or find a place for himself. The latter wasn't that bad but... he didn't want to leave the house yet. If he did he'd see his mother even less... but sharing a house with his dick of a father wasn't really an option either.

“Fuck...” Sighing deeply he sat down on his sleeping roll and pressed the balls of his palms against his eyes. Why couldn't life just give him a break for once? Ever since his father had shown up, things had gone down the drain.

-=-=-=-

Lousy excuse for a- oh that arrogant, seething, snarky little-

He slammed his own food down, the dull thud of aluminum hardly satisfying. No, no he wanted to break something but that something had just ran away to go sulk in a tent! Seething, Haytham packed angrily, almost tripping over that damned bow. That boy left his belongings every-

… Well then, he rather liked that bow, didn't he? Picking up a discarded arrow Haytham smirked and located the quiver not far off. So what if he 'accidentally' took the bow and lost the arrows and broke the damn thing? Or better yet, he could out hunt him.

Let his forlorn son cry of his inability to keep up with his father! He'd out hunt him with his own weapon. Granted, his experience was limited, but it was a bow. How difficult could operating one truly be?

Without a word he attached the quiver and walked towards the stream, deeper into the woods in hunt of the illusive turkey. Out gunned and over ruled...

It was so uncouth but suck it, Connor. Thinking it certainly cheered him up.

The trek was relatively short, maybe twenty five minutes deeper, and Haytham had little luck with the monstrous contraption known as this horrid little bow. Honestly, why not just use a shotgun or rifle? Still he was determined, the third turkey today out and about. His watch read 11:45, he could hunt turkey until noon.

Angling the arrow, he aimed, lips in a thin line, eyes narrowed in concentration. He'd make this shot count.

-=-=-=-

Connor took his sweet time getting redressed, with every intention on making his father wait for him. Too bad if he didn't like it, if he had a problem with that he could shove it up his fancy British ass. See if he cared!

Grumbling and sputtering to himself he snatched a comb out of his bag and quickly combed his hair back, hissing at the knots and tangles that had gotten into it overnight, and tied it back into a ponytail.

“Now listen up you dick, I-” Connor froze, one foot outside the tent as he looked at their campsite, noting the distinct lack of snobby Brit.

And his bow. It was gone.

It. Was. Gone.

Feeling his hands slowly clench into tight fists, Connor's dark brown eyes followed the trail of muddy footsteps disappearing into the forest, his anger bubbling close tot he surface. That bastard... that fucking good-for-nothing asshole had dared to take his stuff and run away with it? Oh hell no!

Haytham's trail was easy to follow as Connor tore right through the forest, keeping a close eye on the footsteps that appeared here and there, sometimes deviating to the left or right. Anger and hate spurred him on, taking note of the occasional broken twig indicating that he was going in the right direction. How dare he? How dare he?!

That bow had cost him a fortune, he had saved up for over a year to buy it and he knew, just knew that Haytham had little to no clue how to even wield it properly. If he damaged it, or even put a scratch on it, there would be hell to pay!

He was closing in on him now, and in his anger, blood roaring in his ears, he didn't notice the turkey sitting a few yards ahead from him. The same turkey Haytham had his eye on. Connor stormed through the bushes, the noise of branches and twigs snapping frightening the poor bird enough it flew off in a flurry of feathers, but Connor had no time to even register this as something slammed into his left shoulder barely a second later, with enough force to knock him backwards, He stumbled, eyes wide as he lost his footing and collapsed on his back on the forest floor with a grunt. The hell?! Had that damn bird actually flown right into him?

Coughing he slowly reached up to rub the back of his head where it had hit the ground, only to find he couldn't move his left arm. Frowning he opened his eyes and looked at his shoulder, staring right up at the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his shirt.

The shaft of one of his own arrows.

And that was when the pain hit, flaring out of his shoulder and spreading through his body, setting every nerve on fire. Choking on a pained gasp Connor curled up, his curses coming out muffled as he tried to breathe through the throbbing, white hot pain in shoulder. Fuck! FUCK! How could this have happened? Any lower and it would have hit him in his lung!

“S-shit...” Gripping onto the arrow tightly he took a deep breath, swallowing back the tears that prickled in his eyes. Already he could feel blood begin to seep into his shirt... oh fuck this could be bad... it was his shoulder, not the worst place one could get hit but these arrows... what if it had nicked an artery? He could bleed out if it was removed and this far into the forest, there was no way... no way!

-=-=-=-

He hadn't even seen him standing there, too focused on the recently spooked turkey. The arrow zoomed past right before his eyes, his voice caught as he thought to yell 'Connor' far too late. The loud thud he made against the floor, against the thicket and brush completely floored him.

He was a man of instinct, for that he was grateful, his intuition and years of experience telling him plainly: do not panic.

He found it difficult to obey.

Curled in upon himself, Connor's bloodied fingers grasped the end of the arrow. His eyes misted in pain, and for once, Haytham could not comment. That had to hurt, it had to.

He dropped to his his knees and let another instinct take over, one he hadn't used in sometime, in almost a decade. He still had a grasp for the basics...

"Connor, I need to see the injury." Licking his lips, Haytham tore off his jacket, removing the sweater underneath and took out his hunting knife to cut a long strip of material. "I need to see how... how bad it is."

Close to his chest, and the boy was in a panic. And Haytham couldn't blame him for a second, voice growing softer as his son shook.

"Connor, I know it hurts. I know it does and I'm sorry, this isn't going to hurt any less. But I need to know if it went all the way through your shoulder before I prop you up." A pause, and he needed to remove the clothing, to see the wound, but was too wary to take a knife to the boy. He needed him to still somewhat.

"I've removed worse before." Granted, that was years ago, and did nothing to boost his own ego. The boy had his mother's eyes. And the looked at him, misted and reddened.

"Please."

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked rapidly, focusing on the blur that was his father through the haze of tears he refused to allow to fall. He was failing miserably. Ah... he had a fucking arrow in his shoulder, he was entitled to cry. And to panic, of which he was doing a pretty good job at the moment.

Breathing hurt, pulling at the muscles in his shoulder each time he inhaled, and it was going too fast.

Calm down calm down calm down calmdowncalmdowncalmdown! Trying to slow his rapid breathing down Connor focused on his father's voice, soft and low and lacking the angry bite it held before, replaced by what sounded like genuine concern. Was that a sorry he had just heard? No... no, couldn't be. He was just hearing things now.

“You... shot... me...” he wheezed and gritted his teeth through the pain as he tried to move. Nope, bad idea! It wasn't fair accusing Haytham like this, Connor knew he had been aiming for that stupid turkey. This was an accident, nothing more, but still... he shouldn't have taken his bow! Then this wouldn't have happened.

He fingers still held a death grip on the arrow, keeping it firmly in place to prevent Haytham from doing what needed to be done despite his better judgment... it hurt so bad already. Tears leaked down his eyes as he tried another deep breath, finally getting it to slow and exhaled with a soft whimper before he focused his eyes on his father's face again.

A please... did he even know what he was doing? Then again, did he have a choice but to trust his father to do just that? “I... don't think it w-went all the way through...” he muttered and slowly forced himself to let go of the arrow, curling bloodied fingers into a fist. Hard to tell, it sure felt like it had.

-=-=-=-

A sigh accompanied Connor's first coherent thought. "Alright, good." He'd make sure just in case and carefully removed his son's jacket, inspecting the back; no, no hole. Taking his hunting knife he almost apologized for easily slicing through clothing, two layers of fabric tearing easily, far enough down so he could examine the wound. Carefully, he removed the layers from his son's shoulder, fingers pressing softly, making sure there was no exit wound, relieved when he found none to speak of. "I'm shifting you upright, bear with me." Small gasps and hisses, but Connor was pretty damn compliant. Haytham examined the arrow with a frown: no, his hunting knife couldn't cut through it, that was thick metal. Which meant...

Visually inspecting was the best he could do, recalling arteries from memory alone. Clearly he hadn't hit one, he bled but not profusely... pulling it out however, would hurt.

But there was little choice. He was confident it wouldn't nick an artery. It simply had to be done.

He simply took Connor's hand and placed one on his leg, meeting his son's eyes. "You'll want something to hold onto." He would give no other warning, Connor would certainly tense if he did.

Placing his hand on the wounded shoulder, he used his right to grip the arrow, offering a small nod. "A pleasant memory, think of one. That often helps."

He pulled quickly, pressure applied to Connor's shoulder as he tore him back open, the head of the arrow grazing already torn flesh a second time. Haytham did his best to ignore a scream, Connor's hand tight around his leg as he pulled until the arrow finally budged. He grit his teeth, the arrow coming out of Connor steadily until Haytham pulled it free, and blood flowed in a steady stream down his arm.

"Alright, done." Ignoring the residual sobs, he offhandedly wiped his son's face. "That was the worst of it. I'm going to slow the bleeding, just a moment." Connor's hand tensed on his leg, Haytham not bothering to mention it. None of it would be mentioned- the sobs, the crying- no, he'd take it to the grave. He'd seen men cry over less and Connor was hardly more than a lad.

Wrapping his own cut shirt around the wound Haytham moved to lift him, only to receive an angry glare, one that made him frown and roll his eyes.

"I understand I shot you, you're entitled to be upset. But you're shaking too much to be able to walk back to camp." He left his face blank, though his eyes held no threat. "I have blood stop, gauze, bandages, stitches. And pain killers." He allowed himself a small smile. "Getting there faster is more beneficial."

-=-=-=-

Connor was given little time to even conjure up a happy memory; his fingers dug into Haytham's thigh as his father began pulling the arrow out of his shoulder, sure to leave a angry, hand shaped bruise later on. He couldn't bite back the scream, every nerve on fire as the sharp metal of the arrow tip grazed already torn muscle, the wound beginning to bleed faster now that it was no longer being plugged.

Connor flopped forward against his father's chest as it finally pulled out all the way, his wheezed breathing shaky and pained.

He sat as still as he could as Haytham bound his shoulder, guiding his hand to press against it to keep pressure on the wound. Connor kept his head down, embarrassed to be seen crying and whimpering in front of his father despite knowing that it was nothing to be embarrassed about, and certainly not in a situation like this.

Only when Haytham moved to pick him did he shoot him a glare, narrowing his eyes at his father. “I can walk!” he snapped and pulled away from him. Christ, he had hit him in the shoulder, not the leg! Even so as Connor attempted to get onto his feet, grabbing a handful of brush to pull himself upright, he found that his legs really were shaking too much to carry his weight, a combination of shock and blood loss no doubt. Sitting back down he cursed softly. He had little choice now, and this time he allowed his father to carefully pick him up, though he made a point to avoid meeting his eyes.

How were they gonna explain this to mom? Why had he taken his bow without permission in the first place? “You have some explaining to do. Right now.” he muttered and removed his hand, looking at his bloodied palm and fingers before pressing it against the make-shift bandages again. He couldn't tell if the bleeding was lessening but at least it wasn't getting any worse.

-=-=-=-

-=-=-=-

Connor didn't bothered to grace that with an answer and simply tried to enjoy the fact that he didn't have to walk back. As he sat down against the tree and Haytham went to gather his medical supplies, he checked his wound again; the makeshift bandages were nearly black with blood but he knew that it probably looked worse than it really was.

Could have been a lot worse though, he realized that he had been insanely lucky just now. A few inches lower and that arrow would have pierced a lung. A few inches to the right and it would have penetrated his throat instead.

So all in all, this wasn't even all that bad. Hurt like a fucker, yes, and bled like one too, but other than leaving a scar it wouldn't have any impact on his health.

He eyed the Vicodin, wondering why the hell Haytham was even carrying it with him and instantly tried to banish the mental images of his father wearing the white coat of a surgeon while leaning on a pimped out walking stick, scaring the crap out of the people who worked under him. Actually, that was pretty accurate anyway if you left out the pimp cane. “Yes, Dr. House.” he smirked and popped the two tablets into his mouth, swallowing them with the water.

Connor stayed silent as his father began cleaning up the wood with alcohol, which stung like a mother-fucker, and ran it down his chest and abdomen to remove the last traces of dried blood. It was... weird, sitting in front of him, nearly shirtless with him wiping down his stomach. Weird like whoa. It was almost surreal. He cursed himself inwardly for blushing at least a little, which made it even more weird because this was his goddamn father of all people, and while he was not an ugly man for someone his age, it was still... still...

“Yeah. They're working.” he answered, his voice sounding a little strained and Connor realized he had actually been holding his breath. Slowly releasing it he leaned his head back against the tree, not looking at the needle. “Looking forward to see how you're gonna explain this to my mom. You shouldn't have taken my bow, especially if you don't even know how to properly wield it. Sure looked like you didn't.”

-=-=-=-

Dr. House, huh? Pft, hardly. Connor needn't know the reason why he carried Vicodin around, it wasn't necessary.

He didn't need to be told they were working; the flush said volumes. He said nothing, simply continuing. Vicodin made people react in interesting ways, it was hardly worth mentioning.

He did, however, respond to the last jab, carefully inserting the needle through skin before pulling somewhat tightly. Blessed with his mother's completion and his own build, the best of both worlds. "There's nothing to be said. We argued. I took your weapon. I shot you accidental. I patched you up." It wasn't much of a big deal. The glinting ring by his side spoke differently, and he frowned.

"It's for the best." It was said more to himself than Connor. Haytham continued stitching, reaching nine before he was completed. He worried his teeth, the thread splitting as he bit down, spitting the spare bit to the floor before swiping a pad over the area one last time. "I've a sling in the car." Placing an adhesive bandage over it, he added the wrapping as an extra deterrent, to keep Connor from moving. The lad seemed like he needed an extra deterrent.

There was nothing left to do but pack, and he could do that alone. Taking one last look at the ring, his shoulders hunched, but he said nothing of the topic and took down the tent. Hollow, like an empty shell, he went through every motion without feeling a thing. This wasn't what he envisioned, yet again, this is what would happen.

"Be sure to clean it daily, it'll get infected otherwise." He couldn't even meet Connor's eyes. This couldn't have gone worse, the entire vacation.

He wasn't acquainted with the feeling of hopelessness, but its bitterness left it's mark openly.

-=-=-=-

Connor tensed just slightly as he saw Haytham bring the needle forward out of his peripheral vision, but thanks to the quick working Vicodin he barely felt it.

His father finished quickly and redressed the stitched up area with fresh strips of cloth cut from his own shirt, and then left to go pack up their camp, since Connor would be pretty useless at stripping down the tent with only one hand.

It was difficult not to notice the sudden mechanical moves of his father though, almost as if he wasn't even... there. Like his mind was somewhere else. His dark brown eyes drifted down to the ring lying forgotten in the dirt, the gleaming metal and small gems catching the rays of the sun that filtered down through the canopy. Seemed like he really was serious about proposing if he even got the ring already, and now... now what? He was dropping it?

Chickening out?

For what, for shooting him? He had said so himself, it had been an accident. He didn't want Haytham to marry his mom, he really didn't but... for the same reason he was putting up with his father now and on their bi-weekly lunches, he was willing to put up with their marriage for one reason only; his mother's happiness. That was everything and all-important.

What if marriage was exactly Ziio was hoping for? What if she didn't get it because Haytham was already running scared?

“Hey!” Picking up the ring he held it up between his fingers and waited until Haytham turned around. “You're taking this with you.” He wasn't giving his father any chance to butt in, and carefully stood up, relieved when he managed to keep standing, and made his way over to his father, jutting the ring in his face. “Don't get me wrong, I don't want you to marry her. And if you propose and she says no, I'll be celebrating. But,” he held the ring up a little higher and lowered his eyebrows into an irritated frown. “But... if she says yes then I will not get in the way of the wedding. I will accept it. I'm putting up with you because that makes her happy and because I know that you make her happy. I hate to say this, but don't you fucking go chicken on this in case this is what she truly wants. Take the damn ring and ask her before I change my mind and toss it in the stream. Unless you rather I'll be selfish right now...?”

-=-=-=-

He'd just do without. It wasn't like they need be married, they were together. Besides she was sort of a new age woman, it was doubtful she'd conform to marriage. It would overburden her, somehow promote misogyny, no no. He'd have none of it. This was better, their relationship the way it was. Clearly. Surely.

He tensed at the sudden movement Connor made, brows furrowing as his son shoved the ring into his face, holding it betwixt fingers.

He said nothing, simply snatching it from Connor's hand and repocketing it, hesitating, before going back to work. Folding up the tent, gathering the pots... all before saying 'thank you'.

And meaning it, deeply. He sought the eyes of the woman he loved, finding them on a different face but softening just for a moment, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his face.

It fled just as quickly, Haytham finishing packing, fit enough to carry the equipment himself. He felt suddenly eager to get home, to Ziio. Very eager indeed.

~*~

The drive back was as quiet as expected, the look on Ziio's face as they explained bits of the accident (and left certain points out) to be expected. A mix between angry, shocked, saddened, and then amusement... or at least the beginning of amusement as Haytham suggested Connor injure her on their next hunting escapade. The cycle of family hunting accidents would then be complete.

It took a while before Connor disappeared. Ziio invited Haytham into her room, to watch a movie in private. Or something like that.

In between nips and kisses, ones that lingered as they took their time, side by side, Ziio halted briefly. "Honestly, care to tell me what really made you take his bow?"

"I already did-"

"The competitive spirit of the forest made you both switch weaponry, resulting in an accidental blow to his left shoulder as you competed shot for shot to hit wild turkeys."

He blinked, shrugging. "Well if you say anything with that tone it's bound to sound false."

"Uh huh."

He didn't bother to argue, and rested his elbow by the head of the bed, leaning casually on his side. His hand held his chin as he smiled down at her, Ziio meeting his gaze for a moment.

"What are you hiding Haytham?"

"My undying affection in some form or another." It was said so dryly she almost snorted, rolling her eyes and settling comfortably against their -er, her bed.

"Oh? What form does your 'affection' take? A dozen roses and a box of chocolates?" She dead panned immediately after she said it. "I'll take a rifle and Jeep Cherokee."

"How about a ring?"

She scoffed, and Haytham casually reached into his pants and holding his palm out. Ziio rolling her eyes at first, and then looked at Haytham, who seemed as collected as ever. Then the ring. Then back again.

"No way."

"… Oh. Alright then." He closed his palm but she stopped him shaking her head.

"No, you douche, not to you! I mean... no fucking way, as in..." Another look at the ring and she looked back at Haytham. "Are you serious? Oh my god, you're serious!"

"Why in the hell would I joke about this?"

"Because you're a douche!... Haytham. Holy shit. I'm going to be Mrs. Kenway. Holy shit."

Again he tilted his head. "So, that's a yes the-"

Her tongue was down his throat before he could finish the statement, his ruined shirt almost torn from his body, his hands working to keep up with hers. He didn't mind, not in the slightest.

Not even when Connor threatened to move out about three hours later after round four.

Chapter Text

Back and forth, back and forth. For hours, the two of them while he rubbed his temples. Perhaps the time length was an exaggeration but it felt like hours.

"This is absurd, Haytham. Positively absurd." Yipping at Charles' heels was his dog, just as excitable as the man himself these days. Their friendship was once strong and quite mutual just some months ago. Now it withered, an infection, a phantom of its former self. How William remained so calm was beyond him, not just the demeanor but he was damned polite. How anyone could make death threats sound serious with a please and a thank you was lost on him, but William managed.

"Both of you, enough." Honestly, he knew what everyone would say; William, the nice and very much un-racist man should in fact be his first man, especially in spite of recent events. Or rather, in spite of Charles' actions. It was no secret, his feelings about Ziio, his feelings about Haytham purportedly beginning to abandon the company due to his recent trips and weekends off but the man had been his friend for decades, and a damned good one.

Yet the same could be said of William, his oldest friend (granted by maybe a day or two but still) co-founder, and the man adored Ziio, as well as Connor- the latter probably more so than Haytham himself. It... complicated things, greatly.

As did their completely different perspectives.

"He's given decades, twenty plus years of his life to making this company from scratch, the both of us have." William's arms remained crossed over his chest, and he spoke through his bared, somehow smiling teeth. "He deserves the happiness he was obliged to once leave behind."

"He does, yes. And his happiness lies here, in the people he's inspired. Not through some woman he chanced upon in the forest." Haytham's eyes narrowed, but Charles met his gaze head on. "I speak the truth, what everyone thinks but will not say."

"I haven't thought anything of the sort, but I'm not a bigot so there's that."

"This isn't about race, it's about principle!" Charles stomped his foot, voice a deep growl. "I'd be as angry if he abandoned the company for a Chinese, African, Mexican-"

"How about white, would that piss you off? A Caucasian woman?"

"Better than a forest dweller but yes-"

"And again, the bigot goes back to bigotry to support an argument, fancy that."

"My personal preference for Haytham isn't the point of this conversation! Could he do better? Yes, absolutely. The point is his company- that he spent years building should come before the desire to fulfill the ache of some savage-"

"That savage is soon to be my sister, you watch your god damned tongue before I cut it out and watch it permanently on a jar on my desk." Again, the smile never faded from William's face, and Haytham wondered, offhandedly if he should get involved. Though William did quite a job defending his would-be sister Ziio. He couldn't have a truer 'brother', blood or otherwise.

"Between the two of you I don't know who's worse." Charles pointed to William vehemently. "The co-founder who can't maintain a business properly and keep his partner in check or you, Haytham, once again living between two worlds and obligated to none."

"I've my obligations, Charles, to both my company and my family." For the first time in sometime Haytham studied both men sharply. "I've quite had enough of the accusations. I am able to devote time equally amongst them both without the childish squabbling amongst my council. If you truly cared, perhaps my mind would be at ease if I could leave for one weekend without my inbox being full of messages about fellow employee incompetence."

"Perhaps if their leader was more competent-"

"Careful, Charles." The lingering, looming danger that was Haytham towered over Charles, body arched and angled in nothing short of his military demeanor. A sure fire sign that showed he was pissed. "Insult me again, and it may be the last time you do while employed here."

-=-=-=-

A soft 'ahum' came from the doorway and the three men turned around, and three very different pairs of eyes – one set frustrated, another furious and the last one twinkling – settled on the young man standing with his hand on the doorknob, his expression screaming 'uncomfortable'. Connor shifted on his feet as he glanced from one face to the next. “Er... am I interrupting?”

“Connor!” William beamed as he quickly walked over to him and clapped him on his back. “Of course not! Come in, we were just talking. How is your shoulder?”

“It's good, thanks.” he answered as William nearly dragged him towards the others. It had been a month since the semi-disastrous hunting trip with his father. Ziio had dragged him to the hospital the next day to get his shoulder checked out, not that she didn't trust Haytham's skills with a needle but she was a mother and that was what mothers did.

The doctor who had checked him over though confirmed that the stitches were neat and the wound was clean, with no signs of infection, and that he would heal fine.

And heal fine it had, though it had left a scar behind. Of course that was to be expected, and it wasn't even all that intrusive. Still, call him vain but Connor didn't like scars.

“I'm glad to hear!” William said as Connor rubbed his fingers over his shoulder, feeling the small rough patch of scar tissue through the material of his shirt. “Charles was just telling us how delighted he was to hear the news!”

“What news?” he asked as he glanced at Charles, who looked everything but delighted; it was surprising his face hadn't gotten stuck like that.

“Why, the wedding of course! Wonderful news indeed!”

Oh right yes, the wedding. Duh. “Yeah. Anyway.” The wedding was the last thing he wanted to talk about now. Removing his bag from his shoulder Connor set it down on a table and zipped it open, removing a plastic container. Ziio often made extra when cooking dinner lately, and every few days Connor was sent out to the Corporation to give his father his share. This time it was lasagna, and he ignored how Charles scoffed as he handed it to Haytham. “What?”

“You don't really think he's going to eat that, do you, boy?” Charles asked and vaguely gestured at the box, as Connor frowned.

“Why wouldn't he?”

“Because! Haytham can get, and do much better than whatever your mother cooks up.”

Er... okay? What had crawled up his ass and died there? “Right, well...” Picking up his bag Connor slung it over his shoulder and brushed a few stubborn strands of black hair out of his face. “It's not really my concern if he throws it away or eats it, and honestly, Mr. Lee, it's not your concern either. She didn't make it for you, so keep it to yourself. Bye now.” Turning towards the door, feeling strangely pleased with himself, he barely made it five steps before he was called back, William putting his hand on Charles' shoulder, who looked ready to burst at the seams.

“Just a second, Connor, if I may.”

Ugh, now what? “Yes?”

“It's your birthday soon, isn't it?”

Connor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. How did Johnson know that? He was positive that not even Haytham knew when his birthday was. “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Ah! Congratulations in advance then!”

“Thanks.” he answered, and quickly shot his father a sideways glance to gauge his reaction.

“How old?” William continued and he shrugged.

“Twenty-one.”

“Aha! You'll become a man tomorrow!”

Slowly blinking Connor turned his eyes back to Johnson, eyebrows furrowing; what, so... he wasn't a man now, was that what he was saying?

William must have noticed the change in his expression and quickly raised his hands. “I didn't mean it like that, lad. You know that right?”

“Yeah.” Sure, whatever. Could he go now?

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow is Saturday, I couldn't get the day off from work, so mom and I will be going to Boston tonight to visit some friends.”

“Ah, that sounds nice. I hope you have a good time.”

“Yeah, thanks. Er... I have to go.”

“Of course, don't let me keep you. Good day, Connor.”

Nodding his thanks at William Connor glanced at Charles, who looked like he wanted to wrap his greasy fingers around his throat and squeeze, and then offered a quick nod and a soft 'Bye dad.' to Haytham before leaving, closing the door behind him.

-=-=-=-

For once, his son had perfect damn timing. He'd offer him a chair and cookies, perhaps tea, anything to stop the ongoing migraine's worth of horror unleashed on his poor, aching head.

That and there was lasagna, something he hadn't had in quite sometime. Strange how even a plain, slightly warped plastic container now calmed him in the worst of moods. Of course Charles would say something to irritate him. Though he secretly appreciated Connor's quiet rebuttal, a boot to the head was readily deserved.

And William... his kiss ass 'brother' as it were. He almost snorted at his twinkling, overly kind eyes and exuberant demeanor, biting his tongue. Christ man, have your own children if you like them so much. He'd offer Connor to him but Ziio would probably be less appreciative of the gesture.

"Bye." He mouthed it gently, hand over his container of food, almost protectively. "Charles, I will not say this again. I can separate my time equally between the company's needs and my family's. It's of no concern of yours whom I take in matrimony, to bed, or otherwise. It doesn't affect the work I produce."

"Haytham-"

"I'll hear nothing more of it, not today. Out, until something other than hatred flies from your mouth." Charles did in fact leave, only after glaring down William, picking up his dog and angrily skirting off. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Haytham sighed. "… How'd you know it was Connor's birthday?"

"He's to be my nephew, I take interest in such things.."

As much as he longed to accuse him of being a kiss ass, he meant it.

"… it's very best man material of me."

… and they were back to that.

"Alright alright, fine. I suppose if you want the title that bad..." He ignored the shit eating grin and made a vague knighting gesture, followed by a vague sign of the cross, William muttering. "Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch, am I being knighted?"

"I hate you, so very much."

"Duly noted, brother from a separate womb."

He rolled his eyes at the jibe, allowing an arm to encompass his shoulders as he was lead away, presumably to the laboratory in which he was pulled. Perhaps Charles would come around, he rather liked both men for there own, separate individual qualities.

-=-=-=-

Sam Adams had been a friend of him and Ziio for many years now. Connor couldn't quite remember how they had met in the first place, as he had still been too young. They didn't get to visit each other often as Sam was often away on business trips for the company he worked for, but he was back home with his family in Boston now and had invited them over for Connor's birthday.

And it had been great! Sam had gone all out. His wife had baked a huge cake and his little four-year-old daughter had drawn him a picture – of him as a stick figure but it was the thought that counted, and she was really cute – following him through the house all evening, calling him 'big brudder' and eventually falling asleep in his lap, curled up against his chest.

It had been a great evening and he had been sad to leave.

“You had a good time then?” Ziio asked as they drove the Mustang towards home, back to New York. It was a little past midnight and they were the only ones on the long, elevated road, swindling for miles with dark forest on either side.

Connor looked up from the iPad Sam had given him and flashed his mother a wide grin. “Yeah it was great!”

“Oh good, I'm glad. Sabrina adored you.”

“Yeah she kept calling me 'big brother', heh.” Cute.

Ziio's smile widened. “You'd be a good big brother.” she said and Connor blinked at her, but she didn't elaborate so he shrugged the odd comment off and instead looked in the rear view mirror.

“That car has been following us for a while.” he muttered and Ziio glanced into the mirror as well before shrugged.

“I guess they're not in a hurry, whoever they are.” she answered lightly, but Connor kept his eyes on the reflected lights of the car behind them. Odd... there was no one else on the road and there was plenty of space to pass them, they weren't going very fast... so why stay behind? He could see the silhouettes of two people in the car. Meh, whatever, he thought and turned his attention on his iPad again, skipping through the manual quickly.

A few minutes passed, the other car still right behind them until it finally started to speed up. Connor watched it happen in the mirror, and frowned as the car matched their speed as it pulled up alongside of them. “What is he doing?” he muttered and leaned forward, squinting his eyes past his mother's profile to look at the driver, but it was too dark to make out any clear features. “What is his problem? What an asshole. Just-” Reaching out he pressed the button at the center of the wheel, the car's horn almost too loud in the silence of the forest at night, and Ziio quickly batted his hand away.

“Connor!”

“Look, they're opening the window.”

“Oh, now you've done it.”

Indeed, the glass of the car door window was going down on the passenger's side, but whoever was driving made no sign that they should slow down. “What do they want? What-” Narrowing his eyes Connor watched how the figure closest to them seemed to point something in their direction, the other person continuing to match their speed, until his hand stuck out of the car door window, and with it, the gun he was holding.

Brown eyes widened, and Connor just had enough time to yell “Mom!” before a bright flash, followed by a loud explosion in their front left wheel sent their car lunging sideways, the force of it hard enough Ziio lost control over the wheel.

“Connor!” she screamed and he made a grab for the steering wheel as the other car sped up and zoomed away, but it was already too late; out of control with one wheel blown up the car tumbled off the elevated road, rolling down into the forest below, flattening brushes and thicket until it crashed against a tree.

~*~

Something was burning. And dripping.

And everything hurt.

An orange glow filtered through his closed eyelids as Connor slowly came to his senses with a loud beep in his ears, the taste of blood heavy in his mouth and his nose filled with the heavy smell of oil, fire and burning rubber. “Mom...?” His voice cracked as he opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to clear his blurred vision and reached up to cradle his forehead. His head was pounding and as he lowered his hand again it came back bloody.

He was still in the car and something heavy was digging into his hips and abdomen; glancing down Connor stared at the thick branch of a tree, glass littering his seat and the floor all around him, as well as the shattered remains of his iPad; the tree must have smashed through the windshield and hit him, which explained the horrible pain in his chest every time he breathed in and now it kept him pinned in place. The muscles of his right thigh screamed in pain as the heavy wood bore down on the limb.

“Mom?” he asked again and closed his eyes briefly... thinking was hard. What had happened? There had been a car...? And... a flash... he remembered a flash... and...

“Connor...”

Brown eyes snapped open and a wave of nausea hit him as he turned his head to look at her. Thank god, she was alive! Bleeding and pinned down with the thicker part of the branch much like he was, but alive “Mom!”

“The flames...”

Blinking he turned his attention to the hood of the car, eyes widening as he finally caught sight of the flames rising from the left side of the car, where the wheel had been. The Mustang was a mess, dented and scratched from its violent fall from the road down into the forest, and something must have burst inside as he could see the glimmer of oil everywhere.

And it enabled the fire to spread out over the car rapidly. They had to get out of here! “W-wait, let me...” Gripping the branch with both hands he tried to push it away, to lift it enough for them to slip out underneath but it was heavy, almost too heavy; his lips pulled back, showing bloodied teeth tightly clenched together as he put all his strength into lifting it, but he hurt too much. He must have cracked a few ribs... he wasn't strong enough. He had to let go and the branch fell down a few inches again, on top of the injuries he already had.

“Connor...”

“N-no, I can d-do this!”

“Connor!”

The clear panic in Ziio's voice made him look up again; the flames had reached her side now and she was leaning as far away from them as she could, eyes wide in fear but it wasn't enough; the horrible sound she made as the flames began to trickle their way up her sleeve rapidly, burning away the material and her skin underneath tore right through him.

“Y-you have to go!”

“I can't leave you here!” He shook his head, staring mortified at the flames which had had already reached her shoulder and began spreading out over her blouse.

“Connor, please!” Pain and desperation laced her voice as she reached out, fighting through the agony of her trapped arm burning, and touched Connor's cheek with her free hand. Tears welled in her eyes, matched by the tears already trickling down from his own, as she fought to keep her voice steady, to remain strong for her son. “I can't get out, Connor. The car is going t-to explode soon. You m-must leave!”

“Now w-without you!”

“It's too late for that!” She screamed then, the flames eating their way up her braids. “Please g-go, son! G-get out, f-find help!”

Connor sat frozen in place for a few more seconds, his heart pounding erratically in his chest as the image of his mother burning alive seared itself into his brain, before he suddenly moved. Managing to lift the heavy branch just enough to shimmy his way underneath with a sudden burst of adrenaline-fueled strength he didn't know he possessed, Connor wrenched the damaged door open enough to worm his way through, and fell down on the wet forest floor next to the car.

His injured leg barely supported his weight and his ribs felt like they were being torn apart with how fast he was breathing, too fast, but still he ran, adrenaline spurring him on as the agonized screams of Ziio followed him. Clambering his way up a nearby hill, grabbing bushes and tree roots to pull himself along he stopped and turned, breathless, panicked, desperate and stared at the burning vehicle that still held his mother, barely twenty feet away from him.

He saw it as if it happened in slow motion; the bright flash as the car finally succumbed to the flames, the way the metal seemed to curl in on itself before bending outwards as a ball of fire erupted from the engine. He was still close by enough that the force of the explosion knocked him off his feet and sent him reeling back against the forest ground with a hard thud. The last thing that flashed through his mind before he lost himself to unconsciousness was that there was no way... no way his mother could have survived that.

-=-=-=-

The clamor and hum of sirens, fire engines, police cars, ambulances at the scene. It had taken well over a half hour to control the blaze, part of the nearby forest catching fire. A news helicopter, Chopper 9, had flown by the clearing for a simple traffic report, the call of smoke immediately alerting of sinister events.

The smell of burnt flesh mixed with petroleum, an odor pungent and stagnant in the night. The boy, Connor- that's what his I.D. read- was placed on the gurney, unconscious and unmoving, an oxygen mask over his face. One officer searched his pockets, retrieving a cell phone, and dialed the first number it could; labeled mom.

No response, no ring, no dial tone. A rookie heaved and gagged as the door of the burned out car was finally wrenched open, showing the trapped remains of what had once been a person.

Another look and there was one other number to try, a more veteran police officer handling the situation- a sergeant, one that would follow the ambulance to the hospital. He was a father too, after all. What a shame, poor kid.

Haytham practically swatted the phone away, typing infuriatingly quickly. Chewing on his last piece of lasagna with a satisfied hum, he took a peek at his phone, eyebrow raised as he saw Connor's number flash on the screen. Oh, he should probably have wished him a happy birthday, shouldn't he? He doubted that was why the boy called, and he almost let it go through to voice-mail... but thought against it. No good making Ziio angry at him now, not when she was cooking for him again. He'd missed her cooking something awful.

"Yes?" Car doors slamming and sirens, the commotion in the background was loud enough for him to hear and his eyes narrowed. "Connor, lower the television, you'll go deaf."

"Is this..." The officer blinked at the name under 'contacts' again. No, there was no way this could be right... but he had seen the kid's name on his I.D. and it matched. "… Haytham Kenway?"

A pause and he raised his eyebrows, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who did he punch this time?" Guess it would be up to him to bail him out now...

"No, sir, this is Seargant Betterly with the New Haven Police Department. There's an emergency."

"Again, I will post bail for the boy-"

"No, sir, there's been an accident."

He finally paused, listening to the commotion. An accident? Wasn't Ziio...? "Are they alright?" The first cautious question, Haytham's fork hitting his container with a clatter, and the officer cleared his throat.

"I can't reveal any information over the phone, sir. You'll have to come to the New Haven Hospital-"

"The New Haven Hospital?" In a bare whisper, and already he was dressing, grabbing his jacket and saving his work for later, running out of the laboratory with his cell phone in hand. "I- Ziio. Is Ziio alright? And my son?"

"Would this... Diio-"

"Ziio, Z-I-I-O, not Diio."

"Right, sorry, would this Ziio happen to be the boy's-"

"Mother, Connor's mother. She should be with him!" He paused, panic subsiding. "Is she not there? Was he out joy riding?" Oh he'd have his head for making his mother worry. Connor should know bette-

"Positive I.D. on the body, it's the boy's mom, copy, over."

Time stopped. Keys fell from his fingers as time just stopped. "Body?" Whispered into nothingness, the voice speaking to him cleared it's throat. "Where the hell is Ziio?"

"Sir, please remain calm, there's no need for-"

"One of your idiot dispatchers just said the BODY has been identified, don't you fucking tell me to remain calm!" Static and the sound of sirens, and Haytham was in his car, driving, phone on speaker as he prompted and prodded, but the man would say nothing, merely guiding him to the New Haven hospital in Connecticut. He would not let dread overtake him, not now. Ziio carried identification- there was clearly a misunderstanding. Some nameless person without I.D., perhaps a friend of Connor's. As horrible as it was for that person, the better it was for them!

~*~

An hour and a half of straight driving, of walking into the E.R., of stares from those who recognized him by face or name- he ignored it all, every last bit of it before finally coming into contact with an officer. "I'm looking for my wife."

The man stammered, clearly shocked. "H-Haytham Kenway?"

"No, the other man talking!" He would mow them all down in a blaze if it meant reaching her. "My wife- to be wife- and son are both here. Connor and Ziio Kenway." She'd changed her name early, it was inevitable anyway.

A secretary clacked away, agitation making its mark so clearly. "Connor is in room 3A, in stable condition."

Alright, the lad yes, He was in stable, he was fine. Great. "And my wife?"

A pause, and they looked to one another, tumultuous, stormy eyes missing nothing.

"I demand to see my wife."

"Mr. Kenway."

"Now."

"Sir, it's best you don't-"

His face was inches from the secretary's, eyes narrowed to near slits as he spat venom. "It's best you send me to wear she is before I tie up this hospital in so much litigation you will be unable to locate your arse from your elbow, you stupid-"

"Mr. Kenway, that's enough."

A heady glare and he stared into the face of... he wanted to say doctor, but no. No that wasn't right. He wore scrubs but they reeked of something very different, something stagnant and burnt, and Haytham found himself fighting to remain calm. Mask in place, he stepped forward, said man leading him into the barren recesses of a colder part of the hospital, one Haytham was acquainted with only when necessary.

Outside the room, and it touched him with the same warmth as the chilled air kissing his face.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

He steeled himself, bore himself for the worst... only to witness a bloodied sheet, twisted. The smell was repugnant, of charred remains, of hair and flesh, of seared nothingness.

No... they must be mistaken. A step forward, but he was stopped before he could take another. "I want to see her."

"You really don't."

"Oh, I really do." It wasn't her. There was no proof, there was no way. Just a flaming mound of flesh under a bloodied rag of a blanket. There was no proof, there was nothingness. He'd seen corpses before, this would be no different-

Except it wasn't just a corpse.

His nose wasn't prepared for the smell, hitting him far quicker than the sight itself. A jaw opened, teeth revealed around the blackened, smoked skin of what once was a face. No nose to be had, just two points were nostrils were, all hair burned away save a small handful that may have lain against the back of the car seat, beads and a charred feather-

No.

No, no, no. Another step closer and he shoved the bile down. Another, and he hid his tears well, even from himself, the crystalline sheen of his eyes showing briefly, only as they eyed the remains of what was, his eyes catching glimpse of the ring on her finger.

He couldn't look away, couldn't stop himself from touching the scarred hand, skin peeling away in shreds as he touched the ring. Silence, and he turned away, not from her, but from the man behind her. "I want an autopsy done." He sounded hoarse, even to himself.

"Sir, there's no need-"

"I'm paying for it, I want it DONE!"

Another labored breath and he was winded, looking into what once had been a beautiful face, what was the face he had kissed goodbye a few days prior. "I just... I need it done. I need it done."

His eyes met the wall as his shoulders sank, the man nodding behind him, a small, 'yes, alright sir,' before departing, giving him a moment alone.

For the life of him, he had nothing to say. Even as a finger curled around the scorched flesh of her cheek, he could think of nothing but the truth.

"Goodbye, Ziio."

This time, forever.

-=-=-=-

He awoke to the soft but steady beep-beep-beep of a heart rate monitor. Deep brown eyes, slightly glazed over and reddened, opening to stare up at the blindingly white ceiling of the room. The room smelled clean and the surface underneath him was soft, cushioning him, heavy blankets draped all the way up to his chest, and there was no pain.

There was... nothing.

He felt the soft scratch of clean bandages tightly wrapped around his chest and head. Slowly raising his hand he stared at the clip on his index finger and the drip needle, a thin plastic tube attaching it to a transparent bag filled with fluids hanging from an iron hook. Next to it was a machine with a small screen, showing a green line which spiked every second or so, its beeping the only sound in the room.

He had been lucky, the doctors and nurses had said. Extremely lucky. Considering the extent of the accident his injuries could have been a lot worse. Three broken ribs, a major concussion and severe bruising all over his body, especially where his left thigh attached to his hip; he was black and blue there, with the rough texture of the heavy branch's bark pressed into his skin. He'd be walking with crutches for a while. Smoke damage from inhaling too much of it, but that would fade with time. Miraculously, no burns. Lucky indeed.

He kept seeing it... in his mind's eye. The bright glow of the flames, the darkness of the forest that had surrounded them. The damage to the car and the way the branch had kept them both pinned. His mother... burning. Her agonized screams, he could still hear them, even now, echoing inside his head calling out for help, for him to go, to leave her behind.

The bright flash of the car exploding, taking everything away.

Moisture gathered in his eyes and quickly began to trickle down his face, disappearing in the strands of his hair until the pillow soaked them up. Connor did not bother to wipe the tears away, didn't scream, didn't struggle, didn't call out for someone, anyone, and demand answers.

He remained still, his only movements being those he couldn't stop... the trembling, the shaking as his breath hitched each time he breathed in until his grief threatened to overwhelm him.

His mother... his mother...!

He didn't even look up as he heard the door of his room open, not knowing who it was that came in and not caring either. It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore.

“She's gone, isn't she?” The question was no more than a whisper and he squeezed his eyes shut again, forcing more tears to dribble down his face. He already knew the answer to the question. How could he not?

He had seen her die.

-=-=-=-

3A.He repeated it again and again, as if he could forget it. The bleached white walls and smells of chemicals were of little comfort now. That used to be his solace; clean, white, sterile. All was tranquil, in places like his laboratory.

Rapidly his exterior hardened, chin in the air as he stalked in mechanical heel-toe manner. Connor would have questions, accusations- panic. He was that sort of a boy. Well, Haytham was prepared. Shields were up, at the defensive, hands clutched tightly behind his back, dress shoes clacking against the almost pristine floor. Right, to the lad, then to DNA, to figuring what had caused such a… mishap. Ziio wasn’t one for such things.

His throat dried at the very thought of her name, her voice an echo that plagued him and he shoved it aside, roughly pushing her from him. She was dead, that was that. Done, to be in the ground, dead. Nothing to save her, nothing to help, there was nothing more to think about and nothing more to do. He’d move on. He always did, and he always would. Now came the inquisition and questions from Connor, and his eyes blazed a furious mixture of gray and blue, waiting for the accusations to come flying about how this was all somehow his fault the moment he opened the door-

“She’s gone, isn’t she?”

And that little bit of resolve he built up on the way completely vanished.

Tattered, bloody, bruised and with the eyes of his mother, eyes that shut and spilled tears the likes of which he’d never seen. From them to the braid, the feather and matching beads adorning his black hair.

The last remaining piece, all he had left of what he dared to care for.

Adoration and hatred fought a battle at the very sight of her dearest son.

“… yes.” Hoarse as before, he grit his teeth and placed the stoic mask in place, carefully pacing the room, and lifted the chart from the bed. Damage to his thigh and connected hip, bruising and an internal sprain, fractured ribs, a concussion- a mess. Yet he was alive, would heal and live to see another sunrise. She was not.

There was no justice, no god peering over his begotten world and so damn anyone who thought otherwise.

And still he could not conjure the question, could not ask what had happened. Instead, he fingered a tissue from the box he passed, holding it to his son wordlessly and looked away. Those damnable eyes.

“I’m sorry.” The air felt thicker, and he stared out the window, ignoring the sound a huff of breath made before he dug his own nails into his palms. Pathetic, Haytham. Act like a man damn it. This changed nothing, death was a part of life.

“… I ordered a few laboratory tests. They’ll be in shortly.” Eyes downcast and face out the window, so the world wouldn’t witness the shame he felt as his eyes stung. He could plainly see how she died, he didn’t want details. He only wanted… the impossible.

Instead he stood by the window, offering another tissue as his son cried onward. When he did face to meet him, fading red rimmed eyes were the only evidence of something awry. "What- how, did this happen?" He was fighting an almost loosing battle, eyes taking on that sheen but he fought hard, and long, throat constricting as he did. "What, what made this happen?" Did Connor even know?

-=-=-=-

“… yes.”

A whimper made its way out of his throat. He had known, but hearing it confirmed... It made it so... official.

Connor remained silent safe for the occasional sob and hiccup. He accepted the offered tissue but didn't use it, letting his tears form a wet patch on the pillow. What was he supposed to do now? Where could he go? Most students his age already lived in their own apartment, but he couldn't cough up the rent of their home alone, especially not with him in the hospital.

And his father... Haytham had stayed and kept contact because of mom, not because of him. No doubt he'd leave now, having lost the only person he truly cared about.

“We were... on our way home from Boston.” he began, his voice thick with tears. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. He couldn't look at his father, didn't want to see his expression. Surely, Haytham would have wanted for things to be the other way around, for her to live and for him to have died. If that was the case, then he didn't want to see the confirmation on his father's face.

“It was just us... and a second car behind us. They pulled up until they were alongside of us... I saw... I saw one of them turn down the window and... he had a g-gun.” Voice breaking on that last word Connor stopped and covered his face with his hand, muffling his sobs behind his palm as his shoulders shook. It took a full two minutes before he recovered enough to continue talking. “I c-couldn't see his or h-her face. I d-don't know who it was, or why they d-did it.”

Dropping his hand Connor furiously blinked up at the ceiling, blurred through his tears. “They shot the wheel... it exploded... our c-car tumbled down the road into the forest.” Another deep, shaky breath, as deep as he could with the bandages tight around his chest to keep his broken ribs in place. “A branch had snapped off and slammed through the w-windshield, k-kept us pinned. The car was burning. I... tried to lift it b-but... s-she said that there was no t-time. Told me to get out. So I did... I ran and... a-and then the car exploded...”

Slowly turning his head Connor finally made eye contact with his father, desperation on his face, hoping... praying that Haytham wouldn't put the blame on him. “I t-tried, dad. I'm sorry...” He had tried... to lift the branch high enough for both of them to get out... but the flames had spread too fast, her injuries already too great... there hadn't been time.

“Where... where is she?”

-=-=-=-

It wasn't even an accident, but murder. Someone flat out murdered his Ziio. The third time in his life, someone else stole from him what was his. He wanted someone to blame, someone to be chased down, hunt and destroy, but unlike the two other times there was no one. Just Connor and himself.

And even as he searched for someone to blame, the last person it would be was his son.

"If anybody cared for her as I did, it was you." Barely whispered, it wasn't a nicety but a truth. "There's no doubt in my mind you did what you could." He had to turn away, his voice cracked loudly. His gaze set to the window once more, and he hesitated answering.

"I think it best that you don't see her." Gazing out the window for a moment longer, he felt it safe once more to turn around, to keep his own emotions at bay. "You're a man though, grown. If that is what you want, I will not stop you. But you need promise me this." And he looked square into eyes that teared constantly, Haytham's own a burning red, but he did his best to barely keep them at bay.

"You can never blame yourself for this. Understand? This was murder, and it's very likely you were a target too. That you escaped... it's what... it's a positive. She would have wanted that... and I concur with the decision." Because for the pain in the arse he was, Connor was his son, his last piece of Ziio. Nothing could change that.

In the same moment he finally calmed himself and the attendee from before arrived, looking nothing short of sorry.

"Sir, Mr. Kenway, let me be the first to apologize for acting crudely."

Haytham simply nodded. "Yes, well, I wasn't exactly pleasant myself-"

"Yes, but it's understandable, I hadn't realized you'd lost your wife and child."

Confusion, completely unbridled confusion as he looked to Connor and back to the man he spoke to. "My child is right here."

"No, the unb-" It dawned on the man then, as completely grey, utterly surprised eyes met his from across the room. Unfortunately for him, Haytham was far more perceptive than most, even in his current state.

What was left of steel resolve shattered into fragments upon the floor. Haytham lost his footing and crumpled under the weight of himself, falling to his knees besides Connor's bed. Eyes locked on the tile beneath him, his glimmering reflection seen in a distorted image, before he let out a noise that was neither yell nor scream, whimper nor cry.

Agony, blinding, searing agony.

"… I'm s-so sorry, sir, I thought you knew..."

"Leave me. Leave us." Anger, nothing but searing hatred dripping from every word. His father, his sister, his wife and his child.

"Sir..."

He rose so quickly it almost frightened himself, shoulders back and stance defensive, chin in the air as his face resumed not a blank mask, but a scowl, a grimace twisted in pain.

No words were needed as he all but shoved the man out of the room and shut the door, Haytham's jaw set, lips twitching in the thin line he set them in. "… Did she tell you? Did you know?"

-=-=-=-

Connor quickly nodded. No, he wasn't going to blame himself, he knew better than that. It hadn't been his fault and he felt more than relieved that Haytham seemed to think the same. He also knew that he didn't want to see her... he had a pretty good idea of what she would look like and he'd rather not tarnish the memories he had of her.

He sank back into the pillows and closed his eyes again, finally beginning to calm down a little... or perhaps he was just too exhausted to keep the tears going. He sure felt exhausted and of course the pain killers they were pumping into him were doing their part as well in making him feel so.

As much as he was willing to let himself doze off, and forget for just a moment, the door opened again and Connor blinked slowly, staring at the man who walked in. He... didn't look like a doctor. Not really anyway. And he carried a strange smell with him, one he had hoped to never smell again.

Fully awake again he slowly pushed himself up with a grunt, listening to the conversation with growing confusion. There was something odd about this conversation, like the man was telling them something they were supposed to already know.

Then it hit.

Connor watched in shock as his father did something he had never done before; crumpling down in front of him, sinking down on his knees onto the floor. His father, who always held such a strong presence, who didn't let anyone walk over him, who always held the last word...

There was nothing he could say, even if he knew the right words as the man quickly scurried out of the room out of fear for Haytham's rage. Mom had been... pregnant?

His fists clenched the white sheets as his brain tried to process the information, struggling to let it sink in.

Why hadn't she told him? Why hadn't she told them? Had she... even known? “No, I didn't know...” he muttered and frowned... wait, she had known. That's why she- “Right before... it happened, she said something weird. That I'd be a good big brother. I didn't understand it then, but...” But now it made sense.

Connor looked up again, staring at his father's turned back and swallowed thickly. Where were they supposed to go from here? So much had happened... perhaps even too much. “Dad? What happens now?” Because he sure as hell didn't know anymore.

-=-=-=-

A secret then... though by the sound of what Connor relayed, a happy one. Perhaps it was meant to be a pleasant surprise in the near future. A child. Another child, one he could properly raise this time. He could be a father, an actual father like his own had been. A second son... or perhaps a little girl, with his own eyes and her smile. He'd never know. He was robbed of the chance.

Nails dug into his clenched fists, his anger only muting when the question Connor asked reached his ears. He would bare his rage later, his sorrow need be tucked away. He was still a... father, as odd as the word sounded to his own ears. He need be strong as his own father was.

He didn't falter, breathing deeply and formulating a plan slowly. "We bury her. We mourn. We move on to the best of our capabilities." A cycle for every time he lost someone, a mantra by now. Though, he understood what wasn't asked and shut his eyes.

"I've a spare bedroom or two." It wasn't an offer, it's what would be. He couldn't dare set foot in that house in New Rochelle. A constricting grip over his heart would simply not allow it. "Close to your school, to your job. Your mother would... want it that way." And in death, who was he to say no?

"Johnson will handle the press. We'll need to clarify rumor from truth, now." There'd be no denying it any longer. "Myriam is free to stay whenever or how often she may like. I'll send someone for your things, alert your clan leader of the events... it's covered. All of it, I can handle." Terse and stern, it was as if nothing ever happened. It would be as if nothing ever happened.

"You need rest. Sleep." The clack of his shoes overrode the beeping machines with every clack. "This is nothing I haven't dealt with before."

-=-=-=-

… nothing he hadn't dealt with before?

Connor frowned as he watched his father leave the room without another word and slowly laid back down, staring up at the ceiling once more. This wasn't the first time he had lost someone then. He was handling this as if it was just another business transaction, cold and distant, no emotions, perhaps because... he had been through this before.

That definitely was something to ask about later. He knew next to nothing about his father's side of the family. He could ask, once... once this was over...

~*~

The next morning Sergeant Betterly met with him, telling him that he had overseen his transport to the hospital and had informed Haytham of what had happened, and that he was so sorry for their loss.

He was nice, kind and patient, and when Betterly asked for details about what had happened Connor tried to give him as much as he could.

He couldn't answer the one question that mattered the most though; who? Who had done it? And for what reason? Betterly asked more questions. Did his family have enemies? Was there someone who held a grudge? Had there been a fight?

He didn't know.

After Betterly left, promising him to keep them up to date about the investigation, the doctor gave him one last check-up before discharging him from the hospital, telling him that he would heal fine with lots of rest. The bandages around his chest would have to be redone every day, at least until his ribs healed enough.

Myriam and Shaun were there, waiting for him as Connor limped towards the exit of the hospital with his father, using a pair of crutches to walk as the sprain in his hip still refused to bear his weight. Myriam was in tears, hugging him so carefully as if she was afraid he'd break into pieces if she used even a tiny bit of pressure, and nearly choked on her own words when she told Haytham how incredibly sorry she was.

No words were said between Connor and Shaun. There was no need to. There were there for him when he needed them, they always had been.

He desperately wanted to go back to New Rochelle, to soak up the memories, to grab his stuff and... and take Ziio's personal belongings for safe keeping, but Haytham blatantly refused and instead ensured him that he would have the house cleared out and everything inside brought to his own apartment. He could go over her things then. Much like he had said the day before, and Connor was too emotionally drained to go against it.

He had only been in Haytham's home a handful of times and he wondered if... if this would ever feel like a home to him as well. It was so different... and to think that only a few months ago they all had Christmas dinner at that table over there, and that he had nearly gotten into a fight with his father over the whole deal with the Mustang.

It seemed like such a petty thing now.

The room he had chosen for himself was the smaller one of the two available, and still it was bigger than the room he'd had in New Rochelle. It was big enough for him, with a large bed, plenty of storage, a desk and a nice view over the Atlantic.

It felt alien.

There was nothing to do but wait now, as he set the crutches against the wall and carefully sat down on the bed with a wince. The first chapter of this new life was going to be the hardest, having to adapt, everything completely turned upside down, the funeral in just a few days. Details about the accident was all over the news, the front page of the newspaper this morning showing a large photo of the burned out car. The press hadn't been informed yet about the whole father-son business and honestly Connor didn't want them to know. The last thing he wanted to deal with now was even more publicity.

He wanted to focus on the funeral, focus on his mourning and... focus on fixing his broken relationship with his father, because there was simply no avoiding it anymore.

-=-=-=-

The tomahawk with the one slit in the hilt. The one that scarred his very arm. Not a dress, but that taupe leather jacket with multi-colored beads dangling on the fringed ends, a plain white t shirt and blue jeans, coupled with her worn in brown faux leather boots.

Comfortable, everything screamed of Ziio, from the dream catcher earrings, miniatures of the larger stuffed hare's foot on her key chain. Her favorite Smith and Wesson gun and her bow completed her casket, the elder, a member of the bear clan clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"You've done right by her, Haytham. She could ask no more of you."

Nor would she, ever again. Nor would any of her clan, because this was the last time he would step foot into upstate New York for as long as he lived.

He almost felt sorry for blatantly turning down Connor's request, but no. No, let the hiring crew take care of it, he picked out what she'd wanted. The only belonging of hers he had sat in his passengers seat, to be delivered to Connor immediately. He hadn't even wanted to touch the damn thing.

William had been in contact, offering more than just a word of sympathy, all of which were accepted with cold nods. William understood, hell they all did, even Hickey and Church seemed more than apologetic, something that he appreciated and simultaneously despised. He didn't want sympathy, he wanted to be left alone.

It was all the harder to accept the apologies of Myriam, she was almost too sweet for her own good. It almost chipped his resolve.

Almost.

Funeral arrangements for the following day, the press conference for the one to follow, Haytham arrived home with twitching fingertips. He could smell her on the album, earthy, sandalwood and spice. He fought the urge to wash his hands.

"All packed. Your belongings will arrive shortly. This is yours now." Placing the bound photo album aside, he simply nodded, not an ounce of emotion portrayed. "Off to work then, acquaint yourself with menus, I don't have time to cook. Don't wait up. Invite Myriam and Shaun if you wish, everything is arranged. " Almost hurried, he ventured to walk away, content to drown his sorrow in laboratory experiments. "Until tomorrow, then.

-=-=-=-

Everything had been stuffed in boxes and delivered to Haytham's home. Connor went through it with an almost mechanical sense of duty, going over everything twice before distributing it over three piles; stuff that could be thrown away, his own things, and Ziio's personal belongings that had been of value to her and that he wanted to keep.

He stared at the necklace in his hands, remembering that it had once been a gift from the clan to her. It was fairly simple; just a leather string with three large bear claws attached in the center, but Ziio had always been fond of it even though she rarely wore it. It was more an object that held meaning, instead of something to wear.

Clicking his tongue he pulled the string over his head and glanced down, seeing the tips of the claws rest against his clothed chest. She wouldn't wear it. He would.

As promised Haytham took care of pretty much everything, leaving little for Connor to occupy himself with now that all the boxes had been categorized. For obvious reasons he couldn't go to work, and college had given him leave as well until he felt ready to come back again.

And of course Haytham was often gone most of the time, drowning himself in his work as that seemed to be his way of coping.

So he called Shaun and Myriam instead. They came over as soon as they could, bringing whole bags of mountain dew and and various sorts of other unhealthy snacks and drinks and did their best to distract him. Myriam had brought her Xbox with her, which they used to completely whoop Shaun's ass playing Left4Dead, and after wards they ordered pizza and watched movies on Haytham's huge flatscreen in the living room.

It helped, them being here, making him laugh and enjoy his time. It helped a lot.

Shaun went home a little after midnight, but when he asked Myriam if she could perhaps stay, she just smiled and nodded. There was nothing to talk about, he just needed the company, not wanting to be alone in a house that felt so alien with nothing but his thoughts and memories of that night to occupy him.

They gathered blankets and pillows from all around the rooms and built themselves a nest in front of the TV, and that's how Haytham would find them the next day, curled up close against each other, Connor's face tugged into Myriam's hair as she had her arms wrapped around him.

-=-=-=-

"Please Mr. Kenway, we'll do anything, just please-"

"Absolutely no excuses. I've enough of those as of late." Standing intimidating and tall, eyes narrowed into slits as he walked in front of each technician. "I've been absent, which has caused... what? The notion that slacking is acceptable? The notion that such lackadaisical behavior is acceptable?"

"Sir, we merely forgot to clean a beaker-"

"Excuses, excuses, and more excuses. You have failed to do your jobs properly. Fired the four of you. Notices of resignation will be on my desk by noon. You have an hour."

Ignoring the teary protests and horrible pleas for reason, Haytham marched from the laboratory immediately, making his way into the lobby, past Wiliam who was just finishing up his press conference.

Immediately, a swarm of media were on his heels, Haytham holding his head high in the air. "Mr. Kenway, what's to say of your heir?"

"Twenty years of hiding him from the public view, what's the reasoning behind it?"

"Mr. Kenway, on behalf of channel 9, I'm sorry for your loss."

He did pause, briefly for that, meeting the eyes of the woman who offered apologies and simply nodding. Not a single word before he pulled into his car, driving the short distance to his home. Fourteen employees down, however many left to go. Such useless incompetence, amongst all of them, stupid errors that deserved their own individual termination.

He ignored William's texts, readying himself for the day ahead; the entirety of four days spent in his office, ignoring texts and calls from anyone. He only left now because he ran out of clean clothes and had a funeral to attend. Into his home, he slipped the key in, walking straight into the living room.

It was a disaster. Mountain dew cans and candy everywhere, every blanket in the house save for the one on his own bed had been taken. Why? A gigantic pillow fort in the center of the living room, seating Connor and Myriam. So deeply entangled he could hardly tell whose limbs were whose save for the difference of skin tone.

And he wanted to hate the mess, the juvenile behavior. But instead he recalled sandalwood and spice, the soft touches shared... and bit back the strain in his throat. He settled for slamming the door loudly, jostling them both.

"Connor, Myriam. Ceremony starts in two hours. Get ready... the mess can wait."

The first and only words he'd said in days, before he drifted toward the shower, readying for the final step in forgetting Ziio.

He could move on then. Or at least pretend he had.

-=-=-=-

They both awoke at once, Connor with an odd, low grunt and Myriam with a high pitched 'eek'. She quickly wrapped the blankets around her body as she smiled a sheepish grin at Haytham; she wasn't naked but she was only wearing her bra and panties and this wasn't the right moment to be even thinking about flirting with the man.

“We'll clean it up later, we promise!” she called out after him and jabbed Connor's shoulder, who had flopped down again. He didn't want to get up, he didn't want to do the funeral.

He didn't want to say goodbye and make it final.

“Come on, lets get you cleaned up, sleepy head.” Grumbling, Connor allowed her to help him up and took the crutches from her, limping his way into his bedroom. His suit already lay pressed and ready to be worn and he glared at it, wishing it would spontaneously combust. He loathed wearing suits like that, so uncomfortable.

He took a quick shower, after which Myriam helped him refit the bandages around his chest to help his ribs before taking a quick shower herself, and emerged twenty minutes later perfectly groomed and neat looking, with only minimal make-up and wearing a simple but elegant black dress, while Connor still hadn't even gotten his suit all the way on.

For some reason, Myriam was faster than he was despite being a girl, and it was something they always used to joke about. “Here, let me.” she said and reached for his tie, beginning to knot it in place, and fingered a strand of hair as he did so. “It's getting too long, don't you think? Shouldn’t you cut it sometime? Just a bit...”

“Maybe... I'll think about it.” Donning the jacket he made his way back into his bathroom and gave himself one last look-over; despite being uncomfortable, he would make sure he looked his very best at his mother's funeral.

“Ready.” he mumbled as he came back out again and Myriam gave him a sad little smile before offering him her arm, helping him back into the messy living room. After today the healing process could start... and she could only hope that the road to recovery wouldn't be too long or hard, not only for Connor but for Haytham as well.

-=-=-=-

Head to toe black. His suit was tailored and pressed, fitting him perfectly, the ribbon in his hair gone, replaced with a black hair tie. His face completed the look, absent of emotion.

He missed her. He missed her. The smile she greeted him with every morning, the press of her sweatpants against his legs. Early in the morning, her tousled hair everywhere.

No, no... he couldn't, wouldn't think of it!

Of her hair, smell, the touch of her-

His fist ached, the spill of shattered glass of the mirror loud in the silence of his home. No, no, there would be no turning back now. No more thoughts of her. What was left was not his Ziio, better let the memory fade into obscurity. Like the others.

His hand bled steadily; he ignored any looks Myriam or Connor gave him and treated his hand atop of the kitchen counter. Glass was picked from his palm with the same expression his face held for days.

Devoid, blank nothingness.

"Shall we?"

Ignoring the stares, he waltzed forward, toward the elevator. There was no looking back for now on.

-=-=-=-

A car was already waiting for them to take them to the funeral home for coffee and the chance to offer condolences, and from there they would travel with Ziio's casket to the cemetery and back again. Connor had never experienced a funeral before but it all passed by in a blur anyway. Myriam and Shaun stayed near him the entire time to offer silent support and comfort.

There was police escort; the investigation into the accident was still running strong and they kept a close eye on him and Haytham in case Ziio's killer came back for a second try. They also kept the press at bay, the press conference William had held on behalf of Haytham had caused an uproar. They had lost count of how many news stations and journalists had requested interviews and there were always a few paparazzi lurking outside Haytham's apartment complex. The news that one of this century's most successful businessmen had kept the existence of his son – and therefor heir – a secret for twenty years had hit like a bomb.

There were more people present to pay Ziio their final respect than Connor had thought there would be. Of course there were the obvious; the clan members and their leader, who would perform a small ritual at the cemetery for Ziio. Sam Adams and his family were present. William Johnson, Thomas Hickey, John Pitcairn, Benjamin Church and even Charles Lee were present as well, as well as a whole bunch of other people Connor didn't know, but figured they were only there out of respect for Haytham, and not because they cared about the death of a native woman.

Some of his classmates were present, or at least those he could get along with, as well as a few of his favorite teachers, including Professor Davenport. Sergeant Betterly was present as well, and even the manager of the Red Mango showed his face, though Connor knew that was only because he was hoping to get into Haytham's good graces. Connor had never gotten along with the manager.

He remained silent, hadn't prepared a speech because he knew he wouldn't be able to even get a sensible word out of his throat anyway. He already felt choked and he didn't bother to try and stop the flow of tears, leaning half his weight on the crutches and the other half on Myriam, who held him and stroked his back, as Shaun occasionally squeezed his shoulder. He watched everything unfold, feeling as if he was standing behind a semi-transparent wall, disconnected from everyone else.

Every once in a while he tried to meet his father's eyes but so far he hadn't been lucky yet. Haytham had been exceptionally cold and distant these last few days, which of course was completely understandable, but if he was going to be living in the same house as his father from now on Connor could only hope that it would improve with time. They would probably never be friends but he could at least seriously try to make an effort. That's what mom would have wanted.

After the burial they drove back to the funeral home, where coffee stood waiting for them, giving them all a moment to talk or to share memories if they felt so inclined. At this point Connor was eager to leave this place and go back... well, not home, because home was in New Rochelle, but back to the quietness of his father's apartment. There was still that mess to clean up...

“Haytham, Connor.” Looking up he grimaced as he saw, William, Charles and the others walk towards them and he quickly turned away. He didn't want any more condolences or apologies. He just wanted to leave!

-=-=-=-

The crowd was expected, as was the number of people gathered there. It wouldn’t be long, the service in general Mohawk tradition dictated days of mourning, but surrounding the actual body itself and viewing was deemed short giving Ziio’s... condition. A closed casket bearing the mark of her clan. It would be the last gift he could give to her.

They didn’t approach him, not one of them and for that he was grateful. Condolences were nothing to him now. Throughout the service he felt eyes on him, and ignored them. Eyes were on him always, trying to gauge his reactions, forcing him to show emotion. No, he lost that ability a long time ago, when the world was far less cruel than it was now. Anyone who did approach him received a simple nod or empty stare, the devoid depths of cold grey a sincere warning; do not bother me.

Treading with caution would do nothing but serve to irritate him at this point.

If they expected a speech, they were sorely mistaken. He‘d prepared one, sure, but he wasn’t up to the task. He wanted to leave this place, to make this trip quick and painless and to forget about New Rochelle, the clan, and her...

A convulsion of the worst kind clutched his heart. To forget what he spent twenty years trying to remember. To forget what he clung to. To forget what made this city different from the others.

He almost had a home. He now had the dust of what could have been, to be swept into a barren strip of Earth. Still his face never changed.

“Haytham, Connor.” He’d expected them all there, and shook everyone’s hand in silence. William was quick to pull him into a brief hug, the first hug he’d received in days, and he was quick to tersely accept it. He was torn between tensing and laying his head to rest on a tailored shoulder, if just for a moment.

“Condolences mean nothing, but I’m no less sorry for your loss.” They parted, Haytham nodding once and clapping William on the back, the gesture returned. “I don’t care what it takes, what it costs. We will find who did this, who and why. It’s a shame capital punishment is illegal here.”

“That may be for the best.” The first time Lee had spoken to Haytham in almost a week, and Haytham could only eye what was a close friend with intensity before said man added. “She wouldn’t have wanted that...”

There was simply a moment of silence between the two men, Charles clearing his throat and eyeing both Connor and Haytham, his gaze finally resting on his old partner and friend. “... I’ve been cruel, haven’t I? Selfish even. There was so much at stake with the company I thought to... better keep a tab on things by keeping everyone in check. I can only apologize for your loss, for the both of you.” Charles placed a hand on Haytham’s shoulder and squeezed, Haytham unflinching.

“We did not like each other, obviously. We didn’t hide it. But she did not deserve the death she was dealt.” He turned his direction to Connor, keeping a distance, removing his hand from Haytham’s shoulder to offer it to his son. “It’s a miracle you lived. We're glad for it."

"Thank you Charles. Very gracious of you." A little late but appreciated, and Charles let his hand drop when Connor didn't take it, Haytham not instructing him to do so otherwise. He did however clap the man on the shoulder, nodding. "I will see you tomorrow, at the office then."

"No, Haytham, take some time to yourself." William urged it, eyes flitting from Connor to Haytham. Connor would need someone to talk to, the transition had to be difficult for both of them. "Surely that will be more beneficial-"

"I'd rather immerse myself in work, thank you William." Curt and short, William frowned before nodding, clapping Connor very lightly on the back. He waited until Haytham was out of earshot before he leaned in to whisper. "Take care, of both of you." He eyed the retreating back wearily. "He handles his grief... poorly."

-=-=-=-

Charles' apology was... surprising, and perhaps even appreciated, but he had been too much of a dick towards him and his mother; Connor did not feel ready to accept his words just yet. Instead he just stared at the outstretched hand without taking it, meeting Charles' eyes with an unblinking stare until the man withdrew.

William though, he could handle and he managed a small smile as the man clapped him on the back lightly. “I know he does.” he answered as he watched Haytham make his way towards the car. “But there is nothing I can do about it. He'll never listen to me.” Sighing he adjusted his crutches and nodded at William. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Johnson.” before he turned and made his way to Shaun and Myriam, who stood off to the side, waiting.

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?” Myriam asked, the worried tone in her voice unmistakable, and this time Connor's smile was genuine.

“I'll be fine, just wait and see.”

“You better be right about that, mate.” Shaun scoffed as he crossed his arms. “If we notice that you're starting to isolate yourself, I'll come and haul your arse out. Call, alright?”

“Yeah, I'll call tomorrow. Promise.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to come with you, Connor? There's still that mess in the living room and I'm equally responsible for it-”

Connor raised his hand and shook his head, stopping her. “I'll take care of it. It'll give me something to do since I'm stuck inside there anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, and Myriam pulled him into a quick hug, promising to give him a call the next day.

Haytham was already waiting near the car and, figuring that he was probably reaching the limits of his patience Connor climbed in as quickly as he could, not saying a word. The apartment was 20 minutes away and he already knew that these 20 minutes were going to be most uncomfortable and awkward. Hopefully there would be no paparazzi when they arrived... that was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

-=-=-=-

His functions- greetings, the few words he spoke, his brief movements- all mechanical. He’d accuse his mind of being elsewhere but it simply was not. He existed as he always did, it would be no different. Sooner or later, he’d adjust once again. He’d done it before at a much younger age. He contemplated as much as he opened his own car door, sitting in the drivers side in silence.

Just a hurtle. He’d forget her, someday.

And with that omission came the pain.

Forgetting her meant forgetting what made him feel connected. Human. It meant changing the channel every time her favorite movies were on. It meant throwing away every letter she wrote, no matter how brief. The fleeting lip twitches and smiles they shared. Twenty years of caring for her, long after he thought she simply did not.

The letters, Tupperware, and dream catchers were easy enough to avoid. But how does one avoid the changing seasons, the taste of game, or the fleeting moments shared?

He needed noise, the static quite was drowning him. The first song chosen played clearly and softly, a station she often played.

/...I found a reason for me, to change what I used to be, a reason to start over knew, and the reason is you-/

No. Another angry flip, and he landed on a rock station.

/So don’t you cry tonight-/

No. Another flip, and an older station.

/Come on, baby. Don’t fear the reaper-/

In his desperation he flipped to the very last station on his radio, so very aware that his iPod sat beside him, unwilling to touch it because she had loaded every damnable song onto it for him one Saturday afternoon.

/Tell me how am I supposed to live without you? Now that-/

He resisted slamming a fist through the radio if just barely, shutting the dam thing off and settling for staring straight ahead, nails digging into the palm of his hands.

He couldn’t note how long it took for Connor to climb in, but as soon as he buckled up Haytham sped off, murmuring. “I’m going to work. I’ll drop you off at...” home didn’t quite describe it, it would do no justice... “... our apartment.”

He said not a damn thing past that, unable to look in Connor’s direction. His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel when he glanced and caught a glimpse of a bear claw necklace and lengthening black hair.

Had he met brown eyes, those same brown eyes, he would have swerved into oncoming traffic. Whether intentionally or not would have been up for debate.

Of course, the media hounds were waiting. Some of which he knew, some of which he’d rather not.

“Get inside, as quickly as possible.” The attention was unwanted, especially for someone so unfamiliar with it. William had done his best, but there were some things even he couldn’t control, one being the audacity of the media.

He wouldn’t leave Connor to fend for himself and put the car in park, stepping out to walk his son to the elevator at the very least, waiting for the onslaught.

“Mr. Kenway, is your son to be the ‘heir’ to the enterprise?”

“Connor, a picture with your father-”

“Why keep this hidden for so long, Mr. Kenway? The corporation fights for a noble cause-”

“It was rumored that you were a homosexual after your relationship with Mr. Birch was leaked. Do you have anything to say about that?”

He did pause for that, eyes narrowed slightly. “What I do in my private time is no one’s concern.” Wonderful, now his sexual interest were to be publicized.

“So did you meet the Indian-”

“Native, for god sake, she was a Native American, and I will not answer that. Do the calculation, addition and subtraction isn’t all that difficult.” He opened the door to the lobby for Connor, knowing full well they couldn’t follow him inside. Good, to get back to work, away from the vultures.

“How profoundly has her loss affected you? She was a secret for over twenty years-”

… He didn’t remember throwing that punch. He didn’t remember turning around. He felt the sting of his hand and little else, except rage. And the touch of a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away. As luck would have it, he would follow, the fleeting touch of her lips and smell of her skin still on his mind, his eyes blur of regret.

He’d settle out of court if he was sued. Luckily, the reporter had been male. That was the only coherent thing he could muster to think before being pulled into the lobby, eyes down cast and shoulders hunched, but facial expression never changing.

He didn't even look up, he knew full well who pulled him away.

-=-=-=-

Oh god no they were there, waiting for them! Couldn't he stay in the car? Haytham might be used to dealing with these vultures but he wasn't! As quickly as possible? He was walking... no, limping with fucking crutches! How was he supposed to be quick like this?!

At least his father stayed with him, providing a shield between him and the paparazzi who swarmed the car the moment they stepped out, and steered him towards the double entry doors of the lobby, while dodging questions and pushing away cameras.

Fuck, this was horrible! Was this going to happen every time he stepped outside? How did Haytham deal with this on a daily basis?!

No, he wasn't the fucking 'heir' nor did he want to be. No, he didn't want to stop for pictures with his father while half his brain was still back at the cemetery and no, he didn't- wait a second. He flashed Haytham a confused stare, not sure whether he had heard that correctly as he was ushered into the lobby. Homosexual? Him?

He wasn't confirming it... but he wasn't denying it either.

“How profoundly has her loss affected you? She was a secret for over twenty years-”

Connor managed one short glare, eyes narrowing at the sheer rudeness of that question, before Haytham suddenly lunged, ramming his fist in the man's face hard enough even Connor winced at the blow. Everyone quieted in an instant, multiple pairs of shocked eyes staring between Haytham and the man who was no cradling his nose, and Connor quickly put his hand on his father's shoulder to pull him inside. Using one of his crutches to close the door he quickly led him to the side, out of sight from the reporters outside and glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed.

He could understand, really... the question had enraged him too and had he been in a better condition himself, he would have started throwing punches as well... well, at least now he knew where he got his short fuse from.

“Who is Birch?” It felt awkward to ask, but he couldn't deny he wasn't curious... he'd never pinged his father for a man with an interest in the same gender.

-=-=-=-

He said nothing at first, simply pressing the elevator button. "It's none of your business." Short and to the point, he eyed the doors warily, watching the paparazzi swarm before stepping inside the elevator himself. William would have enough on his plate now, never mind if certain media personnel decided to ask other questions.

He'd have to wait to work... which meant alone time. With his son. With his tan skin, dark hair and Native trinkets.

He stepped out of the the elevator and opened his front door quickly, stepping over the mess in his living room and heading straight towards the liquor cabinet. The corkscrew couldn't open that bottle any sooner, Haytham tempted to grab a glass before pausing and pressing the bottle straight to his lips, gulping like it was water.

It burned a bit more than that. He set it down when there was half a bottle left, then fetched a glass in silence. He needed out of his clothes.

Wordlessly, he left towards the shower, bathing quickly and scrubbing furiously to rid himself of that funeral smell; potpourri and candles simply offered no comfort. He threw his suit in the garbage, only because he lacked an incinerator.

He could work on his laptop but the sight of his own room, the bed they had shared was something he couldn't deal with. If he pressed his nose to a pillow case, he could still faintly smell her hair.

It was safest in the kitchen, no clothing, no cloth could absorb the smell there.

Connor was about done cleaning, the living room beginning to resemble its former self as Haytham pulled up a chair and opened files to stare blankly. It was far too quiet, but he wouldn't dare to touch the traitorous radio, nor play the songs on any play list.

Was their anything left she hadn't tainted?

Another glass of wine and he paused as Connor folded a blanket, fingering the edge of his glass. His tolerance wasn't particularly high, he wasn't a grand drinker. The television, he never watched anything that wasn't with her. Nothing to end the static sound of white noise wringing in his ears, to keep her voice from his mind. She haunted him for days, growing stronger in his solitude.

Something had to break the silence.

"My sister's ex-fiance. My drill Sergeant. My first lover. Take your pick."

Slurring slightly, Haytham shut his laptop and rested his head in his hand. Not many people knew this story, and those who did mostly knew contorted facts thanks to a certain slip from Hickey in an interview.

"I was sixteen. They'd parted years prior. He was forty... something. I don't recall. It was brief but pleasant, save for the world finding out and having a field day at little Edward Kenway's lad being a 'homosexual.' Blasted eighties. Closed minded... contrite... shit."

He paused, angrily glancing at his glass of wine. "If it wasn't that, it was, 'oh, you date Indians and Natives, Haytham? The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice, Haytham? Like forbidden jungle and forest fruits, do ya, Haytham? As if it were anyone's business. So what if I did and still do? Everyone gets infected with illness, bleeds the same blood and meets the same fate eventually. Why should it matter?"

Why in the world was he sharing so much? He thought to question it but the buzz in his head was far more comfortable than the silence, and he asked in a voice fairly pleasant. "Anything else you want to know? C'mon, who knows when you'll ever get the chance again."

-=-=-=-

None of his business? No, he supposed it wasn't.

The living room looked even messier than it had been when they left. Haytham ignored it all and went straight towards his bathroom and for a moment he regretted not taking up on Myriam's offer to help him clean this all up. Too late though.

Bending down was awkward and hurt if he wasn't careful, which made picking up the various empty mountain dew cans and the occasional pizza box more than a chore. He folded all the blankets and collected all the pillows, taking them back to their respective places, and stuffed all the blu-ray discs back into the cabinet they had come from..

The whole place looked a lot better already though it still wasn't perfect... but no one could expect him to do a great job today. It would have to do.

Loosening his tie he picked up his crutches again and made his way towards the kitchen, where he found his father sitting at the table behind a laptop, a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand. He scrunched his nose and shook his head before opening the fridge and looking at what it held... of course he didn't expect there to be anything he liked or fancied now.

"My sister's ex-fiance. My drill Sergeant. My first lover. Take your pick."

Who? Birch? Furrowing his eyebrows he closed the refrigerator door and turned, leaning against the kitchen counter. It was difficult not to notice the light slur in his father's voice; he wasn't completely drunk but there was a flush to his face indicating that he was at least a little tipsy. Surely he would have never shared this story if it wasn't for the wine, and Connor listened in silence... sixteen. He had been sixteen, with a forty year old? Ew.

Not that he had been much older when he first had sex; it had happened a few days after his seventeenth birthday, but at least he had been with someone in his twenties. The age difference hadn't been that big.

Haytham's story left him with questions though... he had admitted to having had sex with another man and liking it, so that either made him gay or bi-sexual... so that meant... “Did you ever truly love mom? B efore all of this, before you met again?” He could believe that his father really had finally developed feelings for her, wanting to marry her and all... but what of before?

His eyes flicked up to Haytham's face. “Or was it just a physical thing at first?”

-=-=-=-

"… Lad..." Grey eyes truly met the brown he'd ignored for days, and for the first time he saw a presence that was not Ziio, if only because of that question.

"Yes. Yes, that is exactly what it was. Physical!" Practically knocking down the wine glass, he searched out his shoes immediately, putting them on with shaking hands. "After Reginald turned out to be my sister's murderer- oh, did I forget to mention that? He murdered my sister and father, which is what landed me in that blighted military camp after I stabbed one of his assailants to death- oh, I didn't mention that to you either, judging by that look on your face! Well, after all of that the last thing I needed was physicality."

Eyes narrowed to slits, he took out his cell phone and texted Charles quickly. Pick me up. I want to go to work. I'm at home. Come now.

His conversation continued the moment he pocketed his phone. "You truly have no tact, do you? Do you have any idea what you just insinuated about your mother? I understand you dislike me, boy, but do you think your mother would have such little respect for herself?"

It was hardly work clothing but what he wore would do. No one would question him, and his phone vibrated immediately, Charles only a few minutes away.

He'd wait in the lobby, by himself.

Closing the door behind him, Haytham could but muster one last glare at his son, shaking his head. "There is a reason she never told you about our history. She took it to her grave and I will take it to mine." The door shut with a slam, Haytham immediately storming toward the elevator.

He'd be back in a few days. Other than that, let Connor fend for himself.

-=-=-=-

Connor jumped at the slam of the door, wide open eyes staring at the place his father had just stood as his mind still reeled from the information he had just been given. It wasn't... he hadn't meant it like that!

Haytham was right... he didn't have any tact. This... explained things. He hadn't known about his sister, that she had been murdered as well as her father, that Birch had been responsible and that he, his father, had stabbed someone to death.

He had been angry as well, angry at what had happened and it needed an outlet, which it had found in his father... he had never bothered to think about what his life had been like, nor did he want to. He was an asshole, he'd probably always be an asshole but something had made him that way.

And now Connor felt bad, for raking up painful memories during this already so difficult time... it hadn't all been his fault, Haytham had been even colder and distant towards him than he had before the accident but that didn't change the fact that... that he would have to apologize to his father.

He had gone too far and he knew it. That he hadn't meant it that way was no excuse.

Pulling his eyes away from the door Connor buried his face in his hands, his curses coming out muffled before he dragged himself onto his feet and made his way to his bedroom.

Undressing he took his sweet time taking a long, hot bath, the water soothing his sore muscles and the healing bruises he sported, until his fingers starting pruning.

He dried himself slowly and glanced at the foggy mirror, slowly running the towel over it until he could see his reflection. His wet hair clung to his skin like spiderwebs, dripping cold drops of water onto his shoulders and down his back. He pushed a few strands out of his eyes and glanced down at the razor he used for shaving resting on the edge of the sink, and remembered what Myriam had told him earlier this morning.

'It's getting too long, don't you think? Shouldn’t you cut it sometime? Just a bit...'

So much had changed already, he thought as he picked up the razor and looked at his reflection again. Might as well make a few more changes.

~*~

Two days later Haytham still hadn't returned. Connor spent most of his time on the couch in front of the TV, trying not to move too much, unless he really had to, to go to the bathroom or to get something to eat, as he couldn't wrap the bandages around his chest tight enough on his own, but as long as he was careful and didn't breathe in too deeply it was fine.

As promised he kept in touch with Shaun and Myriam over the phone but refused their offers to keep him company, stating that he wanted some time to himself. The real reason was that he didn't want anyone to be here when Haytham finally returned... they needed to talk. He needed to apologize. In private.

Zapping with one hand he ran his fingers over the side of his head again; he didn't regret shaving away what he had, he rather liked the new look but it took some time getting used to.

He glanced at his phone; it was damaged in the accident, with a big scratch in the screen but it was still functional, as his thumb rested over the call button, his eyes on his father's number, before he canceled and tossed the phone onto the pillow again. Haytham stayed away because he didn't want to talk to him.

Connor just had to be patient for a little while longer and hope that when he did come back... he'd be willing to at least listen.

-=-=-=-

Short, curt, direct- the tears in the director's eyes affirmed his decision. Weak, making careless errors because of his absence. Weak in the face of his own weakness. Well, no longer. No longer would he stand for an useless insubordination from the likes of these so called professionals.

Charles clapped a hand to his shoulder, squeezing before clearing out his throat, loudly. "Once again, Haytham, you have tackled another issue our corporation would have been blind against if not for your resounding attention the last few days."

"I suppose staying in ones office will do such things." He should be so lucky the gym held a shower; he couldn't go without a daily fifteen minute shower at the very least. He speculated if the same was to be said of Charles, but chased the thought away. Such immaturity, it was glandular, clearly.

Whoever suggested otherwise would soon face termination.

"Your increased attention is surely paying off. Granted the reasonings are... less than desirable, but you're making the best of a tense situation. It's admirable."

Nodding, Haytham silently agreed, very much intent on spending the very same evening in his office, content on sleeping on the overstuffed couch.

"It would be more admirable if you spent some time with your sure to be worried son."

"He's fine, William. Twenty one years old and fully capable of taking care of himself."

Frowning, William counted out on his fingers, softly. "Sure, I mean he's only partially crippled for the time being, in a state of culture shock living with you, in a state of loss because of his mother-"

"What would you have me do, pat him on the cheek and read him a fairy tale? The lad is an adult." His attention almost turned back to Charles when he was cut off again, William shutting off the centrifuge the two men congregated near.

Haytham glowered. "You just potentially ruined my experiment."

"You're potentially ruining your son's life. He's suffering a loss, Haytham. Whatever he did to upset you-"

"I never said anything of the sort, I'm not upset."

"-was done so because he himself is hurting. He needs a father, not an apartment atop of the world."

Frowning, Haytham turned to William, smoldering eyes meeting concerned ones. And for a moment, the edges softened. "I've dealt with my fair share of grief, alone. Am I not better because of it?"

For a long time William said nothing, looking into the eyes of the man before him. "I couldn't say. But if you don't mind experimenting with your son's emotional state to find out, perhaps that's all the answer we need."

"William-"

Shoes clacked away, down and over the pristine hallway and out of the laboratory, the door shutting behind him as Charles turned to him.

"So, Chinese for lunch?"

~*~

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was some truth to William's words. Like hell if he'd tell him that.

The paparazzi had backed off considerably after the initial punch. William had opted to settle out of court for obvious reasons. It remained unpublicized, the settlement promising to be large. Haytham couldn't be bothered with the details, and William hadn't troubled him about them. In regards to that matter, anyway.

What his problem truly involved was Connor.

It wasn't so much what he said, it wasn't that Haytham divulged a lot of surprising information, it was that he looked so damned much like her. The hair color, the eyes, the complexion; he bore Haythams lips on another being. He ventured to guess they smelled similar, they'd even hunted similar. The only true difference was his slighter aversion to tradition; where as you could clearly tell her heritage, Connor occasionally dressed in everyday attire, minus the feathers and beads.

It was fine, he hadn't bothered him. He in fact looked forward to him perhaps embracing that as his preferred fashion. It would keep Ziio out of his mind. Out of sight, out of mind, surely their was truth to that.

He arrived home with a pizza, if only because he remembered what toppings Connor liked- and, of course, a case of Mountain Dew. The only thing missing was a spoon for the boy to chew on...

What Connor liked. That's what he would focus on, Connor. Placing the pizza down and toeing off his shoes, Haytham cleared his throat, the faint glimmer of the living room television bright. "Connor, I-"

… his breath left him.

Long, black and tied back, the sides of his head completely shaved. Feathers, at least three stuck from behind them, a tribal arm band strapped around a bicep, and his mothers necklace dawning his chest. He lay bare and tan against the cushions, the bindings of his bandages somewhat loose, and when brown eyes met his, he forgot, just for a moment, how to breathe.

He could taste pumpkin and deer, see the autumns foliage in reds and yellows about the trees. Could hear her call to him from a tree, when he- in his studies, typing away- had ignored her for too long. He'd apologize and grin, attempting to follow her, and she'd show him the finer points of climbing. His Ziio.

… was no longer.

He almost staggered but recovered. "Pizza... on the table. I'll join you." He wasn't sure what was worse, the deafening voice that shouted Ziio was dead in his mind or his eyes, raking in the sight of the next closest thing just a few inches away.

He changed quickly, into jeans and a black muscle t-shirt, red hair tie in place as he emerged some minutes later, no less disheveled. The bottle of tequila he brought tot the kitchen table, however, should do the trick.

-=-=-=-

Connor heard the door open before Haytham called out or even walked into the living room. He muted the TV with the remote, tossing it on the couch and then looked up, meeting his father's eyes briefly to find them staring, slightly wide and unblinking.

Haytham nearly fled the room and Connor frowned... odd, but he supposed he should be used by his father's behavior by now. Then again he looked a little different from the last time Haytham had seen him so maybe he shouldn't be surprised. That he had brought them pizza was surprising though. Good timing too, he was getting hungry.

He couldn't stop the wince as he carefully sat upright and pressed a hand against his ribs – dammit, he really had to ask him to help him with that soon – and reached for the crutches. He rose from the couch slowly and glanced in the direction of his father's bedroom, hearing him rustle about within, and limped his way into the kitchen where he found not only a freshly baked, hot pizza, but also a case of Mountain Dew.

Huh... okay?

“Thanks...” he muttered as Haytham shuffled back into the kitchen, wearing clean clothes but looking no less disheveled and tired, and sat down carefully. Better get it out sooner rather than later... “Listen, dad... um...” Connor kept his eyes on his hands as he laced his fingers together and rested them on the edge of the table. “About before... I... I said some things I shouldn't have and for that, I'm sorry. I didn't know, but even so, it wasn't my place to say such things. So... yeah... sorry.”

He glanced up, meeting Haytham's eyes briefly before he looked away again and leaned back into his chair. “I was also wondering if... later, you could help me with these.” He made a vague gesture towards the bandages. “They're a little loose.”

-=-=-=-

He almost missed it the first time, fiddling with the shot glass of tequila before removing two from the cupboard, placing them on the table with a raised eyebrow.

"… Connor." He turned to face his son, lips twitching. "That was the worst apology I have ever heard. I hope you realize this is coming from me."

Grabbing plates he set them down, shaking his head. "You spoke without thinking about the consequences or fully intending to say what you did. As a result... an argument of sorts broke out." Again, his lips twitched, and even his eyes hinted of something else. "It's as if you're my son and have no concept of personal boundaries."

Who would have thought he'd inherit that of all things, at least the mentality. Clapping a hand on Connor's shoulder, he frowned. "I haven't exactly lead by example." His frown deepened at the loose bandages, a sigh escaping him. He was an adult, damn it. He should have a grip.

"… a truce, then. We're... not apt in the department of grief." He poured Connor and himself a shot, clinking the glasses together before downing one, blanching. That was awful. So awful he did a second for the burn.

"Your hair." An eye twitched as he sat down, examining it. "I quite like it."

-=-=-=-

Oh? Well fine then, he wouldn't bother with an apology the next time! He had meant it, every word, and Haytham insisted on stomping it back into the dirt and grinding his heel in by saying it sucked. Well thanks a lot.

… he wasn't interested in another argument though, so he didn't bother with a reply and instead grabbed a slice of pizza – huh, his favorite toppings too – and bit into it angrily, trying to ignore the hand on his shoulder.

He wasn't a heavy drinker, never had been and he eyed the tequila with a wary look. He caught Haytham's grimace as he swallowed his own shot and that didn't make him particularly eager to drink the stuff himself, but... getting drunk now didn't even sound that bad.

“Thanks.” he muttered and quickly ran a hand over his mohawk before grabbing his glass and lifted it, before downing it in one gulp – if Haytham could do that, who he knew wasn't a heavy drinker either, then so could he – but he regretted it instantly as the drink burned all the way down. He flopped forward, resting his forehead against the wood of the table and coughed, once, twice, trice and braced his hands against his ribs with a wince. Oh bad idea, that had been a bad idea!

“Tastes awful.” he croaked and slowly straightened again, eyeing his glass before pushing it forward and nodded at the bottle. Tasted awful, but it was working, if the woozy feeling he felt in his head was any indication.

“So, now what?” he asked and took his refilled glass back, planning on savoring it this time. “I mean... how are we going to make this work in the meantime? I don't exactly plan on staying here any longer than I have to.” Surely he could find his own place once he was back on his feet again, and surely Haytham would love to have his apartment to himself again in the near future.

-=-=-=-

"Didn't think you were that desperate to leave, but alright. I'm sure I could pay your rent and you your own utilities in a place of your choosing. You won't have to put up with the likes of me any longer than necessary, and I can..." He paused, thinking about it, mulling it over for a moment.

"..." He needn't be at the office all day anymore, he was only doing so to escape a memory. There was London, but like hell if he'd ever visit Queen Anne's Square, let alone his mother who had pretty much given him up. His family was either dead or deserved to be.

There was no one to turn to, not any longer. This was to be his home...

He was to have a wife, and child- children, but one he could raise this time, the way he wanted to. One that wouldn't hate him for what he couldn't be. But the dream fell to nothingness before his very eyes.

And for the first time, in a long time, he had no idea what he would do now.

"In Queen Anne's Square, plays and operas were performed regularly. Some I never saw to their finish. Les Misérables was a favorite. One song, in particular, I'd almost forgotten it. Well... I can understand now, what that woman sings of." Fingering the bottle before him, he took far more than a shot and swallowed, breathlessly attempting to get air before standing on shaky legs, beginning to make his way towards his bedroom.

"Life has killed the dream I dreamed, indeed."

-=-=-=-

“Because clearly you don't want me around either. I understand that your work is important to you but you're there 95% percent of the time and you've been avoiding me for two days straight. At the risk of sounding like a whiny brat...” As well as having to admit this to his father, his poor pride. “I kinda need your help for a while longer...” Which was why he wouldn't accept the offer of Haytham paying just so that he could live on his own; he needed daily help with the bandages, walking was a painful chore, he didn't have a car or any kind of other funding... it's simply wasn't realistic.

That meant he had to stay here for the time being, and that meant that they had to make this work.

He watched his father move to his bedroom and eyed the bottle again, sighing and filling another shot for himself. This had to work...

By the time he got to his feet as well his legs were trembling and his vision was a little hazy around the edges; it was strong stuff for someone with as little tolerance for alcohol as he had. Making his way towards his father's bedroom he stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame, scratching the loose wrappings around his chest. Damn things itched.

“Mom wouldn't want us to fight.” he said softly and looked down at the floor, not really sure where to look now. “She may not be... here anymore, in this world, but she wouldn't have wanted this. She always hoped for us to get along, and I know I haven't been trying very hard, have been a shitty son to you and made things difficult, but... I do want this to work, dad. You're-” the only family I have left, but he couldn't get those words past his lips.

Swallowing thickly he raised his head and glanced off to the side, staring at a spot on the wall as his fingers slowly clenched into fists and relaxed again. “I can't do this by myself. Even with her gone, I want to keep doing the things that would have made her happy in life, but I can only do so much on my own. I need you-” Turning his head he met his father's grey-blue eyes with his own, the determination clear on his face. “-to help me make this work. For her.”

-=-=-=-

He never shut the door, simply laying on his side as he so often did. Colors passed with the setting sun, and he felt nothing. Not silence, not static, just nothing. As if he couldn't properly breathe.

By the time Connor staggered over, the varied lights had long since faded, airplanes occasionally passing by, their red blips the only clue that they weren't distant stars. He remained seated, simply waiting for more criticisms to be had.

Unexpected and unprepared, he sat up wobbly. No, she wouldn't. But she wasn't here. But... the light from the following room showed enough of Connor's face. He wasn't alone, not yet. Perhaps he should revel in that while it lasted.

All he wanted to do was forget her. Not to allow her memory to continually haunt him, and he staggered forward, approaching his son. "Bandages, I should change them." Flipping the light switch, he blatantly ignored the tears in his eyes and got what he needed. "Sit, on the bed." A little more clumsy than he would've been but still capable, he began removing the bandages, from around Connor's ribs slowly, carefully.

"… You remind me of her." The cracking sound of his own voice caught himself off guard. He wouldn't look up. For a moment, he wished he'd left the light off, but he'd be unable to see.

"I wasn't that angry. You've said worse, unintentionally or not. But you resemble her." His eyes didn't leave the bandages, didn't leave the bruised skin. It looked soft to touch.

It was soft, warm. He removed the bandages slowly, and found himself unable to look into eyes he knew were staring at him. He could feel it. "I don't want to be reminded of what I almost had again. I want what I lost."

He mustered the nerve to look up, one hand touching the thick, ebony hair, tracing feathers before falling to rest on a broad shoulder. "For one night, I'd like to forget. I simply want to know how."

-=-=-=-

Connor did not comment on the sudden change of subject, especially not when he caught the glimmer of tears in his fathers eyes as the light switched on, and obediently made his way over to the bed. He sat down carefully, feeling the mattress dip under his weight, and placed the crutches down next to him.

He wasn't quite sure how to answer that as his father began to gently unwrap the bandages; he obviously had features of both his parents, but appearance wise he was a lot more like Ziio, especially at first glance, though he could recognize bits and pieces that belonged to Haytham if he scrutinized himself in the mirror. No, he didn't suppose that he was making this any easier for the man, by reminding him of her but there was nothing he could do about that, was there?

His eyes followed the movements of his father's fingers as they touched his hair and stroked along the decorative feathers he had clipped in, before a hand landed on his shoulder, and as he looked up he found Haytham looking him, directly.

He could... perhaps understand what his father was trying to say, but surely he didn't want to forget about Ziio completely? Connor sure couldn't, nor did he want to. She'd be alive in his memories and in his heart until the moment he died, always a part of him.

He should... say something, but what? What if he said something wrong again? He had never been great with words, and it was all too easy to say something that would anger his father, whether it was done intentionally or not.

This was a side of Haytham he had never seen before; he was always closed off, distant, cold... but now Connor felt like the door had opened a bit, just enough to catch a glimpse of the man underneath the layers and walls Haytham kept around himself.

Part of him was glad for it, that his father was allowing him to see this. The other part hated it because he didn't know how to deal with it. What to say.

“I'm... if there's something that I... I mean, I don't know how either, but if I can help, I'll try.” It was the least he could do. Despite everything, their differences, their arguments - and they would continue, he was sure of it - he didn't want to push his father away. Haytham was the only family he had left, and while he didn't know if Haytham had any other relatives that were still alive... what if he didn't?

What if he was the only one left for him too?

-=-=-=-

Haytham was aware, even as his mind began to fog around the edges. The response from Connor... he'd been turned down, pushed away, misunderstood. Not just by him, no, by most everyone. Ziio seemed the only one who knew him and didn't avert her eyes. Even she turned away, for some time. It didn't matter now though.

He wanted to forget. Connor was willing to help, whether he was aware of how to or not.

"Thank you." A large hand stroked, watching bruises disappear under his hand. They needed to be cared for. As did the one on his hip, no doubt. "You need the wrap on your hip changed... we should do that now." Grey eyes lifted, calmly, observing the calm eyes before him.

Tequila, the smell of it lingered between the two of them. Even through the thickness, he could smell sandalwood, and a musk he couldn't quite recognize.

It comforted him. "Let's have a look." Yes, a look.

-=-=-=-

Things were quiet as fresh bandages were re-wrapped around his chest. Connor sat as still as he could, keeping his breathing slow and even as they tightened, enough so his healing ribs wouldn't shift if he suddenly breathed in too deeply. It sucked, not being able to do so... he'd rather break a leg next time.

“... yeah, you're welcome.” he muttered as Haytham finished, and he reached for his crutches to stand up-

"You need the wrap on your hip changed... we should do that now."

What? Connor's eyes flicked up before they glanced down, staring at the bit of padding that poked out of his pants. Er... he could do that himself no problem, because changing those wrappings meant he had to take everything off, and he wasn't too eager to do that with his father watching him.

“I...” he sighed. He could say no. He had every damn right to say no! But... this was the first time in... in... what, weeks? that he and Haytham talked normally again, without any yelling or screaming or flinging insults at each other.

And Haytham was only trying to help, he reminded himself as he absently stroked his fingers over the perfectly tied wrappings around his ribs. Haytham knew what he was doing, right?

Oh alright, fine then! But it was going to be awkward! Not to mention embarrassing...

He couldn't even look at his father's face as he reached down and undid his belt, pulling it free before he popped the button and pulled his zipper down. He could already feel a blush creep onto his cheeks as he stood and pushed his jeans and underwear down, having to lean on Haytham as he pulled his bad leg free before sitting down again and kicking his pants off all the way, letting them crumple on the floor.

Right... biting the inside of his cheek he curled his fingers into the sheets, staring at the light switch on the wall as he tried not to think about the fact that he was sitting butt naked in his father's bedroom with him watching.

-=-=-=-

The hesitance, he didn't understand. Tipsy as he was, he eyed the wrappings already done, judging them to be perfect, as per usual. So, why...

Oh.

Right, it was the junction between hip and thigh... not just his hip but his leg as well. Ah. Had he been sober, a faint tinge would to grace his features. This was far from the first nude body he'd encountered, medically or otherwise. Of course, it was also his son.

No matter. He hadn't realized how difficult it was for the lad to merely change.

He distracted himself, counting a few freckles across Connor's arms. The few on his face were next, Haytham readying more wrappings, silently peeling the ones on his leg off. They were a little too tight. Connor probably hadn't realized.

He let himself wince as he looked at the injury, warm finger carefully grazing the large, discolored bruise. Almost black and purple, the very edges that deep yellow color of something trying to heal. It must hurt.

It stuck out so largely against his skin. There were no other blemishes to be seen, very few scars- far fewer than Haytham had himself- lining him. One on the knee, and no other ones until his eyes met his shoulder, the patch of pink scar tissue evident on his skin. Rougher looking than everything.

Scars always tasted differently under tongue, rough against the taste buds. Hers did, with her dark hair and smooth, olive skin. He couldn't help but wonder if Connor's did as well, even as he dressed the wrapping. Every bit of him was perfectly smooth, shaven. He almost asked what he used but stopped himself just in time.

"Done." He offered his hand, helping him into the sitting position, turning to fetch pants before shaking his head. Light headed, alcohol truly did wonders, and Haytham turned to mention as much to Connor before he promptly stilled.

A feather had fallen from its clip. The pants fell from his hands as he moved to pick it up. "Here." Fingers caressed hair, inserting the feather back in and adjusting it. "That's better." He changed position to face his son, sitting on the side of the bed.

He cupped his cheek, unable to prevent the smile. His mind seemed hazed, lackadaisical, heavy with alcohol. He rather liked that. "Truly are a handsome lad, aren't you?" He fought the chuckle at the flush, pressing his forehead to his sons.

"You really..." He backed away slowly, if only to take in the confused flush that blessed Connor's cheeks, deep eyes focused on him now. He flushed for him, for his words alone.

"Truly..." A bit cold, and muscular. Caramel skin splayed out beneath him. Perfect for claiming, for biting. How would it taste, beneath his lips?

"Are..." In an exhale, and he could feel his son breathing, could hear his heart beating. Time stilled. His heart thrummed. The similarities that stung him seconds ago provided relief now, perhaps warmth.

Haytham said nothing, not as he leaned in. Not as he pressed an openly inviting kiss to the mouth beneath his own, searching for anyway to slip himself inside. There was nothing gentle about it. His lips were parted going in, and at the lack of response he bit down on the lower lip against him, using the surprise as leverage.

Black hair quickly threaded between fingers as his grip tightened, his other hand already marking a trail on his back. Nails dug in instantly. His tongue explored greedily, hungrily, Haytham's head titling deeper to allow for better access, grip tight, trailing out of hair to grip the back of his neck, hard.

For a moment, just for a moment, he lived again. Passionately and freely.

-=-=-=-

Connor allowed himself to be guided down until he was flat on his back, and stared up at the ceiling. It helped that he had drank a couple of tequila shots; he was tipsy enough to not completely freak out. Okay, freak out was over-exaggerating things maybe, but the whole situation was just weird.

He tensed slightly as he felt the wrapping slowly being removed; he wasn't a blushing first-timer or anything, absolutely not, but there were still fingers working very close to his genitals even though there was nothing sexual about it.

Connor blamed it on the alcohol.

He couldn't stop the wince as Haytham gently stroked the large bruise, the area still sensitive. He counted the seconds as his father worked, applying a new dressing and wrapping it in place, not quite realizing that his breathing had picked up a little, until-

"Done."

Oh thank you! Nodding he took the offered hand and slowly sat up again, his expression scrunching up in slight discomfort, and reached out to accept his pants, eager to put them back only for Haytham to drop them again and go for the fallen feather instead. Hello! Forget the feather, he wanted his pants back!

Now he felt even more than just confused, which was the only reason he even sat still as it was clipped back in place with the others at the nape of his neck. The hell was going on?!

“Dad?” he asked, uncertain brown eyes meeting steel grey that looked slightly glazed over as a large hand cupped his cheek to tilt his head up. Maybe... maybe Haytham was more affected by the alcohol than he had first let on, because this was... this was... so unlike him! Yeah, he knew he had a pretty face and his ego sure didn't mind the words one bit but- “Hmf!”

Connor froze completely.

There were lips on him. His father's lips were on his. As in kissing, and not even in a paternal-loving-peck kinda way! It was pressing, demanding, dominating, but Connor was too shocked by the sudden unexpected turn of events to even respond to it; his own lips remained pliant but unmoving underneath his... until Haytham bit down.

He gasped loudly, a sharp burst of pain spreading through his lower lip and his mouth opened before he could even try to stop it. A tight grip on his hair and Connor reached up, pressing his hands against Haytham's shoulders and pushing, before his fingers simply clenched as a hot tongue swirled around the inside of his mouth, swiping over his teeth, reaching every corner and probing his own tongue to coax it into action.

His mind raced, and Connor groaned as sharp fingers trailed down his spine, prompting him to arch his back, not quite sure whether he was trying to lean away from the touch, or try to press closer to the warm body next to him.

His senses were being bombarded and overloaded from all sides; his mind screamed at him that this was wrong, this this was his father of all people and that they shouldn't be doing this, even as he began returning the feverish kiss, digging his fingers into Haytham's shoulders, but through the haze of alcohol clouding his brain, the fact that this was his father didn't seem all that important anymore.

It was good. It felt good. Being naked no longer felt like a problem. Even the tight grip on the back of his neck felt... well, right wasn't the proper word. Nice. It felt nice. For some reason.

By the time his lungs began screaming for air Connor recovered enough of his senses to wrench his face to the side, trying to breathe in as deeply as he could with the bandages restraining his ribs. His lower lip was throbbing lightly where teeth had clamped down on it before, and Connor licked them slowly, staring up at his father's face with dark eyes that were slightly glazed over. And with a hot flush he realized that somewhere during the kiss, his cock had decided that it really quite liked the treatment. “Er...” Swallowing thickly he leaned away slightly, frowning as the hand against the back of his neck prevented him from going too far. “Dad, I'm not quite sure if...” this should continue? Despite his body clearly showing interest.

-=-=-=-

Well about time, some response. And it was a fairly nice one. The flat of his tongue swiped the roof of Connor's mouth, twisting briefly against his own. Exploring, sucking, biting, swiping- his son was delicious, warm. He never thought one could taste young, the tang of mountain dew sticking to his tongue over the overwhelming presence of alcohol. He quite liked that, the saccharine bitterness.

Before more exploration, he pulled away, Haytham cracking his eyes open. The press against him told no lies. Haytham kept his grip firm as Connor stammered.

Giving his son a flat stare Haytham reached down between them; Connor's cock pulsed in his hand, the wordless flush on his face making him trace his tongue over his lips. He squeezed harder, thumb moving to the slit. Impatient he wondered... how often could he cum?

"Connor, you usually don't heed my advice, but I implore you to this time." Haytham growled against his ear, biting his ear lobe as his hand moved up and down the cock in his palm, grip tight, tense. "Shut the fuck up." Again his teeth bit down, on his exposed throat this time, so hard he felt skin split between his teeth and he listened to the boy cry out.

"I don't inspire conversation, I inspire screams."

He pushed Connor backwards onto his bed, and stood only to disrobe. His clothing fell to a crumbled heap, smirking as he licked his lips, eyes drinking in every inch of muscled, contoured caramel. He was over him, naked, covering his body, mindful only of his injuries. Blood pounded through him, his lips a breath away from Connor's, and again his hand slipped into his hair, the other pressing to his son's lips, tapping.

"Deep breath." A short order, the same fingers trailing down the dip of his collar bone, far past his thudding pulse to scratch a path down his abs. He gave no warning before descending, the mouth beneath him open, and he plunged his tongue in again. His other hand explored, reaching between them, cupping Connor's testicles and kneading as he kissed, swallowing any whimpers. Connor would need to pull back for air before him, doubtless.

Good. He'd revel in the punishment.

-=-=-=-

He didn't see Haytham's hand move down between his legs until he felt it, his dry grip tight enough it almost hurt. He grunted and stilled, even as a thumb swiped the slit and his hips bucked before he could stop himself. So different from Myriam's soft touch and teasing fingers; Haytham's hand was much rougher, larger, firmer, calloused. It didn't compare at all. It bordered on uncomfortable as he hadn't even used spit to slick up his palm, but his body seemed to care little for it.

Connor closed his mouth with a clack and tightened his fingers on his father's shoulder, struggling to sit still, to keep from squirming, to keep from making sounds that were louder than the gasps and grunts that already escaped him. The sudden bite on his throat was enough to stomp his struggles back into the ground and he automatically tried to jerk away from the painful bite.

His breath hitched in his throat at those words; yeah, he could believe that with ease. “You... you like it when your partners are loud then?” he asked as he was pushed down on his back and tilted his head so he could watch his father undress.

Loud he could do; he had always been able to easily adapt to his lover's wishes. He had never been particularly picky, not about gender nor about position. If Haytham wanted him to be loud, then loud he could be... unfortunately for his dad he also had a stubborn streak.

His eyes roamed over the expense of naked skin as the last bit of clothes fluttered to the ground, taking in every detail until they drifted down and Connor swallowed thickly, eyes widening. Oh um... wow. Yeah. That was... yeah. He hadn't bottomed in quite some time and this was gonna be a challenge for sure.

That explained why Haytham always walked around with such an air of absolute confidence.

He quickly tore his eyes away from the sight and settled them on his father's face again as the man crawled over him, his hand once again taking a firm grip on his hair. Deep breath? How was he supposed to take a deep breath when he couldn't even inhale all the way because of his ribs? “Wai-” he started but Haytham already leaned down and captured his lips in another rough but thorough kiss. Connor groaned into it, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to match Haytham's pace and squirmed as he felt fingers dip between his legs and begin kneading and massaging his balls.

There was no way he could win this, no way he could hold his breath until Haytham finished. His whimpers and gasps were swallowed up, one heel digging into the mattress as his other leg dangled over the edge of the bed, and he quickly began to feel light headed.

He tried, he tried to hold it because goddamned if this wasn't one of the hottest kisses he'd ever shared with someone, but he needed air! His hands pushed against his father's shoulders as his expression scrunched up in growing discomfort, struggling against his hold. He'd gladly continue the kiss... but only <i>after</i> he caught his breath again!

-=-=-=-

Tensing, moving against him, batting him away. Haytham grinned, allowing it and his eyes fluttered open as they parted slowly. Flushed, breathless, eyes glistening.

Like he had ruthlessly fucked his son's face. He quite liked that look. "Catch your breath..." He leisurely lapped the heightened pulse, bringing his palm to his mouth and spitting. This would be vigorous.

"I do like screams, only if they're deserved." Two fingers pressed between open legs, trailing down Connor's taint and further still, to the puckered, rather small entrance.

It dawned on him, he had never inquired about his son's sexuality.

Instead of asking Haytham pressed forward, Connor's body quivering beneath him as he inserted two fingers. He eyed his face, halting briefly. His chest rose and fell erratically beside him, Haytham adjusting to lay beside his son, interested in seeing his expression change as he fingered him.

Pained, but there was pleasure to be had as well. He didn't stop, simply changed his angle, fingers scissoring once, twice, and on the third time came the tightening. He suppressed a grin at the reaction, barely. "Not a virgin... but not very experienced." He ignored the look he received and licked his lips. "Perfect."

He meant it. Virgins were a bother, whores were jaded. He'd much prefer a natural reaction, particularly arching hips under his fingers as he moved, slowly, each finger individually rubbing the small gland inside him.

"Touch yourself." It wasn't a request. He free hand grabbed Connor's and spit in his palm, eyes gazing to meet the clouded brown, smirking. "C'mon, do it for daddy."

-=-=-=-

Connor heaved in the precious oxygen as Haytham moved away, against his better judgment, and winced, placing a hand over his bandages ribs as he tried to catch his breath without hurting himself even more. Bloody bastard, forcing him breathless like that while knowing he wasn't in the best condition for such a thing.

Was this what alcohol did to his father? Made him all... well... horny sounded about right. And dominant and wanting and not seeming to care that he was about to fuck his own son! Granted, Connor didn't particularly felt like stopping any of this right now either, even though the little voice in the back of his mind kept screaming at him that this was wrong and that this had to stop before it went even further... but through the hazy cloud of alcohol the fact that they were related didn't seem all that important anymore. He knew that this was wrong on so many levels... but it didn't matter. Haytham was so focused on him now, and that... that he liked.

There wasn't enough blood in his brain to contemplate about how incredibly fucking sad that was.

His mind reeled and for the moment Connor just focused on filling his lungs, not noticing the fingers until they trailed over his entrance. Eyes opening he stilled and glanced down with a questioning look in them – so soon already? - but before he could even voice his question out loud- “Jesus Chri-ah!” That burned, pretty badly too. Two fingers and only a bit of saliva to ease the way, combined with his lack of recent practice, there was no way he wasn't going to feel that.

“You've never heard of lube before?!” he snapped and bit his lower lip as the fingers pressed deeper, probing and searching.

Bastard... Twisting fists full of the sheets Connot focused on relaxing his muscles, to accept the invading digits instead of fighting them, to allow the inwards push instead of trying to push them out again, his expression scrunching up in concentration.

Almost... almost... little to the left- there! He bucked, gasping loudly as his muscles tightened around the fingers while the rest of his body sagged against the sheets. Oh much better!

“It's been a while.” he wheezed and spread his legs a bit wider, allowing for easier access and dug his heels into the bed. He rolled his hips onto the fingers, not as much as he would have liked – damn injuries – but he tried nonetheless. And it was for that very reason, the fact that he hadn't bottomed in a long time, that he wasn't going to take his father's (impressive) junk without decent lube. Spit was not decent lube in this case!

"Touch yourself."

Connor snapped his head to the side, his face flushed red as he blinked at his father – was he fucking serious?

"C'mon, do it for daddy."

Ugh, that... those words and that grin shouldn't have gone directly to his cock, but they did and his hand already reached down before he could even think about it.

“I better get something nice in return for putting up a show.” he answered snootily – like lube, that'd be nice – and wrapped his hand around his cock, angling it in just the right way, just how he liked it. This time he didn't bother to bite back the loud moan and he arched his back, tilting his head back as he thumbed the slit before dragging his fingers down the large vein on the side, squeezing.

“N-never... figured you for a voyeur.” he snipped as he twisted his wrist, managing to flash his father a smirk and felt himself tighten around his father's fingers.

-=-=-=-

Mm. And what a show it was. He hadn't appreciated the view before, but Connor's hand stroking, pulling, playing with what was a very nicely sized appendage was nothing short of delicious. He twisted his fingers once more, applying more pressure, replying.

Not with words, oh no. His free hand grabbed Connor's, and directed it to his own erection, closing around his tightly, the smallest of gasps leaving him at the sensation.

"That is your reward. My intention is to fuck you until you forget your name." Curtly, Haytham leaned closer, letting Connor's hand go. "Have you ever been fucked by someone my size, my stature? Not a boy, but a man?" His fingers quickened, the smirk growing on his lips at every groan his son made.

"No, you haven't, have you? You've never had someone grab the back of your neck and throw your face to the sheets." Faster, his hand moved faster, slapping noises lewd and loud as he spoke, his lips pressing against his son's as he did. "You've never had someone scoff at your request for lube, have you? No one's ever spit into their palm, slathered it onto themselves and smacked you on the ass before fucking you senseless."

He quickened his pace, watching the face contort beneath him, feeling him tighten, insides clenching and spasming tight and hot. Harder and faster, so hard his hand hurt from the damn angle but he continued, biting the lips so close to his. "Here's the thing, Connor. I'm a man, so are you. I'm going to fuck you, like a man should. Dominant, hard, fast... so you're cumming so hard you forget your name, your screams breathless." He licked were he had bitten, smiling at the noises, at the the sound of flesh on flesh, and those muscles clamping erratically.

"Cum, so I can bend you over my sheets and fuck you." Graciously, Haytham reached between them, massaging Connor's testicles one more time before licking the seam of his lips. He was ready to fuck his son harder than he'd promised.

-=-=-=-

Oh.

Oh!

Connor swallowed the dry lump in his throat, his wide eyes staring at the ceiling as his fingers were forced to close around rigid flesh, hard and thick and hot and heavy and holy fuck.

He did not answer the question and even as Haytham let go of his hand, Connor did not remove his own, keeping his fingers closed around his father's erection because he needed something to hold on to and it just so happened to be this.

The fingers were speeding up rapidly now, his body welcoming them eagerly, allowing easy access. His body convulsed with the powerful bursts of pleasure it received, his darker skin glistening under a sheen of sweat catching the light of the lamp.

He was getting to the point he barely felt the discomfort and painful throbs in his ribs and hip anymore, not even as he squirmed and twisted, his feet scrabbling over the scratchy sheets to try and find better purchase, wanting, needing to push back on those fingers harder than he already did.

He vaguely realized that his tight grip on Haytham's cock might be bordering on painful, but he couldn't force himself to let go now, not with himself hovering on the edge of what he already knew to be a mind blowing orgasm. He was cursing constantly now, small breathless filthy words that mixed with his increasingly desperate moans and cries he didn't even try to muffle, nearly loud enough to drown out the wet slaps of skin on skin.

The expression on his face said it all; he was close, and desperate to get there, to be pushed over the edge and fall and fall and fall.

Still, he wouldn't be Connor if his stubborn streak did not win out, his body shaking and trembling in the effort of keeping his rapidly approaching orgasm at bay, despite wanting to let go so badly. The touch on his balls drew a garbled, choked out groan from his lips and his whole body tightened, tensing and going rigid like a tightly wound coil, like a serpent getting ready to strike, and with one last, well-aimed prod of fingers against his prostate, Connor's control completely shattered. His scream was only partly swallowed up by Haytham's only lips hovering over them as he bucked and trashed on the bed, shooting stringy ropes of cum onto his stomach and bandaged chest.

He was right... mind blowing orgasm indeed.

-=-=-=-

Haytham tried his best not to groan, both because of Connor's tightening, convulsing body and the grip he had on his cock.

He was a screamer, warm breath hitting his lips as Connor yelled himself almost hoarse. So close to his own face, he could make out the face he made as he came, the flush that covered his cheeks to the maddening little mumbles he made, eyes closed. Even as his body tensed and tightened Connor kept his eyes closed, hair strewn about as thrust against his fingers. There was no smirk to be seen on Haytham's face.

He'd grown accustomed to rather amusing orgasm faces. Never had he seen an attractive one.

He'd meant to give him air, but found himself pressed to Connor's lips, one hand dipping between them to glide up cum coated bandages and abdominal muscles. He wordlessly separated from his son, licking each one of his fingers off and lewdly sucked the last one before kissing him again, sharing the taste of him, tongue winding to caress Connor's.

Removing his fingers from him, Haytham parted slowly and frowned at the slackening hold on his cock. "The grip from before was preferable." He allowed himself to cover Connor's hand and squeeze hard, hard enough to elicit a gasp from himself, shutting his eyes. "Yes, perfect." Perhaps, to be used next time. His erection ached almost painfully now.

Normally he'd toss his bed partner on his or her stomach by this time, but Connor's injuries prevented that. "On your stomach, or hands and knees.” He rose to his knees, spitting into his palm again and slathering quickly before taking a position at the foot of the bed, smirking. Time to reward him with a treat.

-=-=-=-

Connor wheezed for air, barely responsive to anything his father did. He needed some time to come down from his high. He did not respond to the kiss and instead simply stared up at whatever was above him, the ceiling, his father's face, with a sated, glazed over, woozy look in his eyes.

The bitter taste that invaded his mouth as Haytham kissed him though was less than pleasant; he usually didn't mind swallowing the few times he had given blow jobs, but those had never included him swallowing his own seed before.

“Shut up...” he muttered as Haytham forced his fingers to tighten around his still very hard cock and, oh right... they weren't done yet.

Connor managed a glare that was both tired and a little bit irritated – he was comfortable dammit and he didn't feel like moving! - but Haytham was going to do this anyway (and Connor wasn't going to stop him from doing this) and he did realize that in his condition the current position wasn't favorable to his injuries.

Could have done with a please though. But that wasn't Haytham's thing, he had learned that in the very first week already. One thing was clear though; alcohol made his father fucking rough!

His limbs felt like they were made of lead, heavy and sluggish and not listening to his brain, like they were disconnected from his body. He took his sweet time rolling onto his right side with a soft grunt, grimacing at the feel of sticky, sweat-damp sheets clinging to his skin, and pushed his right knee under him, slowly pushing himself up. He was less worried about his ribs than he was about the sprain in his hip, he'd have to keep his weight on his right leg for the most part. He could of course also lay down on his stomach and stretch out over the sheets, but that would put further pressure on his chest and impair his breathing even more, and that was already strained enough as it was. It was either this, or that.

And he wasn't going to show his father any weakness, so he'd deal with the uncomfortable position. Bracing himself on his elbows Connor turned his head and glanced over his shoulder, staring at his father over his raised ass. He still hadn't seen him grab any lube. Haytham could say all he wanted but he wasn't the one taking it, and there was nothing wrong with wanting some decent lubrication, especially when faced with that size.

“Get lube, dammit.” he hissed. “I don't feel like dealing with the burn just because you're too impatient to grab some.”

-=-=-=-

Slowly. Damn it, he was rolling over far too slowly, so slowly Haytham almost rolled him over himself. Lackadaisical, shaky, his movements were calm and sluggish.

Well, that would teach him to let Connor come first.

As the swell of hips gave rise to the tight, robust looking ass in front of him, however, he cared just a little less about his waning patience.

Again grey eyes rolled, Haytham lining himself up before pressing himself against Connor's still spasming body. Quite a sight, muscles and rippled flesh, dark skinned and hairless, and for a moment Haytham thought to use lubricant. Of course, one would have to have lubricant in order to use it.

He said as much and pressed the thick head to his son's ass, the slightly stretched opening just waiting. "I've no lube, you'll manage."

Without any further warning, a large, calloused hand gripped the back of Connor's neck, pressing his face to the sheets. God he was tight even after the preparation. Even with saliva, with his own large fingers having stretched him, muscles clamped around him, squeezing around his head as fought through, teeth grit.

He would not stop to allow adjustment, fighting every warm, aching muscle, silken, tight heat engulfing him readily, and Haytham continued. Connor shook around him, he could feel it, and Haytham's grip tightened around his throat, jaw slackening as a loud moan escaped him. He wasn't even in fully, but he almost wanted to stop to just feel every muscle move against him, little shivers of pleasure dancing through him.

A small moan left his lips as he finally filled the boy completely, sheathed deep inside of him. He watched Connor spasm, watched only briefly how wide his rectum had stretched to accommodate him. He licked his lips, staring between the darker cheeks of his son's ass, before pulling out completely.

He didn't do slow. Connor would find that out as Haytham pulled back completely, tip of his head barely against him before pushing the heavy, thick girth that he was straight inside of his son, only to repeat less than seconds later.

Fast and hard was the only pace he knew.

-=-=-=-

"I've no lube, you'll manage."

… Connor blinked. Ho now, wait a minute-!

His face was shoved into the sheets and immediately he felt pressure, hard unrelenting pressure, until it breached through. A sharp flare of pain had him jerk over the sheets as he felt himself forced to widen around the thick, invading length, It burned, it fucking burned, as bad as he had expected it to be, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

He knew he had no choice but to bite through it and wait for it to pass, to die down and be replaced by something better, but it would have been easier – better even – if Haytham at least allowed him a moment to adjust. That seemed too much to ask for though, all he could do now was bare through it, shaking as he was filled more and more. His fingers scrabbled and yanked at the sheets, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned loudly until finally, finally, he felt his father's hips press against him, indicating that he had finally pushed in all the way. Good timing too, Connor didn't think he could take much more of the heavy pressure inside of him. It was bordering on 'too much, too rough'.

Panting harshly he relaxed slightly but he had only about a handful of seconds to enjoy the fact that Haytham wasn't moving. The sheets swallowed up his loud yelp as his father pulled out, barely waiting before snapping his hips forward, and Connor felt himself pushed forward over the sheets by the force of it.

“J-jesus, give me a m-moment!” he hissed as he quickly reached out and braced his hand against the wall, not really fancying the idea of knocking his head in just because his dick of a father couldn't be bothered to wait for a few seconds longer.

He tilted his hips slightly, feeling tears begin to well behind his eyelids – if he could at least get the angle right, preferably sooner rather than later, that would make this whole thing a lot better!

-=-=-=-

"J-jesus, give me a m-moment!"

Haytham stilled, but not because of the request. Connor's tone hinted at pain, and through his drunken haze he briefly reminded the boy was fairly inexperienced. Self professed, he hadn't done this with another man in some time either.

He watched him adjust with an exhale, placing hands against the wall before a poor attempt at angling his hips was made. This wouldn't do.

A large hand traced the underside of his son's stomach as he spread his own legs wider. Modifying his position, pressing his abdominals, his chest, his broad body over the expanse of Connor's back, he rolled his hips once, twice, a couple of times while searching, stilling when he heard a mewl. There.

Kissing a spot on his back, Haytham locked his arm around Connor's hips, careful to avoid the one injury but not exactly gentle; he didn't make love. But he wasn't one to cause pain, not intentionally.

It didn't prevent him from thrusting, nor pulling back to once again admire the ass stretching beneath him to accommodate his girth. Spot in mind, his free hand tangled into Connor's hair, urging him forward as he thrust hard once more, aim targeted to hit the small bundle of nerves inside of him.

The sight of his back arching and body tightening was nothing short of erotic, muscles around him clamping. Haytham picked up his pace, confident in the mutual pleasure it brought. Every thrust brought a new rush of searing heat, every bit of tightness unrelenting. Silken muscles coaxed him into orgasm, a battle he felt himself starting to lose, his thrusts quickening and pace beyond fast, that brutal form of sensuality returning to him.

He warned him, if only because it was imminent and he hadn't the desire to fight it off. "Close."

-=-=-=-

O-oh, better, much better. He breathed out in relief, grateful for the pause and allowed his father to change his position slightly changing the angle even more. The next time he pushed forward, his aim was head-on.

Connor quickly lost himself in the building pleasure, letting it chase away the burning pain from before. It still wasn't gentle, it seemed that Haytham couldn't do gentle, but this... this he could handle.

While rough and fast, hard and deep, it was enjoyable and before long Connor was actively rutting back against him, meeting his thrusts, clenching muscles trying to hold him as deep as possible.

Even so, it couldn't chase away the painful throb in his hip, which was slowly but steadily getting worse as he stayed in this position, being pushed back and forth on the sheets as the muscles of his thighs were beginning to shake with the strain of holding him up against the relentless pounding. Arching his back Connor bit down on his forearm, digging his teeth into his own skin in a futile attempt to muffle his cries, and spread out his knees to lower himself closer to the mattress. He stretched out his left leg behind him, easing up the strain in his hip until he was down on his stomach, keeping his other leg folded underneath him to keep himself stretched. Ah, much better...

This close to the mattress his own erection brushed against the sheets with every thrust; he hadn't even noticed he'd gotten hard a second time and now, suddenly aware of it, all his senses seemed to enhance. He could taste blood, having pierced his skin with his own teeth but right now he couldn't care less. Shuddering as Haytham grunted in his ear, informing him that he was close, Connor turned his head away from his arm, and flashed him a smirk. He was close too, he could feel it, but there was no way he would let this opportunity to jab at his father pass.

“S-stamina not w-what it used to b-be, eh old man?”

-=-=-=-

A toothy smirk, and Haytham smiled. Smart ass, he'd let him have that one.

Verbally anyway. He let go of Connor's hips in favor of slapping him on the ass, hard enough to jolt him forward slightly. He ignored the glare in favor of a few hard thrusts, the building pressure in his abdomen and blood pounding in his ears as loud as the lewd slap of flesh on flesh. A fresh sheen of sweat dotted both of them, a small tremor running up Haytham's spine as the pressure built. He hated cumming first, but he found it couldn't be helped.

Eyes shut as a shuddering breath left him, hips thrusting as hard as they could, desperately, ferociously, as his son's body got the better of him. He came with biting his lip, brow furrowed in pleasure and hid his face in his forearm out of habit. Mask in place, always. Pleasure could be as much weakness as pain.

Still he indulged in his orgasm and rolled his hips as he tensed and relaxed, cum leaving him in spurts. Buried deep in Connor, in his son, Haytham orgasmed long and hard, only dropping his arm as he fought to regain his breath, breathing ragged and heart erratically beating, loud in his own ears.

He fought not to let himself fall over, tracing a pattern into the ass cheek beneath him before pulling out to lay on his side. The one hair in dark hair remained, a powerful grip turning into strokes. And for a moment, Haytham would remain unhaunted by the relative silence.

-=-=-=-

Hm, what? No reply? No smart ass remark, or an insult, or an- “Ahh!” Connor blinked owlishly, staring at the wall with wide open eyes... had his father just spanked him? He had, if the throbbing sting was any indication. Connor turned to glare, but Haytham just smirked back at him and upped the force of his thrust; within seconds Connor could do nothing but hold on for dear life as his father worked hard to work them both to completion, the snaps of his hips turning faster and more erratic, less controlled.

He had never gotten used to the feeling of hot, sticky fluid releasing inside of him, coating his inner walls and today was no exception; he squirmed and twisted as he was held in place, the high-pitched groan he let out bordering on unmanly. He felt his father's cock pulse inside of them, throbbing hotly as Haytham rode out his orgasm.

He whimpered as Haytham pulled out and flopped down on his side next to him, leaving him teetering on the edge of orgasm himself, his body a shaking mess. He unfolded his other leg and laid down completely, facing his father as he reached down and fondled himself; a few more tugs were all that he needed to push himself over the brink, his shuddering breath hitching in his throat as he pressed his face against Haytham's damp shoulder, catching his release in the palm of his hand.

He was no more than a limp, trembling weight against him, exhausted after two rounds, and now that it was over and the haze of pleasure began ebbing away, all his old aches and discomforts returned, mixing with the fresh ones.

Mainly in his poor ass. Not that it hadn't felt amazing, but god... his poor ass. It was a good thing he already used crutches, he wouldn't have to explain the limp.

-=-=-=-

He should lend him a hand, but watching was nice enough. He was lovely, frotting against the sheets, a bundle of nerves pending orgasm. Connor's face twisted pleasantly, Haytham more than content to stroke his dark hair as he rode through orgasm.

Silence, save for heavy breathing. Haytham himself was damn near exhausted and yet, as the pleasurable ebb of afterglow faded, he realized he'd just bedded his own son. Tipsily, sure, but that... should greatly bother him. It didn't.

That bothered him more, yet his fingers traced damp hair, lips twitching as he examined the drying cum on Connor's bandages. They'd need to be changed again.

He forced himself upright, giving Connor a moment to move before walking to the bathroom. He felt at peace, looking back briefly at the black hair fanned against his pillow, little feather about his bed. He brought the new bandages to the foot of the bed. It was like having Ziio with him.

Swallowing thickly at the thought, grey eyes averted and he reached out to tap a foot. "You'll want me to change these. Up, lad." He already knew, a few hours from now, that this too would be blamed solely on him.

He'd enjoy the brief peace while it lasted, no matter if built on falsity.

-=-=-=-

Connor grumbled and shifted his foot away. He didn't want to get up, fuck no. He was tired, he felt heavy and sated and he wanted to sleep and those bandages could be changed tomorrow and... ugh...

Sighed he rolled onto his back and blinked sleepily at his father, staring at the roll of bandages he held before he pushed himself up. A sharp flare of pain shot up his spine and he hissed, eyebrows scrunching together and he reached back, pressing his hand against his lower back. He liked sex, but this was the big downside of it. He was aching all over.

His bandages were sticky with more than just sweat. He really needed a shower as well, but... ugh, that could wait until morning. He had more pressing matters right now... like the fact that he'd just had sex with his father. He wasn't really sure how he felt about that yet. Bothered, probably, or angry, or... disgusted perhaps?

The thing was, Haytham had never felt like a true dad to him. He was his father by blood, sure, and he was on paper, but honestly... Haytham was nothing more than the man who'd dated his mother, starting out as a complete stranger that had appeared into his life. Their relationship, whatever it was, didn't feel like a father-son relation. It never had.

It was... confusing.

And what did his father think? Had it really been just the alcohol, or something else? Did Haytham regret doing this, so shortly after mom's funeral? For fuck's sake, they had been lovers, betrothed even and not even a handful of hours after burying her, they... they...

That bothered him a lot more than the fact that they were related... What had he been just now? A quick lay? A way to forget his mom?

A replacement?

Or a way to help? Connor didn't know anymore...

-=-=-=-

Connor's wince made him smirk. That was probably horrible, wasn't it? To smirk at being a literal ache in his son's backside. He smirked regardless, until the silence became an uncomfortable weight.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what his son was thinking. Haytham undid the bandages quickly, reapplying the new ones in silence. He glanced at his son, tilting his chin upwards so their eyes met.

"… It helped. I miss her, but no longer have the urge to drink myself stupid." He paused, lips twitching. "It's a base, primal instinct. It doesn't change our feelings. It was... convenient, we both suffer similarly and could relate. That's all." He set to the bandages once more, unconvinced.

Soft skin, like her. Dark hair, like hers. A few freckles, that necklace... it screamed Ziio. He rather liked it.

He moved about the bed nothing like her, in no way carried himself like her verbally, but the small comforts were more than noticed, appreciated. Haytham knew very well that technically, he was replacing her, unable to move on so he was creating another through his son. He knew it to be true, glancing into her eyes. Ziio's eyes on another being.

"I'm surprised you aren't blaming me yet." He'd expected as much, and he finished the bandages with a nod, grabbing Connor's long discarded pants and tossing them to the bed. "Thanks for that."

-=-=-=-

“Ah...” He had been right then. It had helped. Well... alright, that he could deal with. After all, he had told his father that he'd help if he could, and it wasn't like this was hurting anyone.

Even if it happened again but he wasn't sure if he wanted that. He'd have to really think about it first.

The fresh bandages made him feel a little better. He caught the pants and stared down at them; he knew that putting them on would be too much of a hassle, especially since he would take them off again anyway once he reached his own bed.

“Blaming you for what?” he asked and reached for his crutches, avoiding looking his father in the eye. “I didn't exactly say no, did I? I didn't make an effort to stop it from happening.”

Bracing the crutches against the floor he took a deep breath and then stood up with a wince, his pants draped over his arm. “Don't thank me for anything just yet, dad... good night.” With that he slowly made his way out of the bedroom,, not looking back as he limped through the hall. Reaching his own room he closed the door behind him and locked it, not wanting to take any chances. He needed to be alone for a while.

There was no sense in taking a shower now, no matter how tempting it was to soak in the tub for a while; if those bandages got wet they would have to be replaced again. A wet towel would have to do; he wiped most of the dried sweat and other fluids away, paying special attention between his legs and glanced down; there were a few specks of red on the plush material of the towel but that wasn't really surprising – Haytham had been rather rough with him, but it wasn't enough to give a reason for concern.

Tossing the towel in the hamper Connor dragged his feet back to his bed, more than happy to crawl under the soft covers. What he needed right now was rest, lots of it, to sleep the remaining haze of alcohol away and to clear his mind from everything that had transpired today.

Tomorrow he would think about how to go from here.

Chapter Text

They should know better than to wake Haytham by now. In fact, they did.

William, however, insisted. They should say no, but saying no to the co-founder of their enterprise wasn’t wise. William may have offered more smiles than Haytham, but the threats were as real.

Drawing straws, Benjamin lost the battle, Thomas and John shoving him forth as he warily eyed the door to Haytham's office. Haytham had been sleeping in the office somewhat less as of late, but it made him no less irritable.

The first knock, and Benjamin swore he heard growling on the other side. The second string of knocks and he jumped back, waiting. Nothing. There was nothing.

For a moment Benjamin sighed, leaning against the door and looked at Thomas and John with a look of relief in his eyes before speaking to William, his eyes forever twinkling. “Guess he’s not in-”

The door opened, Benjamin’s body dragged through like something from a horror movie, a scream of terror piercing the air before it slammed shut. And through the door was the muffled pleading, “Pl-please, Haytham, William sent me, it was William! HAVE MERCY!”

Silence, before the door opened again, Haytham introducing Benjamin to the adjacent wall via his face. Clouded grey blearily searched about, John and Thomas stepping back. William’s smile never left as he stepped forward. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

A gruff reply, and Haytham left the door open, disheveled hair falling about his face as he adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. “I hate you.”

William stepped over the seemingly dazed Benjamin, shutting the door behind him. “Yes, yes.”

“What. do. you. want?” The line from his pillow marked his cheek, Haytham laying back down across his couch, snuggling up to his pillow. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s nine, Haytham.”

“I was up at six.”

“And whose fault is that?”

His eye twitched. William readied coffee, streaming hot water from water boiler, steam gathering quickly as removed an instant coffee packet and a sugar from his pocket. “I needed to discuss something.”

“Clearly.” Haytham accepted the spoon and cup, stirring as he sat up, William taking a seat beside him.

“I know the last few months have been hard on you, but I need to ask for a favor.” Haytham gestured vaguely, William continuing. “As you may know, the media and public loves a man who makes appearances at charitable events-”

“Because trying to cure cancer isn’t enough.”

“Be that as it may, the public wants to see your softer side.” Blue eyes twinkled, head resting in his hand. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a day off and indulge them. Just for a singular event.”

“Not interested.”

“It would greatly help your reputation.”

“My reputation suits me.”

William hesitated, folding his fingers together in his lap. Haytham stopped, warily. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

“... They want to see you and Connor, Haytham. Together.”

Haytham brushed away the guilty feeling that crept up. While Connor and he were on speaking terms, they didn’t do so often; Haytham still spent a few nights of the week at work, and most of his time was invested in such. It’s who he was, he’d always been a man of his duties. The only person to cause him exception was six feet in the ground.

He shook off the thought, staring straight ahead. Not a day went by, where she wasn’t on his mind.

“This is difficult, I know. But, perhaps an opportunity to bond between the two of you.” Gently, William pressed a few memos into Haytham’s free hand. “Here’s a few that aren’t horrible, and it would keep the media off my back.” Which would be nice for a day, considering the frenzies he’d dealt with ever since the horrible accident. He wouldn’t bother his friend with the details, it wasn’t necessary; but the punch to the face and subsequent settlements, coupled with near curious uproar was almost overwhelming. They needed some good press, a family moment to portray their organization in a proper light.

“William?”

He blinked, the twinkle returning to his eyes.

Haytham remained silent, examining his friend. Nothing more was said between them, Haytham sighing as he looked over the first paper, nonchalantly folding them neatly and pressing them into his pants pocket. “... I don’t want to hear about anymore fundraisers and the like for the next year.”

“Three months.

“Nine months.”

“Six months.”

“Mm.”

With a nod, William pat his shoulder, smiling. “Ziio would be happy.”

His lips twitched, just for a moment. Yes, perhaps she would be.

~*~

He arrived home later that evening, taking his time in the shower and waiting for Connor to get home. He hadn't spoken to him in a couple of days, sticking to a quick text here or there. He wrung out his hair with a sigh, dressing comfortably and toweling his hair dry. How did one go about asking this, anyway? 'Hey Connor, spend some time with me because your dead mom- my to be wife who I tried to replace with you sexually- would want us to. Also, charity.'

That was uncouth even for him. He almost hampered the letters, removing them in the last moment and placing them on the counter, reacquainting himself with an opened bottle of chilled wine.

Oh the joys of awkward fatherhood. Sleeping with his son didn't make anything more difficult, surprisingly- but it didn't make things easier either.

-=-=-=-

“Ugh, those guys... they have no respect.” Myriam glare of death could be terrifying indeed, the way she narrowed her eyes over the wheel of her car, staring at the handful of news reporters who literally sat hiding in the bushes and kept their eyes and camera lenses aimed on the double front doors of the apartment building.

Neither he nor his father had been eager to show their faces in front of a camera since the accident, Connor especially... but those guys just didn't seem to know when to give up. Life of a celebrity sucked!

Even now, over six months after the funeral, they were still aching for a chance to shoot some photos and fire off some questions, though ever since his father had punched one in the face they gave Haytham a wider range of berth whenever he left for work or came back.

Not him though, no. Which was why Myriam had offered to drive him to and back from school every day, no questions asked. It was a little... awkward, to have a girl stand up for him like that and 'protect' him from the reporters (his ego definitely had a problem with it) but she meant well and he understood that too. So he let it happen, at least until things died down enough he could go out again without getting swarmed.

Originally he had only taken up her offer to drive him because when his doctor had declared him healthy enough to go back to school again, he still lacked a car of his own, and on principle he still refused to ask his dad to pay for one. And while he hadn't needed crutches anymore, the bus hadn't been favorable either. Of course he had been declared fully healed months ago, but Myriam had made it clear she didn't mind driving him from and to school every day, and Connor wasn't going to tell her no, if only because she was his best friend and it helped getting the paparazzi vultures off his back.

Things between him and Haytham still hadn't improved much. He was gone most of the time and still spent half the nights in his office, but at least things hadn't gotten worse either. The sex... they had both unanimously blamed it on the alcohol and the stress and emotions of the day. After that neither of them had brought it up again, and both pretended it had never even happened in the first place. Though strangely enough, when he'd sobered up enough the following day, he hadn't felt as disturbed or disgusted by the fact he had let his father fuck him of all people. Perhaps it was because Haytham had never felt like a father figure to him, and he still didn't... just someone who had slipped into his life not for him, but for Ziio. A stranger. They weren't even friends, not even now.

There had been a time when the mere idea of his father naked had disgusted him beyond belief, but that was... before. Before the accident. Before his mother's death. Things had changed drastically, and whether or not they were for the better, Connor still hadn't figured out.

Connor still thought about it at times though, sometimes it was hard not to. Sometimes he still caught himself eyeing his father when he wasn't looking.

“It's okay.” he told Myriam as he unbuckled his seat belt. “I'll be through the doors before they even realize.”

“This shit should be illegal. What about your right for privacy? They're stalking you!”

“Well, technically they're stalking my father, he's much more interesting to them. I'm just a bonus.”

“Connor-”

“See you tomorrow. Thanks for the ride.” Closing the car door behind him a quick glance over his shoulder already saw the hiding reporters getting in action. Smirking Connor raised his right hand and flipped them the bird, holding it long enough until he saw the flash of a camera and then waved at Myriam, who rolled her eyes. Ah well, he was entitled to a little bit of fun, no?

~*~

The lights inside the hallway were on, much to Connor's confusion as he unlocked the door and stepped inside Haytham's apartment. Dad was already home then? Glancing at the clock he frowned... huh, early.

“Dad?” he called out as walked into the living room and dumped his bag on the table, his eyes falling on a small pile of memos. Curiosity piqued he picked them up and quickly skimmed over them, recognizing William's handwriting. They were various ideas for charity and fundraising events Haytham had apparently been invited to. Most of them sounded pretty damn boring, even if the goal of the event was good... no wonder his dad hated these events, even they were all- oooh! “Paintball?”

-=-=-=-

He'd heard him come in, frowning at the clock. Wasn't that a bit late? Or perhaps it was early? Maybe if he dared to spend a few nights at home he'd know.

Haytham shook off the thought, placing the lap top aside and emerged from his bedroom, pajama pants low on his hips and tank top tight. He felt awkward, walking around shirtless after everything that had transpired.

An elegant eyebrow rose in question. Indeed, a glance over his son's shoulder and he read quickly. A benefit to support the children of deployed and returning troops. By way of paintball?

Interesting method, but not nearly as droll as the others.

"Evidently I'm to invite you to an event to keep the press from hounding William to death. Had he mentioned I could bring a gun I may have conceded earlier." Granted it was a paintball gun but a gun was a gun. The past month had been more than straining; blowing off steam by shooting a few paint balls at what would hopefully be some annoying colleagues? It sounded pleasant.

"I left it to your choosing. I doubt you've acquired a taste for opera, and the rest seemed droll." He paused, still looking over Connor's shoulder. A long line of smooth, dark skin invaded his vision. Dark hair invited his touch, the taste of sweat remembered on his tongue. He coughed and averted his eyes forcefully.

"Right then, I'll make the arrangements." Meaning he'd contact William for more information. Four people to a team... like hell if Church would be on his team. Pansy. He played to win.

He nodded before taking a seat in the living room, if only to get away from the smell of sandalwood. The hardest things were always those left unsaid, those left unsettled. They'd agreed it was the alcohol talking, and Haytham had of course nodded.

He'd also kept his distance. He couldn't lie to himself. Spending a good amount of time in a wooded area with Connor, almost hunting would undoubtedly conjure memories of Ziio. He fought a shudder but skin prickled regardless. Avoiding him had been beneficial; out of sight and out of mind. This trip would prove to be the death of such notions.

He wasn't overly thrilled to say the least.

-=-=-=-

Connor glanced up, his expression not changing as he looked at what was the most casual outfit he had ever seen his father wear. It was almost unnatural. “Why do I have to go? This is your party, your corporation, your responsibility.”

Ah, but paintball... paintball was fun. And yes, it beat the idea of going to a fucking opera. Or a play. Boooooring. Fine then, he'd come along. It didn't sound like Haytham was inviting him because he wanted to, more like, it was a requirement. A publicity stunt maybe. Connor grimaced... his dad was a celebrity, and he hated being a part of it.

He missed the quietness of his old life. It had been a hard life, but he had been happy. Just he and his mom, together, doing what they wanted, not having to worry about what the rest of the world thought because they simply didn't matter. That life was lost forever though.

“Who else is coming?” he asked, but when he got no answer he turned with a frown. Haytham had already left for the living room, and Connor followed after him, the memo in question in his fingers. “Paintball requires a team of four. So who else will we be playing with?” He slumped down in a large leather chair and stared at William's handwriting. There was a date included; three days from now, on a Saturday. He already had plans but Myriam wouldn't mind if he called her off. She'd understand, and even encourage it, the chance for him to bond with his father some more.

“Is William any good with a gun?” It would be fun to have him on the team, if William wanted to anyway. That only left one spot... maybe Hickey or Pitcairn. Paintball didn't seem like it was something Church would enjoy doing. Ugh, he didn't care who filled in the last spot, as long as it wasn't Lee.

-=-=-=-

"Mm. Oh, yes." Dismissively, Haytham picked up his phone and rang William's number. "… Good with a gun? Mm." He tapped his lip, running his finger over the lower one. "He was in the military with me. He still goes hunting, safariing, and the like regularly. If he's half of what he was, I'd still take my chances with him."

He pressed 'call' and waited for William to pick up, notably weary as he put the phone on speaker when he did.

"... tell me you're not revoking our deal due to terminal illness or a case of jungle fever?"

Jungle fever? "Ah, no?" He almost shrugged in Connor's direction. "Did Hickey sexually harass someone again?"

"What gave it away?"

Alright, he wouldn't inquire further. William wasn't one for foul moods. "We need a fourth for our paintball escapade on..." He checked the memo, "… Saturday."

"Oh, OH. Great, yes. I'm sure I can make it." A pause, and Haytham almost heard him smile. "So how'd you convince Connor to go?"

"Ask him, you're on speaker."

"Oh! Well hi, Connor, hopefully you're well. I'm glad you're coming along-" A pause, and William went silent. "... and glad to see your middle finger is in working order."

"Pardon?"

"You'll see tomorrow, Haytham, keep an eye on the newspaper. I'm assuming I'm the third in our little tryst?"

"Mm."

"Excellent, I'll let Thomas know-"

"Let Hickey know what?"

A voice of another sort, and William's voice lost it's cheerful edge. "... It's not of importance to you, Charles."

Haytham fought the urge to roll his eyes; he could practically see the sparkle of pleasure drain from William's eyes. As of late, the two bickered almost constantly. Charles supported Haytham's desire to keep his business first, and William, well, completely disagreed to say the least. He couldn't speak to one without the other interjecting.

"Oh, but I declare it is... surely whomever you're on the phone with will want to consult Haytham before a final decision regarding anything is made.

He spoke before William did, if only to stop the bickering now. "Hello, Charles."

"Oh! Haytham, sir. Had I known it was you I'd relay the message without question." He could hear the sneer, the jibe at William in his voice.

"Yes, well now that you know it's him, tell Hickey to prepare for Saturday-" William interrupted.

"What's Saturday? Something company related? If so, I've a right to know being a share owner."

"It's for a charitable event for the less fortunate, a custom you don't believe in-"

"Oh, another Opera? I do love the Operas."

"… Paintball, we're playing paintball."

Charles quieted immediately, scoffing. "Why would Haytham pick paintball?"

A pause, and Haytham audibly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew what was coming. He knew it before Charles opened his mouth. "Think carefully, Charles. Think before you speak." The pause lingered, and finally, finally Charles spoke up.

"It's rather... bourgeois but alright. I'll attend."

That, Haytham hadn't expected. Neither did William. "You hate paintball. You said it was juvenile dribble."

"Yes well, if it's good enough for the head of our company I will partake. Besides, I haven't seen Connor in some time, perhaps we can bond over something."

On the other side of the line William glared at Charles, immediately jumping to the boy's defense. "Connor has a phone, if he wished to bond with you he would call you. He doesn't."

"Now now, you've no proof of that-"

"He doesn't want to bond with you! The only thing that bonds to you is your hair to your sweaty forehead because the grease acts as an adhesive-"

Haytham sighed. "William! Charles! I'm not going down there to break this... childish squabble apart. Talk it out with Connor, and watch what you say. Both of you." Haytham plopped the phone by his son, shaking his head. He needed a drink.

-=-=-=-

Connor barely caught the phone, balking. He didn't want to talk to Lee! “Dad!” he hissed, but his plea went ignored – bastard, dumping him with this shit. It wasn't his decision to make. Hell, even if it was, he didn't want to make this decision. He didn't want Lee to come along. William, yes, but not Lee!

“Connor?” William's voice on the other side of the line was questioning, and Connor sighed deeply, rubbing his fingers along the bridge of his nose. Fucking hell...

“Figure it out.” he muttered and he could almost hear William's eyebrows raise. “I'm not your boss.” he elaborated. “And I'm not going to, as dad says it, break apart this childish squabble.” Especially because he did not appreciate Haytham dumping this into his lap. “Sorry William, but whoever takes the fourth spot, you're gonna have to figure that out amongst yourselves.” With that he hung up and tossed the phone on the table. He hoped it wouldn't be Lee, yet he knew that it probably would be him. If only to piss him off.

Ever since the accident Charles has kept his racist comments to himself, but his attitude was still cold towards him. They'd never be friends, not like how he got along with the others, and Connor was fine with that... but yes, maybe... perhaps... maybe there was something he and Lee could talk about, an interest they both shared. Who knew?

Still didn't want him to come though.

Grumbling he stood up and picked up the phone again, moving into the kitchen where he found his father staring at an opened bottle of wine. “Wanna order take-out or something?” he asked as he stuffed the phone into his father's back pocket. “I haven't eaten dinner yet. Or I could just order pizza for myself if you're not hungry.” he shrugged and leaned back against the table, eyeing the bottle of wine. Was it him or was Haytham drinking more often than he used to?

“I told them to figure it out amongst themselves. It's not my job to solve.” It's yours, but those words were left unsaid.

-=-=-=-

One glass to take the edge off became two. That became three, his tolerance still fairly weak but there was nothing to be done. Between work and home, everything was spiraling out of his control. It didn't bode well with him, and his method of coping wasn't a wise one.

He knew it, spending his time simply looking at the bottle, uncorked and uninviting. No, this wouldn't solve anything. William and Charles would argue, Connor would hate him, Ziio would be dead. Best case scenario, he could forget that for just a few moments.

He almost jumped, the press of fingertips surprising even through fabric as Connor pushed the phone into his pocket. Simply, no one touched him there. His phone was warm, even through the material. She was always cold, Connor always warm, a startling difference.

That's what he would do, focus on their differences until they became two separate entities again.

"… Feel free to roam about the kitchen instead of ordering take out." Honestly, it may be him but the lad looked thinner. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to the boy to refuse to cook.

It wasn't his business. Besides, another difference he could focus on. Haytham nodded once, stopping hesitantly and corked the bottle before turning on heel. "Enjoy dinner. Goodnight son." That's what he was, that's what he would remain. His son, and nothing more.

~*~

He worked almost constantly, returning home early Friday evening to simply catch a bit of sleep. Connor hadn't been in, probably about with Myriam again

No awkward conversations and a plethora of space; it was what Haytham needed. Without the startling similarities staring him in the face, he could go about his day with the ease he once did. The ease he undoubtedly would again.

He woke early, to the sound of nothingness. Six in the morning, almost on the dot. Showering and dressing in what was a uniform acquired from William a day prior, Haytham took the second, equipped with some minor protective padding with him, placing it by a chair in the kitchen before examining the fridge with a frown.

Either the boy solely lived on pop tarts and pizza for fun, or he was too lazy to fix a proper meal. Knowing Connor the way he did - which was not at all - he assumed it was a mixture of both.

Well, he didn't particularly care to live that way.

He also had no idea what his son ate or really liked, a startling thought considering he'd been living here with him for about eight months now. Pop tarts, pizza, and mountain dew were the only discernible things he remembered.

Haytham hesitated, before sighing. They'd spend the day together, the ride would take two hours without break. Connor needed to eat something decent, he'd be of no use on the field if he were lacking.

Well, he'd have to settle for chocolate chip french toast with bananas and bacon because Haytham was not making two separate meals. He knocked on the boy's door when it was ready, attempting to sound pleasant. "Lad, breakfast. William and Charles will be here shortly." And like hell if he was cooking for them. Grown men got their own damn food.

-=-=-=-

The knock startled Connor out of his dreams, Haytham's voice drifting towards him through the door. He mumbled incoherently into his pillow, eyes remaining shut as his head poked out from under the blankets and fumbled around for his alarm clock. Raising it to eye level he blinked at it, needing a whole ten seconds before his sleep-addled brain deciphered the flashing numbers. 7:18.

On a fucking Saturday.

“No. Nope.” Setting the clock down Connor tossed the blankets over his head again and turned around; it was too fucking early for this shit. On a Saturday he slept until at least 10, and if Haytham still didn't know that yet – then again, why would he know, seeing as he was barely home to begin with?

… the fuck was that smell?

Sitting up he blearily stared at the door, blinking a few times... oh right, something about breakfast.

~*~

Connor appeared in the kitchen five minutes later, still dressed in nothing but his dark blue pajama pants and his bed hair, looking like he had left half his brain behind in the bedroom. “The hell are you making?” he asked as he shuffled towards the nearest chair, moving to sit down on it only to find that it was already occupied by a heap of camouflaged-patterned clothing. Oh right... good thing he hadn't bothered to dress yet then.

Moving it to a different chair he flopped down and slowly stretched out his arms and legs, groaning as he felt his shoulders pop, and sagged again. It was too early for this crap. Too early for breakfast, too early for William, definitely too early for Lee and too early for fucking paint ball. He'd feel more awake once he had taken his morning shower, but right now? Nope, too early.

He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep last night, and he blamed Myriam for that. She had kept him up waaaaay too long. Damn girl was insatiable.

-=-=-=-

"The hell are you making?"

Haytham suppressed the instinctual urge to say, 'It's none of your concern' just barely, setting out an equal amount of food amongst them. Not that he ever ate his full portion. He never had much of an appetite.

Grey eyes glanced over and double took – well, he looked like hell, hair about his face, eyes still wrought with sleep, hickey on his neck-

Ah. Well...

"Morning to you too." Syrup and powdered sugar, napkins and silverware, orange juice - everything set. He couldn't help but crunch on a piece of bacon after taking a seat, looking at Connor's neck.

"So, what did you and Myriam do yesterday?" He fought back the smirk, innocently cutting his french toast. "Hopefully it was nothing too strenuous."

He'd yet to gauge how open Connor was, and watched him intently from him peripheral. That and flustering the boy was so very delightful.

-=-=-=-

Not getting an answer? Well fine then. He had yet to decide whether what the hell Haytham had prepared for breakfast smelled good or not.

Honestly, he hated this kitchen. It was too big, too grand, too... too... intimidating. He didn't know how to cook and he wasn't ashamed to admit it; in that regard, Ziio had spoiled him rotten, always preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner for him whenever she was able to.

He doubted he could even properly prepare an egg without fucking up it up somehow, or blowing up the kitchen while he was doing it. Usually he ate at Myriam's place, or ordered take-out or pizza, or took a trip to the McDonalds.

He missed home cooked meals and while he knew that Haytham knew his way around the kitchen, it simply wasn't the same, nor did he want any of it.

The question nearly caught him off guard and he paused, his hand hovering over a large piece of bacon as he brain attempted to process the question; um hello, that was none of your business?

Of course Haytham didn't know... the question was innocent enough. Hell, even the way he had worded it was innocent enough... for the most part. The second sentence was a bit too obvious and Connor didn't miss it. Maybe Haytham had a hunch?

Feeling the blush creep onto his cheeks Connor picked up the bacon and bit down on it angrily. He could ignore the question and refuse to answer, but that would just make things even more obvious for his father – like the blush wasn't doing that already, dammit!

Yet all out admitting it wasn't his thing either... ugh, his father was such a fucking troll! Dammit... swallowing Connor drummed his fingers on the table and flashed his eyes up at Haytham's face, gritting his teeth and sighed. Fine then. Two could play this game. “Well you see,” he began as he dropped his bacon on his plate and laced his fingers together, resting them on the table as he blinked at his father. “When a boy and a girl like each other very much...”

-=-=-=-

Of course, the tell tale signs of flush blossomed. Well, well Connor. His lack of experience lying and in the bedroom were intoxicatingly amusing. He'd stop drinking had this been an option sooner. It brought so much more satisfaction.

And still he thought, much to Haytham's amusement, for a time about how he would answer.

Suffice to say, a pathetic let down categorized it perfectly. "Mm. The concept seems familiar somehow." Another bite of his french toast - oh he was a perfect chef - and he chewed, resting his chin in his hand. "What about two men who don't like one another? Is there an anecdote for that?"

Eyelashes fluttered as his son sputtered, Haytham's face blissfully blank, save for the twitch of his lips. "No need at attempting a coherent response, lad. You needn't injure yourself further, wracking that 'brain' of yours for a response." He gestured to his own neck, about the spot where the mark was.

"The pull out method doesn't work. Use protection. That's all." He no longer tolerated the idea of grandchildren. Not with Ziio gone.

His lips twitched, and he blinked. He pushed his mostly full plate aside with what was a sad glance. She'd never leave him alone, would she?

"Help yourself, I'll need you at your best." Wordlessly, he left the kitchen in favor of the living room. His dark hair and her eyes, that blasted necklace... no, no matter how far he stayed away, it would always lead to this.

-=-=-=-

…

How had that... a rather simple not-so-innocent-but-innocent-enough conversation, turned to... this?

To mom?

Because that's what this was about now, even if her name hadn't been mentioned out loud. It had been eight months. Connor had learned to cope with the loss. Of course he still missed her terribly and not a day went by where he didn't long for the life he used to have, before everything had gone so... wrong... but he had learned to move on, simply because he didn't have a choice. It seemed that that was something that was much harder to do for his father.

He stared at the two plates, his own and Haytham's, both still mostly full. His own appetite had left him as well. He needed it, especially for what they were to do today, but... he doubted he could manage to get any of it now anyway.

He sighed and stood up, taking the two plates and dumping their contents into the trash before piling them into the sink to clean later.

William and Lee would be here soon, he'd best get ready...

The shower was a quick one, though it was hard to resist the temptation to stay under the hot spray for hours, letting the water beat down on his back and wash everything away.

He toweled off quickly and put on the paintball uniform his father had readied for him. He had barely finished tying his hair back into place when the doorbell rang, and Connor hurried out of the bathroom, yelling in the general direction of the living-room that he'd get it and swiftly unlocked the door.

“Connor! Good morning!” William's cheery morning greet was almost infectious as he opened the door and looked at the two men already dressed up for today's event. Lee looked absolutely ridiculous and uncomfortable in his uniform, and Connor felt his lips twitch.

Ahem.

“Morning.”

“Where's Haytham?” William asked and rose up on his toes to peek over Connor's shoulder into the hallway. “Haytham! If you're ready we should go, don't wanna be late!”

Connor stepped aside to let them in and closed the door behind Lee as William already bounced off towards the living room – how anyone could have so much energy this early in the day was beyond him.

“Haytham told me that you're a skilled hunter.” Lee said, though the tone of his voice didn't make it sound like a compliment, nor did the way he was staring at him down his nose, hands clasped behind his back, help make it sound nice. His whole posture screamed 'I'm-better-than-you'. “With a bow no less. I do hope you know how to handle a gun though, boy.”

Connor simply turned his back on the man and shrugged, moving off towards the living room as well. “Every moron can handle a paintball gun. Clearly the only one you should be worrying about is yourself.”

-=-=-=-

He couldn't say how long he sat there for. An extended length of time, or perhaps simply a few seconds. It seemed inconsequential now. He'd never been one to wonder what could have been, and he certainly wouldn't begin such lunacy now.

But why this happened, who was responsible, and the void it had left were all too real. It hurt to miss someone like this. Spending twenty years trying to move on, only to finally have what you want... but it vanished from his grasp yet again. A flurry of thoughts, and Haytham only wanted the voices that pestered him to halt.

"Haytham! If you're ready we should go, don't wanna be late!"

"Of course."

William's eyes dimmed, just for a moment, studying his friends posture. He knew better than to ask. It's not like the world didn't know. "Hey... there's a bunch of reporters outside."

"I'm sure."

Gun in hand, William cleared his throat. "They're anxious for photos." He hesitated, a flicker in his eyes. "Sort of brutish, they're being awfully pushy."

A flicker of grey and an eyebrow raised, William toying with the top of his gun. "I don't condone aggressive action, but perhaps... if you've your usual strength about you, a show of sorts may deflect attention." Lips twitched, upwards for a change.

Whatever conversation Charles and Connor were having could continue in the car. "Bicker later." As if there was any doubt what they were doing, Charles looking pompous if not out of place. Eyebrows raised, and William clasped a hand over Connor's shoulder, grinning madly. "Your father was a bit of a mad bastard back in our military days." A pause and he smiled widely, pushing both he and Charles out of the apartment and walking them toward the elevator. The third floor should do.

Haytham's face portrayed not a thing as William opened a window at the end of the hallway and smirked. "Sure you're up to thi-"

Haytham was out of the window in seconds, hanging from his hands, and lowered his helmet with a wink.

Behind William Charles bristles, eyes wide. "No, Haytham, you're an executive. There's no need to partake in such juvenile behavior!"

"It's not juvenile, it's amusing." Hands grasped the ornamental decoration, the ornate fixtures providing perfect leverage to swing and descend. He could hear them from below, a few gasps and surprised shouts, hand catching a sill before he allowed himself to plummet slightly, bare hands scratching against stone.

He hadn't felt this good in sometime.

"Back flip into the bush!"

A blink, and twinkling blue eyes gleamed down at him. "Unless you're incapable, you old mad bastard."

"You'll be eating those words, William." Barely a whisper, a smirk covering his lips as he looked around his surroundings. This had gotten more strenuous since he last attempted it, not hard but harder. And even so, it was a thrill.

Strong legs encompassed the head of a gargoyle, Haytham maybe three feet from the floor. His thighs clenched and gripped the statue, as he leaned backward, simply hanging upside down, dawned in camo and a helmet, his gun strapped to his back before he extended his arms and used his abs to swing, gaining momentum.

He landed on his feet, hand bracing the sidewalk as the reporters remained in a flurry around him, too shocked to take pictures. He removed his gun from his back and cocked it once.

Half of them fled, words of terror on their lips.

From above, William clapped Charles' and Connor's shoulders, eyes twinkling. "Well worth the paper work I'll have to fill out. Shall we, then? He remains such an impressive man."

Said impressive man was trying desperately to not pick at the wedgie he now sported. Haytham sighed, waiting for a moment when he'd be in the clear. Blasted bunching boxers.

-=-=-=-

Seriously?

Seriously?!

Connor's eyes were still on the window even as William dragged him towards the elevator to take them down to ground level..

Had he really just... witnessed his father... climbing through he window and down the fucking wall?!

He still felt a little dazed as they walked outside, Lee pushing open the door and glancing around for any remaining news reporters; there were still a few, but they kept their distance.

“I guess I will have to take responsibility for the restaurant bill once we're done with the event, it seems.” William said as they reached a slightly uncomfortable looking Haytham, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You old dog, I can't believe you actually did that.”

Connor just rolled his eyes. It was official... his father was insane. Not impressive. Insane!

Yeah, and you climb trees, the little nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered to him, and Connor gritted his teeth, pushing the voice away. It was not the same! It was almost embarrassing to be associated with him now.

He quickly slipped into the backseat of William's car, keeping his head down in case someone tried to take a picture anyway, and he wasn't quite sure if he was glad or not that his father took the seat next to him.

Ah, it beat having to sit next to Lee during the two-hour-ride, he took the passenger seat in the front.

He breathed out slowly and stroked his fingers over the muzzle of his paintball gun. He wasn't looking forward to it... something would fuck up, he just knew it.

-=-=-=-

"I'm not old, I age with the valor of the finest of wines." Connor stared at him as if he had just sprouted a third head. Ah well, he had enjoyed that, even if Charles and Connor may not have.

The helmet stayed on, and he fought against sitting with William, who would have doubtlessly aided in pleasant conversation, to sitting next to his son. Who'd rather blend into the back seat, but that was just as well.

"Now that that's out of your system, to the business of the company as of late-"

William frowned. "Charles, we're on an outing for the company. We know of the state of it."

"Well, Haytham may be unaware of the merger that happened late yesterday evening between a rival company due to his..." and there was a significant hint of distaste in his voice. Haytham remained neutral under his helmet.

"… early departure." Charles finished.

"I'm fully aware of the merger, Charles, I received all three of your emails this morning." He lifted the helmet with a frown. "My early departure wasn't exactly early, I left when the office actually closed." As opposed to staying overnight, but that went without saying.

"I'm not placing blame, rest was required when partaking in a... sport of this caliber." The words were venom on his tongue. "An opera may have prevented such a quandary, allowing for both to be accomplished. Operas have the air of..." And there was no denying how his eyes examined Connor in the mirror, taking in his feathers, his mohawk. "Class."

"Duly noted." It sounded anything but, Haytham lighting up suddenly. "We're calling body part shots."

"Yes!" William turned around at the light, looking between the two men in the back seat. "There's four rounds, we can each pick a body part. Though I can guess what you'll pick."

"Head." It was unanimous , from Charles, William, and Haytham. In complete neutrality he asked, fingering the paint balls. "Connor? A shot in mind? "

"A bow and arrow is far different than a gun." Lee reclined comfortably, cockily. "Let's just hope he hits the target or loses quickly so we may leave."

"Shooting a bow is harder than shooting a gun." Two pairs of surprised eyes met his, Haytham looking at a spot on Connor's shoulder. "I should know. As I said, Connor, a body part of choice?" They still had time to kill, he'd make this trip as close to pleasant as possible.

-=-=-=-

Opera was boring as fuck. That was what Connor wanted to say out loud, but it would only prove Lee's point. So he let them bicker, remaining quiet in his corner of the car, brushing off flecks of dried paint from his gun as he stared at the scenery flashing by.

"A bow and arrow is far different than a gun. Let's just hope he hits the target or loses quickly so we may leave." Brows eyes flicked up and locked with Lee's pale green in the mirror, and opened his mouth to reply, but Haytham beat him to it.

… was that a compliment? He blinked slowly, turning his head in favor of staring at his father with a slightly surprised look in his eyes, and absently rubbed the small scar on his shoulder. He shrugged. “Head works for me.” he muttered and glanced at Charles again as he reached into his bag and pulled out his music player and ear buds. At the end of the final round he'd make sure to shoot him in another place where it counted.

Two hours and a couple of dozen songs later and William finally pulled up on the parking lot. Again, news reporters had already gathered, as well as a lot of other people but it was to be expected this time; this was a charitable event after all.

And now that they had finally arrived, Connor started feeling that itch of excitement bubbling up; they were in the woods and he got to shoot things; they were just people instead of animals and he couldn't kill them, but it could still be fun. He didn't know what their strategy was going to be, they didn't even know who they would be playing against but either way he'd leave it to his dad and the others. No doubt they would want to decide how to do this. Whatever their strategy was though... as long as he could use the trees. He could provide perfect cover from there.

-=-=-=-

It was a pleasant ride for the most part, Connor electing to blast music, no doubt to drone out the bickering between William and Charles. He was envious he couldn't do the same.

Naturally reporters would line up the moment they arrived, though certainly not just for him. Other celebrities, millionaires, entrepreneurs and the like did show, as expected. Haytham lowered his helmet before exiting, choosing a more secluded spot.

"Winning means a donation of five hundred thousand to the foundation of our choosing on their roster." He eyes William and Charles, Charles swatting what seemed to be an imaginary gnat.

"I say we match it." Two nods, and Haytham stood up tall, examining the competition. They didn't look like much, really. Save for one group... Who had decided to shave their heads, completely. And something screamed inappropriate at the third Reich symbol on their forehead.

"That's a way to honor veterans." Sarcasm lay thick on William's tongue, although Charles neglected to comment, simply spectating.

"Team name is Ursa Major," Haytham's eyes flickered to Connor's bear claw necklace but he remained emotionless. "The color is red, the band on our left arm will identify us. Now, as for positioning." The took the time to stroll through the territory as everyone readied themselves. A couple of ponds, a steep canopy, and long hill and a shallow ravine.

"William, trench. Charles, flank by the ponds. Connor, canopy, preferably over our flag."

"You'll be by me in the ponds then, yes?"

Haytham contemplated, before nodding his head. "Whistle if you need me, otherwise I'll be capturing everyone else's flags. If this takes more than three hours I'll be disappointed. No one else can win..." His ears picked up the laughter of two of the men with shaven heads, their white robe like attire making his teeth grind. "Especially them." He would not loose to some back wood bigots. Who invited them was beyond him, he couldn't fathom anyone so blatantly stupid.

"Alright, we'll brief and resume our position here. Again, if the need arises for my assistance, whistle."

… And from there it should have been damn simple. Should have been.

Drenched in sweat, hair sticking to the nape of his neck, Haytham squatted in the cold creek, back to a tree. William had lasted quite a while, eventually overrun and shot for the simple fact that Charles would not stop calling him.

Every two seconds.

His aim was absolutely pathetic, he complained about being sticky every four seconds and if Haytham heard the lines 'we should've went to the opera' one more time, he'd shoot Charles himself.

How he managed to survive this long was beyond him.

The one saving grace had to be Connor.

He ran about the tress in a rush so chaotic yet utterly well timed... it was a sight to see. He'd never imagined anyone could out run Ziio... but there he was, darting about with ease. He protected the flag well, and actually maintained his post. Good soldier. He would have done well in the military save for his mouth.

"We should concede. There's only that one group left." Charles stood panting next to him and Haytham glared at the enemy team. Yes, the one who insisted an wearing a lovely symbol on the top of their helmet, stating it was a 'free country.' How convenient to let them win.

"No." Haytham didn't even hesitate and looked up at the canopy. It had been a while, now. "I'm checking on Connor."

"Haytham-"

"Charles, for God's sakes, just shoot a person and stop this madness." He wasn't nearly as good at this as Ziio... granted she showed him the basic points years ago but it was hardly to her caliber. Let alone Connor's. Leaving Charles to his own devices he ran off, in search for his son.

It took him time, a long time to get to where their flag was, zigzagging his way around and finally dragging himself up into a tree, taking a moment to rest on a thicker branch in his exhaustion. Where the hell was Connor? This is where their flag should be, that Connor was supposed to protect, but neither his son nor their flag was anywhere in sight.

Frowning Haytham sat up, peering through the canopy through squinted eyes. There was movement up ahead, someone- Wait... was that Charles? Yes, it was, and he was with... a member of the other team? And there, in Charles' free hand, a piece of fabric in their own colors. Oh, no wonder he couldn't find the flag, Charles was carrying it on him! Was he trying to surrender?!

Seething, Haytham watched Charles gesture to the flag in his hand, nodding at the man from the enemy team and he grit his teeth, grabbing his gun and counting the rest of his paint balls.

Four enemies, only three pellets left.

God damn it, he wasn't going to lose to these assholes!

A very soft rustle, and he looked up, spotting Connor in an adjacent tree, mask lifted and watching the sight before him in rage.

… Well then, this could work.

He tossed an acorn his way, garnering Connor's attention and lifted his own mask, holding out the three paint balls he had left and motioning to them below, a wicked smile crossing his face as he mouthed: Which head would you prefer to shoot?

-=-=-=-

Connor glanced at the other team talking with Charles and grimaced. Fucking traitor... traitors deserved to be shot, he'd get what was coming to him. Hoisting the strap of his gun over his shoulder he sat up straight and moved towards the tree Haytham sat in, silently but swiftly, and raised his eyebrow at him.

How the hell did you get up here? was the question he wanted to ask, but he pushed it to the back – he could always ask later – and turned his attention on their targets again. “I'm nearly out.” he said and glanced at his father's gun; he only had three paint balls left. Haytham'd have to make this count.

“William's out?” A nod and he sighed. Dammit... just the two of them left then, seeing as clearly they couldn't count on Lee. “I have eleven balls left.” And he wasn't going to let his father take all the damn credit.

One team member stood with Charles. The second was a little further away, half hidden behind a low wall and keeping a watch on the surrounding area for any suspicious activity.

“Okay, you take out those two. You can save your last paint ball for Lee once we've won.” Connor jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and picked up his gun again. “I have to get back. The other two are further to the left and I think they're planning a simultaneous attack on us by attacking from both sides. I can take them out... if you think you can take out these two goons without missing.” Whatever paint balls he had left himself after this he would save for Lee as well. He fucking deserved it.

Flashing Haytham a smirk Connor lowered his mask again and turned. “Don't fuck this up, old man.” he teased and quickly darted back over the branches, circling around to the last known location of the other two goons. He'd have to trust his father to deal with the ones talking to Lee, to be capable enough to make those last two shots count. If not, then they'd most likely loose the match.

As he had expected it didn't take long to find the other two team members; he spotted one creeping towards through the thicket and scrubs, staying low to the ground. The other one, opposite of the field, was hiding behind a few rocks, no doubt to scout the area. He had been taking out a lot of enemies around this place, they knew he was here, somewhere. They were being cautious for a good reason.

Connor glanced at the first one again, watching him creep closer no doubt trusting the other one to have his back and cover him. The second goon began closing in as well but he was still too far away to hit.

Connor moved slowly, quietly raising his gun and aiming it at the top of the first goon's helmet. He waited, letting him come closer until he stopped and slowly sat up, to survey his surroundings... and squeezed the trigger.

“Fuck!” the goon jumped up as red paint splattered over his helmet and Connor smirked – more points for him! - when suddenly a blue paintball splattered against the three not even a foot away from his head. Cursing he ducked behind the trunk, quickly scooting around it onto another branch. The other guy was coming into motion now as well, dashing out of his hiding spot in a zig zag as he fired into the trees; some of the paint balls barely missed him.

“Shit! You better be fucking winning over there, dad!” he hissed to himself as he jumped off a low hanging branch into some closely clustered bushes and rolled onto his feet, darting behind a rock as another blue ball splattered paint where his leg had been just seconds ago. Oh this guy was good!

Daring a peek over the edge of the boulder Connor cursed even louder, watching the second goon trying to flee the area. He shot out of hiding and immediately the man began firing again, over his shoulder first, and then while running backwards. Connor was forced to dart back behind the nearest tree, a boulder, a low wooden fence, whatever he could use as cover as he desperately tried to close in enough to shoot the bastard before he got away.

He'd never hear the end of it if he lost this now!

He heard a thud and a muffled curse and quickly glanced over the fence he was hiding behind; the other guy had tripped over a tree root and was scrambling to get onto his feet again; Connor wasted no time and jumped over the fence, putting all his remaining energy into this last sprint. He fired. The man rolled to the side and jumped on his feet. He fired again, cursing as he somehow managed to dodge and threw a rock his way, which he had to deflect with his gun, knocking it to the side.

The man fired again and a paint ball whizzed past his face. He was close enough to touch him now; extending his arms Connor hooked the muzzle of his gun underneath the gun of his opponent and pulled, yanking it out of the way before he raised his foot and shoved it against the man's chest to force him back, creating just enough room for him to aim.

A red splatter appeared in the center of the man's padded chest, a grotesque mimic of a shot wound, and the goon cursed loudly, but Connor had already turned around, breathing heavily.

Had dad won?

-=-=-=-

Wait, why was he taking on three people if he had three paintballs left? Granted, he was a great shot and shooting Charles wasn't a requirement to win, but if Connor had more paint balls shouldn't he at least get a few before trying this-

Too late. Connor took off with a burst of speed, Haytham's eye twitching further. Old man, hm? Looking between the three, Haytham examined his own stance and nodded to himself.

This would sting a bit. Charles could hand over the flag any second however, and that left him little choice.

Rapid movement, and he aimed for the top of the look-out's head. With Charles and the other man standing close together, it was less likely they'd get distance after he fired his shot.

On somewhat shaky legs, Haytham crouched, moving to a thinner part of the branch, one close enough to leap. It took just a moment, but transpired so slowly as the lookout saw him and almost called out-

"In the tr-"

Right between the eyes, a red burst of paint exploded. Haytham was grateful he wasn't in a particularly high tree, legs extended and arms out, gun in one hand and the other open wide to grab them.

A paint ball burst beside him, the full weight of Haytham's body colliding with the other man, and in the flurry the man's gun dropped. He kicked out; Haytham rolled on his side and aimed, ignoring the flaring pain in his knee as a red burst of paint hit the man in the mask, who cursed loudly.

He had no time to celebrate victory though.

"Charles!"

Charles had taken off in the brush of bushes, dropping their flag in his haste and Haytham made to chase after him – only to get hit with the butt of the gun.

The helmet helped somewhat but not entirely. It was unexpected to say the least. He allowed himself to slide down the thick trunk of the tree. His gun remained by his side. In front of him stood one of the men he had shot, red paint dribbling down the front of his helmet.

"We're not losing to the likes of you. Not to his kind and certainly not to a lover of the darkies."

Snarling, Haytham took hold of his own gun and lifted his helmet. A brawny man, Haytham squinted at the sound of his voice. He dared to raise his own helmet and recognized the man's face.

"… Playing for Reginald, are you? How is his corporation doing these days since his incapacitation? I heard your stocks have plummeted." The man was stronger, younger, and clearly did not abide by rules.

His opponent sneered. "I heard your company is doing much better, after the forest fruit met her little end. Probably more raisin-like after how she died." A smirk, and the man slowly reached for the crumpled flag on the ground. It would be his word against theirs, after all. "Charred meat never smells as good as a woman’s perfume."

Haytham's face remained blank, hand clutched around his gun as he quickly took a final shot before the goon could react. The man doubled over and fell to his knees, a yell ejecting from his throat as the final paint ball exploded over his groin. Haytham stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees, and moved to pick up their flag once more, eyeing the look-out who ran to his friend's aid with his hands raised in surrender.

"You won, fair and square. I'll let the panel know."

A nod, and Haytham wondered where Charles had ran off to... ah, but he had far more important things on his mind now.

He needed to talk to Connor. He felt the material of the flag between his fingers and stalked onward to grab the enemy flag and find his son. Let him revel in their little victory, he could keep this to himself for the moment.

-=-=-=-

“Dad! Did you get it?”

By the time Connor reached his father's location he was out of breath and slowed down to a stop, resting his hands against his knees as he struggled to breathe. He had ran all the way from their flag location to this place, and as he looked up he was pleased to see Haytham hold the enemy's flag in his hand, gun in the other. They had won.

With a grunt Connor allowed his knees to buckle and sat down on his ass before flopping backwards onto the grass, arms spread and eyes closed. They had won! It had been difficult and he had honestly expected to lose, but no, they had won!

“Where's Lee?” he asked, still a little breathless even after he managed to catch most his breath, and cracked one eye open to see Haytham jab his thumb in the direction of the main building, an angry glare on his face. Connor shared his father's anger, and with a huff of breath he got onto his feet again, stomping towards the building with his father right behind him.

As expected, Charles was indeed inside, talking with William. The defeated members of the other team sat in a corner and cast them dirty glances as they walked inside.

“Haytham! Connor!” William was beaming, taking a step towards them with his arms spread wide. “You did it! I didn't think we had a chance to win after- whoa now!” He quickly put his hands up as Connor lifted his paintball gun, but it wasn't aimed at William. The muzzle pointed directly at Charles, who met his angry gaze with a raised eyebrow. Challenging him. He was fucking challenging him. Good thing Connor liked a challenge and wasn't afraid to back down just because Lee was a greasy fancy suit with a ton of cash; his finger tightened around the trigger and he had a split of second to enjoy the widening of Charles' eyes as he realized that yes, he was about to shoot.

Red paint splattered over Charles' chest plate as Connor fired again, and again, emptying his gun onto his supposed team mate as everyone abruptly fell silent until he had no more pellets left.

“Have you completely lost your mind?!” Charles bellowed as he glanced down at the red paint dribbling down his front, and William quickly stepped forward to push Connor's gun down, even though it was already empty – the kid looked angry enough to use it to bash Charles' head in. “Calm down, Connor. There's no need for this, we won.”

“Yeah but no thanks to him!” Connor snapped and threw his empty gun on the floor. “I saw you talking to that other team. You're a fucking traitor, Lee! And you should never have come along! You should have left your useless, cowardly ass back home!”

-=-=-=-

It was a most amusing spectacle. Connor's anger almost matched his own. Of course the way he handled said emotion was callous to the point of almost lacking tact. Admittedly, he too wanted Charles to endure the end of a few well placed rounds, but one simply did not do that.

Mostly because he lacked pellets. But he had a touch of class.

"Haytham!" William gave him a pleading stare, situated between both men. Hm? Oh, yes.

He should do something, he supposed.

"Charles, that was cowardly. Connor..." He met his son's angry eyes. Charles crossed his arms, a smirk playing across his face. Almost gleefully awaiting a punishment.

"… I'm famished. I would literally kill half the people here for a cheeseburger." That garnered the stare of more than a few people but Haytham ignored it.

William blinked, lips twitching as Charles turned... fuchsia? Or was that more of a pale rose?

"Haytham, your son shot me in the chest!"

A grey eye twitched before he answered. "Charles, I would have shot you too if I hadn't ran out of ammo. Besides, you're both adults. Settle it amongst your selves, I'll have no part in it."

"Haytham-"

A dismissive hand wave was his only response, Charles turning a darker shade of red.

"Is there a Burger King establishment somewhere near by, William? We're hungry."

-=-=-=-

“I think I saw a Burger Ki-”

“No.”

Eyes flitted to Connor as he turned around, his back to Charles and shook his head. “I hate Burger King. We passed a McDonalds on our way here.” Ugh and he was craving a McFlurry now.

William shrugged and his lips twitched up into a smile. “McDonalds sounds good. Heh,” he elbowed Haytham. “We haven't been to a McDonalds since the early days. You coming, Charles?”

Charles was almost literally bursting at the seams now and he stomped his foot down. “No, I refuse to have dinner in such a... a... plebian snack bar! There has to be something better!” Something with at least four stars.

“Oh come on, Charles.” William nearly whined. “It's been so long since we last visited a McDonalds.”

“I refuse-”

“Lee, if you really think the Mac is so far beneath your stature,” Connor turned and picked up his paintball gun from the floor. “Then you can stay behind in the car and starve!” With that he turned on his heel and marched out of the building towards the parking lot.

William blinked and watched him go, clapping Haytham on the shoulder. “Say what you will, but he takes after you as well.” The bossy attitude when angry for one. With that they walked towards the car as well... Charles had no choice but to follow, silently fuming as he did so.

~*~

The nearest McDonalds was only a twenty minute drive away. William opted to use the McDrive but Connor insisted on wanting to eat inside; he was desperate to get out of the car.

Fortunately it wasn't all that crowded, even though they all earned plenty of stares from the people already eating and working there as they walked in, still wearing their paint splattered camouflage suits. William satisfied himself with a double cheeseburger and a large cola while Connor took the McChicken menu, “and a McFlurry with M&Ms! And a Happy Meal for him.” Jabbing his thumb at Charles he grinned over his shoulder at the angry scowl he received in return, and stepped to the side so that Charles could change his menu to a coffee and a salad.

-=-=-=-

He almost grinned at William's words, watching Connor storm off. Indeed, perhaps he inherited the finer traits of him. Unwillingness to negotiate being one of them.

Which is why as they ordered he slipped out. There was a Burger King just across the street.

He came back ten minutes later, a double whopper with no onions and extra tomato, an order of onion rings and a giant cup of coke in his hands. He almost dared someone to say something and flopped down into a seat next to Charles and across from his son.

"I don't understand how you consume that garbage when heaven is literally across the street."

William rolled his eyes, snatching Haytham's soda and taking a glug. "Oh god, it's the nineties fry wars all over again."

"Burger King won."

"That one time, McDonalds has better fries currently."

"Fries are overrated, onion rings are better."

William shook his head as Haytham sipped from his drink and blanched. "Jesus."

"Yeah, sweat tea."

Haytham shook his head, grabbing his much better drink and spared Connor a glance. "Chicken. Really? Burger King is better-"

"We have much more pressing matters to address!" A few people stared, Haytham's arms crossing over his chest as he chewed.

"The buyout, the lawsuit against Hickey, the stocks, the-"

Haytham rose an eyebrow, frowning at Charles. "I'm very aware of our business' needs as is William. Hickey has a sexual harassment claim filed against him every other day, our stocks are fine, Church will handle the buyout and for god sakes, William, if you try switching my drink again I'll use Connor's McFlurry spoon and gauge your eye out."

"Haytham, this is serious." Charles resisted pinching the bridge of his nose, staring instead at Connor. "There is business to conduct, and you've been mentally absent ever since that woman's passing."

Haytham tensed immediately, looking away. Even then he could see William glare imaginary daggers at Charles before he cleared his throat. "Haytham is doing just fine. If anything I think he should take the afternoon off to commemorate the victory with his son." William offered Connor a friendly back pat. "They did win it for our company, after all."

Grey-blue eyes flickered to Connor, just for a moment. He said nothing, head tilting curiously as he watched Connor eat his McFlurry. Curiously, William turned his head, blinking.

-=-=-=-

Connor just rolled his eyes and tried to block out the back and forth bickering about which was better, McDonalds or Burger King. He honestly didn't care at this point; after all, he had a McFlurry and it was delicious!

He finished his burger in silence and did the same with his fries and cola, saving the best for last. It really was too bad that McDonalds did not deliver orders at your doorstep, or he would order McFlurries at least once every week! It was so gooooooood! Oh man, he wanted another one, these things really didn't last long, already he could see the bottom of the cup.

Trying to ignore Charles' whining about the company Connor frowned and licked ice cream off the white plastic spoon, ignoring the temptation to kick the man under the table.

"There is business to conduct, and you've been mentally absent ever since that woman's passing."

The spoon cracked between his teeth as Connor abruptly bit down and shot Charles a venomous glare. William quickly pressed his hands down on his shoulder as he made to stand, and forced him back down in his chair.

That bastard Lee! How dare he?! Fuck this, he wasn't fucking worth it! Still glaring Connor took the spoon out of his mouth and glanced down at it, eyeing the crack running over the length of the plastic before he shrugged and popped it back into his mouth. Stupid asshole... why hadn't dad fired him yet? He totally should.

He felt along the crack with his tongue as he leaned his elbows on the table, slowly pushing the spoon around in his mouth as he stared blankly at the wall ahead. It sucked that Myriam preferred Burger King as well. And Shaun, Shaun didn't like either. Bah, and he didn't feel like going to McDonalds alone; where was the fun in that even if he could eat all the McFlurries he wanted?

It sucked...

It took Connor quite a few seconds to realize that he was being stared at, and he blinked, feeling a light flush creep onto his face as William, Haytham and yes, even Charles blatantly stared at him. What? WHAT? What was he, a piece of meat on display? Stop staring!

“Knock it off.” he muttered, the words a little muffled with the spoon still in his mouth and Connor turned in his chair, fishing for his phone. A quick game of Jewels was what was needed right now. Dad and his colleagues were exhausting.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't look away, it was almost captivating, watching the tip of Connor's tongue trace the spoon. To and fro, back and forth. Haytham snapped out of it at Connor's mutter, realizing both William and Charles were staring at his son, for two very different reasons.

He nudged Charles, simply urging him to behave; he seemed likely to make an unflattering derogatory assessment and he would not stand for it.

No matter how orally fixated Connor was.

As for William, Haytham cleared his throat. That was enough for him to shoot Haytham an apologetic look. It still didn't help the odd stirring in the pit of his stomach though. He kicked it away, unwilling to speculate its intent. He was the lad's father, of course he'd feel something.

"An afternoon off sounds splendid."

He received a glare from Charles and little else. The drive home was fairly quiet save for his and William's chatter. He threw the occasional glance Connor's way but saved the commentary. It wasn't his concern, not really.

He unlocked their door, taking William's advice and spending the afternoon free of obligations. Well, if one didn't include bonding obligatory.

Though really, Connor was an impressive shot. "You fared well today." He placed the filter into the percolator, the sound of coffee brewing loud in the kitchen. "Your aim is not bad."

-=-=-=-

Connor was most glad to finally get home and away from Lee. Even William, while a great guy, had started to grind on his nerves during the ride home. He needed a fucking aspirin.

He dumped his stuff in the hallway and made a beeline towards his bedroom; he wasn't going to do anything tonight. He was going to slouch on the couch and watch movies and drink mountain dew and then go to bed. Connor quickly stripped out of his paintball clothes and carried them into his bathroom where they were unceremoniously dumped into the hamper.

A quick shower later Connor strolled back into the kitchen wearing his comfortable pajamas, minus plastic spoon as it had finally fully cracked under the abuse of his tongue and teeth and now lay forgotten, alone and in pieces in the trashcan. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit him and Connor sighed happily. Aaaahhh coffee... almost as great as McFlurry ice cream. Especially when his dad made it.

“... thanks.” He still wasn't used to getting compliments, especially not when they came from his father. It didn't happen often and when it did it usually left him feeling... weird. And strangely proud. “You did pretty well as well. You know, for an old man.”

He accepted his coffee with a smirk. He knew that Haytham was aware he was only teasing, it certainly wasn't the first time he had called him an old man and it wouldn't be the last. That, and he was old.

They walked back into the living room and Connor flopped down onto the couch with a sigh. Adding creamer and a ton of sugar he stirred his coffee with one of his father's expensive silver spoons and leaned back into the cushions, letting the hot cup warm his hands as the piece of metal too found its way into his mouth, to have something to occupy himself with as he waited for his coffee to cool down.

-=-=-=-

He let the comment slide, if only because Connor called him that repeatedly. And often. And it was a lie even if he was graying earlier than expected.

Haytham settled against the couch, enjoying silence for just a moment. He preferred tea, but coffee would do. Black and two sugars, the way he liked it.

"Lad, spoon." He peered upwards as he said it, blinking again as Connor's tongue curled around the metal. He had his mother's eyes, but not her habits.

He forced his gaze elsewhere but couldn't help the comment that escaped his lips. "And you wonder why men stare, you've acquired the oral gestures of seasoned call girls."

He blinked as Connor choked. What? He had called him old!

At least he was being honest.

-=-=-=-

Connor quickly spat out the spoon onto the couch cushions and rubbed his throat. What? Seriously? Blinking at his father with wide eyes he glanced at the spoon again, back to his father and back to the spoon before they narrowed. “And how would you know?”

Was that why William and Lee had been staring at him as well before? Because he... oh god! Feeling an embarrassed flush creep onto his face Connor picked up the spoon again and tossed it on the table. It was a habit of him, he knew that. He just liked having something in his mouth he could toy around with and chew on. It was a great stress reliever. So what if it looked a little...? He didn't mean for it to look like that!

And you know what? He did what he wanted! “I don't care.” Snatching the spoon back he put it between his lips again and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest as he tilted his head up slightly, peering down at his father sitting across of him as he slowly twirled the spoon around with his tongue, and smiled around it.

“Is it troubling you, dad?”

-=-=-=-

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at the insinuation. Honestly, the lad couldn't tell when he was being baited? Though he seemed far from bothered by it, being the brat he was.

"Troubling me? No. I can't control who or what you've done." That got him a glare, Haytham's eyes still on Connor's mouth. Nor did he wish too.

It was simply interesting, watching Connor lap at a spoon, that smirk plastered across his face. As it were, he was a handsome lad. Such actions coupled with his looks would garner attention. He'd never admit that aloud.

"… I am fascinated by how easily the activity comes to you." He paused, sipping his coffee before adding. "No pun intended." Although, he wouldn't deny how tempting that seemed. His hardening cock didn't seem to mind either. And the voice of warning was absent.

It only spurred Haytham to lean back, very aware of the unhidable bunching of his pants. If the lad brought it up, well, he'd go from there. They hadn't initiated an act save for that one night. If Connor didn't, no harm in a long shower.

-=-=-=-

… wait, had he just implied that... that...!

Connor reddened even more and swallowed thickly. Well, it wasn't like he had never performed oral before. Myriam liked it enough, and it wasn't like that one boyfriend from a few years back had ever said no to a blow job. He didn't have much experience with the latter though... he had only done it, what... five times total? Something like that?

And it didn't help that, somehow, Haytham seemed to like the idea, if the pitch in his pants wasn't clear enough. He wasn't exactly making an effort to hide it. And it was weird on so many levels!

He and Haytham hadn't done 'anything' since that day of the funeral, well over eight months ago. They had both blamed it on the alcohol and the emotions back then, and neither of them had ever brought it up, nor did they have a reason to. As nice as it had been, it didn't change the fact that they were related, family.

And now his father was sitting across of of him with his cock trying to tear through the fabric of his pants, and insinuating that performing orally must come easy to him just because he liked to suck on spoons!

There were so many things wrong with that.

It was... weirdly exhilarating

“Fascinated, huh?” he asked, ignoring the screaming voice in the back of his mind that kept warning him that he should shut up and drop the subject before either of them did something they would regret. Blaming it on the alcohol wasn't an option this time. “I can... er, see that.” Very clearly. Connor risked another glance down at his father's crotch, feeling like his head was on fire.

… well... it had been a very tiring day. It wouldn't hurt to... relax? Enjoy each others company? Have some... ah, fun? He'd enjoyed it the last time... they both had. It wasn't like they were hurting anyone with it, right?

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, you dirtbag, the little voice in his mind hissed, but Connor promptly blocked it and shifted, finally removing the spoon and placing it back on the table. “You, eh...” He nodded at the tent in his father's pants before looking up to meet his eyes. “Do you...?” Oh god this was so awkward, and he felt like such a freak for bringing it up, for suggesting it even! He felt like he could die from embarrassment, right here, right now.

Maybe that would be best.

But... he wouldn't deny that the few times he had given someone a blow job, he had really liked doing it.

-=-=-=-

Fascinated indeed. The variety of color burning displayed over his son's cheeks said quite enough about his own opinions. And what was clear, was his acceptance of the silent proposition.

Well fancy that. Haytham quite enjoyed watching embarrassment shown across dashing features.

So much for being an old man then, aye Connor?

"Well I certainly hope you could see my fascination, lest you need spectacles." Yes, amused and smirking, cocky and now delightfully assertive, Haytham spared his son a gaze that smoldered.

"Do I... what?" He set his coffee aside, playing with the rim of the cup. "Partake in such endeavors?" He got up, settling himself on his knees between Connor's legs before resting an elbow on his thigh, hand cupping his face. "I enjoy receiving such activity, yes lad." It wasn't what he was asking, but Haytham hardly cared.

Not when brown eyes were fixated on his every movement. A finger trailed up and down the seam of his son's pants, Haytham's eyes never leaving the dark brown. "I've wondered, on occasion, what the action may feel like, against my lips, tongue... and the like." That was a lie, he had no interest in such things. He wasn't repulsed, but the thought of performing orally hardly seemed appealing.

Judging by the noises Connor made, however, he'd be willing to let the lie slide. A calloused hand cupped the hardening erection, and he dipped his head to lick the entirety of its length through his pajamas.

Rising to his feet, Haytham cocked an eyebrow and sat down in his chair again, bringing his coffee to his lips. "Perhaps someday I'd even concede to such a notion... if I was thoroughly satisfied."

-=-=-=-

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod!

Connor could only stare, eyes blown wide open as Haytham settled between his legs. Was this truly happening? Was this real? If it wasn't, was this a dream or a nightmare?

He shivered as a finger traced the seam of his pants, and his eyes widened even more at the confession. His father had never given a blow job before? But he'd slept with men before-

His hips jerked before he could stop it, as a hand cupped the erection he didn't even realize he had and the strangled groan he let out bordered on un-manly as the wet hotness of a tongue licked a broad stripe up over his clothed erection, right through the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms.

His heart was definitely working overtime in his chest right now and Connor was unable to bite back a whimper as the warmth of his father's close presence disappeared, leaving him on the couch by himself with his legs spread, a damp spot on his pants and a dazed look in his eyes.

Holy shit!

… he shouldn't have liked that as much as he did.

Eyes flicked up at Haytham, who sat down like nothing was wrong and casually sipped from his coffee, acting like he wasn't sporting a tent. Connor's fingers clenched into fists until his nails dug into his palms.... fucking tease.

He stood up, firmly ignoring the warning voice of reason in his head, still eyeing the obvious bulge in Haytham's pants and walked around the table to kneel in front of him. His hands rested on Haytham's knees as he contemplated on what to say... dad had been honest with him just now. He should do the same. “I... haven't done this in a while.” he muttered and applied a little pressure, spreading his father's legs to create room. “I'm probably rusty at this.” Couldn't really fuck up on a blow job but he hadn't forgotten his father's preference for rough play and there was no way that he'd be able to deep throat him or something. “So no rushing me.” he warned as he reached out and began undoing his father's belt. The last time he had done this, with his late boyfriend, h'd managed to unzip him with only his teeth and tongue... but it had been too long ago. It was unlikely he'd be able to repeat that now. Maybe at a later date... if there was ever a later. That this was happening now was already more than he could have ever imagined.

Popping the button Connor pulled down the zipper and tugged on the jeans to lower them as far as possible. Taking a deep breath he tugged his boxers down as well and- whoops! Got a face full of excitable cock. Oh hello... ahem. Excitable indeed!

“Any, er... preferences?” he asked as he tilted his head, looking it up and down and wondering how far he could fit that in. It was... quite impressive.

-=-=-=-

It had been a while, hm? He was mildly surprised at that. Connor seemed rather talented with his tongue, he'd though it had been put to proper use more frequently.

He had to fight the chuckle, his cock quite literally almost slapping Connor on the forehead. He'd comment, but he quite liked the lad between his legs, looking at his erection as if it were formidable. Perhaps it was. Perhaps the biggest he ever had. Now that thought made him smile.

"Just one." He took a fistful of black hair between his hand and gripped, but did little else. He was on the receiving end, he could tone down his habitual desire for rough activity just this once.

"I rather like you between my legs. I'd like it better if I was watching my cock slip between your lips, but I still quite like the view." Never one for dirty talk, it was said to make Connor blush. He found himself successful in the endeavor, and spread his legs wider.

"At your ready then." It had been quite some time, he was anxious to feel something other than his own hand. Last time... last time, doing this had served to make him feel better, at least for a short while. Eight months was nowhere near long enough for the pain to fade, but some things helped. Strangely, this was one of them.

-=-=-=-

Connor did not pull away when fingers wound into his hair, but he did frown and glanced up. Ah... of course. Well, that he could deal with he supposed, as long as Haytham refrained from tugging and yanking on his hair too roughly. He rather liked his hair where it was, on his head and not pulled out.

Alright then. Looking down at the cock in front of him Connor raised his hand and licked his palm to wet it; he would do this but at his own damn pace. His wrapped his fingers around the heated flesh, just to get a feel of what he would be dealing with and slowly stroked up and down. He traced a prominent vein with the pad of his index finger, paying close attention to the small jerks of Haytham's hips and the soft hitches in his breath, filing away what were sensitive spots as he thumbed the slit.

He wouldn't admit it, but truthfully he was stalling a little, feeling his own heart thump erratically in his chest. Oh, he knew he should not be doing this, not with his father... but... but... it didn't feel as wrong as it should. There was no harm in it! As long as he kept telling himself that...

He couldn't wait much longer though and with a deep breath he leaned forward, closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the crown.

He refused to rush himself as he ran his tongue over the head, frowning slightly at the bitter taste and trailed his lips down, sucking along the vein he had traced before. This was for himself as well, his own enjoyment and not just his dad's. He wanted to explore and get to know this particular part of his anatomy better; he hadn't thought that he and Haytham would ever again do something sexual (seeing as they weren't even drunk right now!) but here it was and it was possible that it would happen again. The thought did not disturb him as much as it as it should.

His fingers touched, stroked and rubbed where his mouth wouldn't reach as he explored, running his lips and tongue all over his father's erection, from head to base and back up again until it shone with his saliva. And then he opened his mouth fully, slowly lowering himself and slipping Haytham's cock in as far as was comfortable, his tongue applying pressure against the underside. His cheeks hollowed and Connor sucked, slurping his way back up and pulled back slightly. A string of saliva and pre-cum connected his lips with the head and he opened his mouth as he licked them, breaking the strand.

Huh... Haytham needed to eat more fruit. Bitter!

-=-=-=-

Eyes glued themselves to Connor's fingertips, tracing a path up and down his cock. He watched lips encase his head, let out a breathy sigh as the base of him was gripped, and shut his eyes just for a moment as Connor's mouth engulfed his shaft. He opened them to witness lips rising, inch after inch of himself slick, a sheen of saliva covering him.

While slow for his tastes, it was surprisingly enjoyable, the fact that his son was between his legs hardening him further in a forbidden sort of way.

Thoughts left him as cheeks hollowed around him, Haytham gritting his teeth. No. He was not one for noises. Sighing and caught breaths, perhaps a low moan of his partner's name were all he did.

And yet... suction, hot and wonderful. His grip tightened, fingers threading through hair as Connor bobbed his head, moving up his cock. Pre-cum, his own, connected to moist lips, and it escaped before he could stop it.

A noise of a higher pitch, not high, but higher than his moans, between a whimper and a sigh. Nails left indentations in his palm as he fought the urge to thrust. So long... not since their last ordeal had he sought physical affections with someone else. And here he sat, biting his lip to prevent another noise as Connor looked at him for an extended period of time. Or it felt that way, at least.

Hard to tell when he was this erect and had lips a mere inch away from his cock.

"… Problem, lad?" He swallowed thickly, voice holding a quiver of lust but otherwise calm. Lucky it didn't betray him like his twitching cock did in a silent plea for more.

-=-=-=-

Hehehehehehehe.

It was difficult getting decent sounds of pleasure from his father; a stoic, controlled guy like that it was hardly surprising. But oh, did he love it when he managed to get Haytham to moan, even if they remained soft. To break that stoic and in-control character of his.

"… Problem, lad?"

Heh nope, no problem. Haytham's voice was mostly stable but Connor caught the small tremor, barely noticeable, and watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Despite not having done this in years, it seemed that his blow job skills were still with him.

He stuck his nose in the air and pursed his lips, answering snootily: “You have to eat more fruit. You're very bitter.” There was no way he would give Haytham time to reply; swiftly he moved forward again and parted his lips, drawing his father back into his mouth.

This time the pace was much faster; Connor sucked, swirled his tongue, applied pressure, stroked, licked and nipped and even added in a light hint of teeth, wondering how Haytham would react to that.

He was starting to feel a little... tight himself though. He still used his fingers to stroke what he couldn't fit in, but the heavy weight of his father's flesh on his tongue was starting to turn him on as well. His brows furrowed together as he shifted, trying to ignore the growing heat between his legs and for half a minute or so, he managed... but it quickly became too prominent to ignore. Removing one of his hands, his palm and fingers slicked with saliva and pre-cum he jutted it down between his legs and wormed it into his pajama bottoms and underwear. The tremor of his sigh as he wrapped fingers around himself couldn't have gone unnoticed.

-=-=-=-

His eye twitched. It couldn't be helped, and Haytham began to respond. "See here, b- oh."

Teeth worried his lower lip, head falling against the couch. His hand remained buried in Connor's hair, hips reacting in slow, long rolls. His pulse quickened with the pace, and he fought through the sucks and licks, through the soft, subtle heat of his son's mouth. He wouldn't give in, he would make no sounds he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he...

"Ahhhh!" Wordless. And throaty, teeth penetrated his lip, the tang of copper hitting him. Oh the press of teeth to his flesh, he should be wary. But no, euphoria and weightlessness, again the subtlety of what was forbidden.

A tremble, a hum of sorts and he felt the vibration thoroughly. Eyes opened, lust ridden and he watched Connor's arm move, curiously lifting his gaze...

The loudest moan yet left him, and he made no attempt to even hide it. It was followed by the shifting of his foot, however awkward, the heel rubbing in conjunction with Connor's hand along the length of his cock.

A burst of pride hit him, Haytham licking blood of his lips and whispering, deeply, softly, over the sucks and slurps he heard. "Had I realized I affected you so, I'd have consented to this long ago."

His shifted his foot, running along the outside of Connor's pants. Daring to peer between his legs, he bit back the groan, settling for rolling his hips and watched himself disappear between silken lips. "You'll be the death of me..." Though death by spectacular orgasm seemed rather fanciful. It had been too long, he was close, so very close to orgasm. He only needed a little more... a little more of something...

-=-=-=-

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck!

His hips bucked, seeking out the offered friction of what took Connor a few moments to realize was the heel of Haytham's foot, pressing against him and giving him something to grind against. His fingers tightened, on both cocks and his moan caused more vibrations in his mouth.

He upped his efforts, enjoying how he managed to get his father to moan louder for him, feeling his thighs tremble on his side. He hummed random melodies, anything to keep the vibrations going since it was clear his father was thoroughly enjoying the extra stimulation it provided. He was close, they both were. The way Haytham's hand clenched and unclenched in his hair, nails scratching over his scalp, and how his breath hitched and his hips rolled up trying to push deeper... at least he wasn't full out thrusting into his mouth and forcing himself down his throat. It seemed like something Haytham would do... but he didn't. Connor had warned him that he hadn't done this in a while and it seemed that his father was remembering that and respecting it... and that earned a reward, no?

By now Connor had abandoned the grip on his own cock in favor of gripping Haytham's foot, keeping it firmly in place as he rubbed himself against it, rolled his hips into the rough fabric of his sock – everything felt better than his own fingers.

Connor drew up with a long, loud slurp, tonguing the slit and lapping at the pre-cum gathered there before he withdrew and moved his head down. Haytham was on the verge of orgasm, he could tell... he just needed a little bit more...

It was a risk, he knew that, but it was sensitive and it would hopefully be enough to push his father over the edge. Connor kept his eyes closed, panting through the haze of his own pleasure and stuck out his tongue again, pushing it underneath his father's balls to flick against his taint in a rough, wet lick. Feeling him jerk he quickly slurped his way back up, licking a wet stripe over his balls with the flat of his tongue before quickly trailing it back up over his cock where he took the head into his mouth once more and hummed – in case that was enough to make him cum he didn't want to miss it.

-=-=-=-

Nails scratched the skin beneath him, hips rolling in a controlled rhythm. He may desire a brutal pace, Connor's throat tightening around him, but he was a man of control, of order. He could ignore the urge.

He couldn't fight the jerk of his own hips though, flinching at the strange, foreign sensation. No, he didn't like that, not in the slightest, and he tensed considerably.

But from no where came a swipe to his testicles. His head collided with the sofa, a calloused hand reaching between his own legs and squeezing, eyes shutting instantly as his head was engulfed by warm, wet heat. A few rough squeezes and loud, lascivious slurps and it was enough.

He came bucking, harder than he meant to, hand still buried into Connor's hair as he came. Hard. And in a large amount. His grip was tight enough to keep Connor's head in place, feeling him struggle against the hold on his hair, but he couldn't even begin to ease up his grip as orgasm crashed into him, shooting his seed down his son's throat.

His grip slackened finally once it was over, eyes still shut, brows furrowed and mouth parted as his erratic breathing continued. Not one word left him. No, he sat, a satiated, trembling wreck of himself. It took a moment for him to conjure the word, and it left him in a hoarse, almost whisper.

"T-that wasn't intentional, lad." He wasn't one to loose control. Truth be told, he was perturbed by his own inability to follow direction. Connor was rubbing off on him.

… Perhaps it was permissible. In certain circumstances.

-=-=-=-

It was coming and Connor moved up to only keep the head inside his mouth, to allow himself room to swallow without choking... or tried to anyway, because the hand in his hair clenched suddenly, tight enough to keep his head firmly in place, and to his horror... Haytham bucked.

The cock in his mouth drove in deep and his gag reflex activated immediately but there was little Connor could do but gag around the thick head lodged in his throat. Both his hands pressed against his father's hip and stomach, pushing, but Haytham seemed too distracted by his own powerful orgasm to even notice his son's discomfort.

Hot seed squirted down his throat and it took everything he had to keep up, to swallow it as fast as possible so he could come up for air and breathe again! He barely even tasted the bitterness as he struggled to raise his head.

The second the hand in his hair slackened, Connor surged upright and coughed, gasping for air as a dribble of cum that he hadn't managed to swallow made a path down his chin. Despite it all, he was still teetering on the edge of orgasm himself; breathlessly he reached down again and fisted himself, pressing his face in the crook where his father's thigh met his hips, right next to his softening cock.

His hips rolled, desperately, erratically as he panted, eyes wrenched shut. A few more tugs were all that he needed before his spine went rigid and he whimpered loudly, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, hips bucking and squirming as he came all over his own hand and Haytham's foot.

It left him a shaking mess and Connor sagged, his cum-covered hand flopping onto the carpet as he panted for air. “Jerk...” he wheezed, breathing hot air over his father's softening cock with every breath he took. There was no bite in his voice though. Yes, he was pissed that he had all out choked on his father's dick just now, but he knew how hard it was to keep control over your own body during orgasm... honestly it wasn't that surprising that he had bucked. That didn't make it any better, but those things happened.

-=-=-=-

Well now, he'd apologized. No need for profanity. Though it notably lacked sustenance, Connor's breath tickling his overly sensitive cock. And his foot was sticky.

He resisted the urge to wipe it on Connor's leg, if only because he did the laundry. Though there was a certain discomfort, having his lad settle between his legs now that the act was over and done with. While far from uncomfortable with his pants down, he lacked the need to sit around in such a state for no reason.

Silently relieved he wouldn't be bothered to reciprocate, Haytham's lips twitched, before he pulled Connor upward, more of a forceful yank than anything else. He ignored sounds of protest in favor offering a token of gratitude.

He nipped closed lips and slipped his tongue in quickly, ignoring his surprise in favor of sucking his tongue. It satisfied multiple needs after all, Haytham thoroughly exploring Connor's mouth and tasting himself on him. Nips, licks, sucks- he thoroughly explored every inch, only pulling back when out of breath.

"It's the lemon." A bewildered blink, and Haytham elaborated with a sigh that was neither here nor there. "Five cups of tea, daily, each with two wedges of lemon and one cube, packet, or teaspoon of sugar. That's why." Curiosity satisfied and thanks given, Haytham lay back, curious as Connor still sat in his lap.

A long time since anyone did that. And never had anyone filled it. Ziio had been far too thin.

He tensed suddenly, averting his eyes. She had never been one to perform felatio. It was easy to put her out of his mind during the act itself, but it seemed fate laughed at him. Connor - much like his mother - seemed to enjoy affection after an exchange of sexual favors.

And that was too much for him. He had her eyes. He wore her necklace. He held their heritage in high regard. He was a walking reminder of what he lost.

The wonder of orgasm dwindled quickly.

"Did you require something further?" It wasn't cold, but far from affectionate.

-=-=-=-

Connor flailed a little but after a moment he relaxed into the unexpected kiss, and quickly made himself comfortable on Haytham's lap as a tongue filled his mouth.

Ah... lemons... that certainly explained the bitterness. “Use more sugar.” he muttered as he leaned forward and draped himself against his father's warm chest, his head resting on his shoulder. “Or use less lemon.” Haytham and his stupid addiction to tea...

Shifting a little Connor sighed deeply and closed his eyes, quite comfortably seated in his father's lap as he was. It had been a long, tiring day and his orgasm just now hadn't helped his exhaustion. He felt tired enough to fall asleep right here and now. He wouldn't do that though, but some cuddling before bedtime had never hurt anyone before. He liked doing it and as far as he was concerned, cuddles after sex were a necessity. It was nice!

“Understood...” he muttered and clenched his fingers in the material of Haytham's shirt; he felt him tense a bit, but thought little of it, until-

"Did you require something further?"

Brown eyes opened and his brows lowered in confusion. It wasn't so much the words, but the way Haytham had said them, like the warmth and affection in his father's voice had seeped out like water or sand would when you tried to cup it in your hands. He suddenly sounded like... like a businessman again, all the lust and fondness in his tone gone, and instead sounding serious and distant once more.

Connor straightened slowly and fixed his father with flat, unreadable stare. So that was it? Thank you for the blow job, now please scram because I have no more use of you after the fact?

It was going to be like that then?

… of course... he had been foolish to think that Haytham actually cared. He shouldn't feel... used... he'd offered this blow job because he'd wanted to after all, and Haytham had accepted the offer. And now it was over, his job done. There was no need for anything else.

Connor refused to acknowledge the ache he felt at that, not wanting to accept or even think about the fact that it hurt. Perhaps he should have known... his father would never change after all. Not for him.

“No, I don't require anything.” Removing himself from Haytham's lap he fixed his pajama pants and turned around, too ashamed now to look him in the eyes. “I'm going to bed.” He desperately needed to be alone, seeing as his presence was no longer required here. And brush his teeth as well.

-=-=-=-

Nothing. He watched Connor go without a word, shoulders slumped and head down, avoiding his gaze as much as Haytham avoided his moments before.

The door of Connor's bedroom slammed loudly shut, and he was left sitting in silence. He sat until his sock dried to his foot, staring at the blank television screen.

It had been necessary. This wasn't a relationship and it could never be one.

It wasn't even a societal issue. It wasn't Connor himself, either. Truth be told, for the constant, repetitive pain he could be, eight months had made him fond of the lad.

For that, he'd make sure he spent the next few nights in his office. Recognizing his own vulnerability was part of the problem. The other was the sad truth.

He could not move on.

Fingers traced his bicep, tracing the old scar. It was this and Connor. All that was left of her. He'd hidden the photos, under the liquor in his cabinet. He'd never return to New Rochelle.

That was all there was to it. He'd been vulnerable for far too long. Haytham readied himself for bed, eager to wake before Connor did. He needed his company, and that alone. That's all there would be from now on.

Chapter Text

"Leave."

The clack of computer keys and two blinks later, Haytham responded blandly. "No."

"Haytham." A rare touch of anger, and William was at his desk. Charles sat a mere foot away from Haytham, working on his own laptop and comfortably watched William's growing anger from his perch on Haytham's couch.

"You've been here for five days straight. You've a son at home."

Haytham didn't falter, fingers moving with speed. He'd been at this for days, as had William. Much to the inner amusement of Charles. "Connor's a grown man, he can fend for himself."

Two separated shades of blue met each other. William refixed his gaze on his friend, watching his blank, emotionless face reflected on the screen, until his own hand slammed down and closed the laptop, catching Haytham's fingers between it. That warranted a glare.

"William-"

"Why are you doing this?" It lacked bite. "Haytham, this isn't you."

"The hell it isn't." Leaning over, Charles grasped Haytham's shoulder. "He's been this way for well over twenty years. You didn't mind it then."

"I don't mind him working, Charles. When his family isn't waiting for days."

Charles smirked, cockily. "Connor is a grown boy. They hardly know each other. We're Haythams true family." The possessive glint didn't go unnoticed. "He belongs here."

Haytham remained silent, withdrawing his fingers from the laptop in favor of tracing them across the table. William closed his eyes with a sigh, re-opening them.

There was silence for a moment. William remained unmoving, waiting for Haytham to meet his eyes. He wouldn't. His eyes instead remained focused on the overturned picture frame on his desk. William dared to touch it, looking at it, though he already knew what it was. They all did.

"I miss her too."

He still wouldn't meet his eyes, but he wouldn't type either.

"You think she'd want you here, all the time? For days on end, with your son at home?" No answer, not that William expected one. Haytham didn't grieve well, not properly. Eight and some odd months later, and it was as if it had happened yesterday. The investigation's failure to progress certainly wasn't helping matters, either.

"Go home, Haytham." The picture was placed upright, a younger, exuberant Haytham with a noticeably stitched arm sitting in a meadow, his non-injured one around Ziio's shoulders. William had a flare for picture taking, then and now.

"He is home. His company is home."

William spared Charles no response and walked away. The pale grey blue eyes focused, just briefly, on the picture. The necklace, the feathers, the taupe jacket that now lay with her remains.

"Haytham?"

Wordlessly, Haytham rose, shutting his laptop properly with a click. "I should check in on the lad. See if he hasn't starved himself." He offered Charles a nod. "I'll be back in an hour."

Charles said nothing, grin twitching at his lips as Haytham strode away. William could say what he wanted. this was were Haytham belonged.

For almost a week Haytham pushed thoughts of earlier actions from his mind. From a slamming door to slumped shoulders, to feathers and pizza, game and hunting- he forcibly removed himself. He had to. This couldn't end well for either of them.

His drive was short, tired limbs carrying themselves through a small wave of paparazzi, asking questions about his upcoming birthday. He offered nothing, trudging past them and though the entry way, straight to the elevator.

But when he tried to unlock his front door he found it already open, and he frowned. He could hear the music, some up beat tune with a deep bass beat from through the door. Twisting the knob it opened, the blare of music becoming even stronger. And immediately he wished he hadn't left his office.

So much for grieving. Empty cans of soda everywhere, pizza boxes and McDonalds bags, take out containers strewn about. A little disaster in his abode.

He'd spent days in a depressive spiral for this? He almost called out, frown on his face and stepped over strewn cans of Mountain Dew. "Con-"

A surprised look and he blinked, turning around completely, almost seething. A girl, in his son's lap. That wasn't what bother him.

The sprawling over one another and smeared lip stick across his son's face did. Or at least it did when they were on his couch.

"Glad to see you're alive, lad. Perhaps the bedroom would have been a more appropriate place."

-=-=-=-

Well now. There he was, after not having dared to show his face for five days straight.

Connor's face remained completely passive as he laid eyes on his father, taking in the messy state of the living room. Yes okay so, it was a bit dirty. So what? He shouldn't have left then! And if it bothered him he could hire a maid, because he wasn't going to clean up either.

He glanced down at the girl currently seated in his lap and a smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back and looked up to face his father again. “I suppose, but where is the fun in messing up my own bed, hm?” Besides... they had already messed up Haytham's bed as well, mostly because it was bigger and more comfortable than his own. And because they could. Petty yes, very petty... but he was angry with Haytham and that was excuse enough.

That and... Bianca definitely had a kinky streak, something he hadn't entirely gotten used to yet. Ahem.

“Why did you come home? Is the office not comfortable enough for you?”

The girl in his lap shifted, her arms around his neck and sat up a little straighter. She remained draped against his chest, with her head resting on his shoulder, but her eyes never left Haytham.

They had only really met a few days ago, at school. Of course he had seen her before, they shared a few classes together, but they had never spoken or anything... until that one time she stopped him after Math three days ago.

And it had just... clicked. Just like that. Boom. They had hardly left each other's side since then. Was it love? Connor wasn't sure, it was too soon to tell, but was he attracted to her? Ooohhh yes. She was smart, funny, kind... sexy... and she wasn't the kind of girl who would chat your ears off, or the one who wore skimpy clothing because that wasn't his thing either.

Since it had been made public that he was the heir to Kenway Corporations – whether he wanted to be or not – and had a filthy rich father... well, he had never been unpopular but it wasn't like girls stood in line for him before all that. Things had definitely changed, and he was not interested in a girl who only wanted to get into his pants because he was rich and could buy her expensive gifts.

And she... she wasn't like that.

He ran her fingers through her red hair as she looked up briefly with her large brown eyes. “Aren't you going to introduce me, Connor?”

He let out an exasperated sigh and smirked. “I suppose I could. Dad, this is Bianca. Bianca, my dad.”

Sitting up Bianca swung her legs onto the floor and stood up, much to Connor's dismay - his lap was cold now! - and she made her way over to Haytham with a smile and her hand outstretched. “It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Kenway! Connor has told me so much about you.”

Behind her Connor rolled his eyes. No he hadn't... why would he want to talk about his no-good selfish bastard of a father?

-=-=-=-

Teeth grit, Haytham grew tense. Why had he come home? None of Connor's damn business. It was his home, he could come and go as often as he damn well pleased. And he would have said as much.

A confident, soft voice interrupted his internal rant, Haytham's lip twitching as he examined the outstretched hand. His shake was tentative. It didn't match the furious look held in his eyes.

"Has he now? All negative things I assume."

She laughed, the laughter dying down when Haytham's face remained stoic. Red hair, on the thinner side, brown eyes, pretty smile. This wasn't her fault, she was a third party caught in tumultuous warfare.

Not that it made him feel any better. Connor's smug attitude was enough to leave him fuming. "I'd say make yourself at home but I can only hope your own home isn't in such a state of disarray." He faltered, eyes narrowing at his open bedroom door before he took two strides and peaked in.

It was less rage and more disgust. Haytham turned, lips twitching, eyes focused directly on Connor's. "Classy." One of the few places he had left of untainted memories. Of this time last year, when Ziio spent the night for his birthday.

Shaking his head, he could ignore the tightness in his throat. He could not make a scene, or rather he would not. That was what Connor wanted no doubt.

Instead he shut his bedroom door completely, face blank save for twitching lips and cold eyes. "Your mother favored my bed too. Just as well." It was worth saying for all it's uncouth quality: Haytham turned on heel and made to leave. "You're a lovely young woman." It was called over his shoulder, back tense in rage. "If only the circumstances of our meeting had been pleasant. Perhaps sometime soon they will be."

He slammed the door, leaning against it and catching his breath. A drink. That's what he wanted. Haytham let his feet drag him away. It was time to fulfill his own needs.

-=-=-=-

Connor kept his eyes down as Haytham left, flinching slightly as the door slammed. Right well, yeah... perhaps doing it on his father's bed hadn't been the smartest move, but then again... Haytham had fucked him on that very same bed as well.

Bianca sat down next to him again, plastering herself against his side but this time it did nothing to console him.

There had been no need, no reason to bring his mother into this...

Eight months, and Connor was well on his way giving her death a place. He would never forget, but it also no longer ruled every minute of his life. It was unlikely they'd ever find out who was responsible for causing the car crash, even after so long the police had found little to no leads and there had been no witnesses safe for him. And all he knew was that there had been two people involved... but he hadn't been able to see their faces.

They'd probably never know...

“Connor?”

“Hm.”

“Are you okay?”

Oh crap, and now he was worrying her as well. He forced a smile on his face and turned his head to look at his girlfriend. Heh... girlfriend. Awesome. “I'm fine. I'm sorry if...”

“Nonono, I was just wondering. You had that look on your face... was it because of what your dad said?”

He sighed... he didn't want to admit it, but yes... that was the case. He just... no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't understand his father! And every time things seemed to go right between them, something would happen to fuck it all up again. And Connor was starting wonder if it was even worth the trouble anymore... He was twenty-one, would turn twenty-two in a few months... he was old enough to live on his own. He had no reason to stay here... there was nothing keeping him tied to this apartment.

Why shouldn't he just leave?

Surely... surely Haytham wouldn't particularly mind either. He'd finally have the place to himself again, wouldn't have to worry about the mess, or him sleeping in his bed or... or blowing up the kitchen... nor would he have to worry about after-sex-cuddles anymore. That was never going to happen again.

“Connor?”

… crap, he was doing it again.

“Sorry... uhm, can we... I dunno, watch a movie?”

Bianca blinked at him, and then smiled. “Sure!”

Connor wasn't particularly picky about what movie they'd watch, and neither was she... their eyes wouldn't be on the television screen anyway as the movie played, but on each other. In their language, movie time meant cuddle time... and maybe even more.

-=-=-=-

A bite of cool air kissed his bare skin. His cheeks tingled as he entered what was a small place on the cusp of Chinatown and Little Italy. Mott street, the smell of crisp duck and some other oddities, fresh fish caught and flopping. Even from his grimy window the park was visible, teens and adults walking by and muttering in Cantonese. The English speech here was broken, it was doubtful they'd know his name.

Good. No, perhaps excellent.

Cognac, it had been a while. Hickey knew how to pick his places; while deserted and somewhat weather beaten, the alcohol was exceptional. He'd forgotten the taste of Remy Martin. Of Jack and Coke. Of a warm sake, split between he and the bartender, an elderly woman who noted his birthday. "Fo' you." She'd pointed to his card, and try as he might to refuse, her polite insistence was refreshing.

She didn't know his name, nor did she speak the language. More than fine, he wasn't here to learn frivolous facts. No, he wanted to forget, just for a moment, who this Haytham Kenway was.

No regrets, never. At least none based on his choices. He did what he had to at all given points. Life had simply dealt him a poorer hand, had been unkind. He could almost persevere.

Almost.

Even as the sharp edges dulled, as liquor took toll on what was a mediocre tolerance at best, thoughts strayed. He left a tip larger than the bill itself, meeting the crisp air with a blurred sense of nostalgia. They went to places like this, in their younger years.

Shaking his head, Haytham walked, for the sake of it. The cold did little to him now. He didn't stagger, not for the first half hour, beginning to do so only as he liver became overwhelmed. His mind was already elsewhere.

On skin and long hair. She was always cold, always thin. He lay atop her, sprawled, covering her one night not too long ago. If he did the math, she was with child as his lips unknowingly kissed her abdomen.

"Mr. Kenway?" Media, press. He didn't turn away, recognizing the building as his own – he had walked all the way back to his own Corporation without even realizing it. If they noticed him falter, they said nothing, a hum of questions buzzing about. His birthday, what did he want? What aspirations did he hold for his company? For himself?

He knew it, knew the answer. They all should.

To get the smell of burnt flesh out of his. Perhaps to have what was rightfully his. He'd no claim to it any longer. No, all of it was guarded by a gated cemetery and a wet patch of dirt.

He tripped, exiting the elevator, managing to keep upright. He felt his phone vibrate, a call from William. No, that's not who he wished to speak to.

Fumbling with his key, the door opened on the third try. The force he used to kick it shut almost toppled him. Reaching for the liquor cabinet, he grabbed what was a... it was beige, the liquid. His eyes weren't deciphering the rest. And under that, a black box, the key dangling next to his car keys in his pocket.

He heard something, watched the glare of television before blinking, swaying. It was dark save for the glare of the television. Actually, it was dark outside. How long since he had left? It didn't matter.

No, nothing mattered. Not as he ignored the noise and shut the door to his bedroom, sitting on the floor.

Trembling fingers felt the box, unlocking it to trace the bindings of an album, and soon after the seam of two cassette tapes.

Feathers and meadows. Pictures of camouflage and game. Not numerous, but well taken. Hair that held braids, feathers, and beads. The necklace dangling from her neck. Ziio. Twenty some what years ago for his birthday, he remembered. Last year, for his birthday... he could smell her still.

The door clicked, but Haytham remained unmoving. Comfortable, he opened the bottle and drank, coughing, then pressing it to his lips once again. There was someone in front of him, but he didn't want them. Even so, they were talking, voice almost melodic through the haze.

Eyes met red and white feathers. Long black hair, that necklace... Haytham focused. Focused and saw those brown eyes.

A dream. He hadn't dreamed of her, like this, in so long. Sluggish, sloppy, he cupped the cheek before him. He's take this, while he could still enjoy it.

"Ziio... woman." So much affection in his voice, even. Now his eyes softened as he leaned and kissed, hard, passionate, with his all. It said what he could not, what he dare not say lest his dream crumble before his eyes.

-=-=-=-

They were halfway through a second movie when Connor heard the front door open and close again. He didn't bother to look up, too distracted with the warm weight of Bianca on top of him and her lips on his. He heard footsteps going into the master bedroom and then... nothing.

Whatever Haytham was doing, he had just confined himself in his own bedroom for whatever reason. Sulking, most likely...

“Maybe you should go and talk to him.” Bianca purred between kisses.

“Hm... don't want to... don't care...” Shut up and keep kissing him!

“He's your dad.”

“He can take care of himself.”

She smiled in the kiss and teased his tongue with her own, sending a shiver down his spine before she pulled back. “I have to go.”

He sighed, his hands on her hips. Yeah, he knew... it was late and they had classes tomorrow, and now that Haytham was home he didn't fancy the idea of staying here with her.

“See you tomorrow then?” he asked and she nodded, getting up. He helped her gather her things that were strewn out all over the place, and saw her out with a final, drawn out kiss in the hallway. He closed the door after the elevator took her down, and he sighed... it felt good to have a relationship with someone again. Really good!

With her gone though, came a new problem... how he had to deal with his father.

“Dad?” No response, and Connor slowly made his way over to the master bedroom, turning the knob slowly. “You're not sulking, are you?” Still no answer. Pushing the door open fully he glanced inside, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the figure of his father sitting on the floor, slumped forward with an old photo album in his lap. Even from where he stood he could smell the alcohol... Fucking hell, he was drunk!

“Really?” he muttered with a sigh and stepped into the room, walking towards his father until he stood in front of him. Now he saw the bottle as well, only half full and his eyes narrowed further as Haytham tilted his head back and took another swig form the bottle. Great... just great. Just what he needed now, having to deal with his father's drunk ass.

“Idiot...” he muttered under his breath and reached down, with the intention of dragging Haytham to the bathroom to shove him under the cold shower. Haytham stared up at him but his eyes were blurred and unfocused... was he even aware of him standing here?

Connor stiffened slightly as a hand reached up, frowning as it landed on his cheek and pulled him forward as Haytham suddenly leaned in and pressed their lips together. His eyes widened in surprise, lips already parting to protest before he could stop it and a tongue pushed inside, swirling the inside of his mouth and sliding over his teeth. Haytham was kissing him like... like...! He moaned before he could stop it and his hand landed on Haytham's shoulder, but whether he should push him away or pull him closer Connor hadn't decided yet. His mind was going overdrive, the taste of alcohol so heavy on his father's tongue. They weren't supposed to do this anymore but-

"Ziio... woman."

… Connor's other hand flew forward, pushing against his father's shoulders hard to force him away with enough force to land him flat on his back. Connor took a step back and ran the back of his hand over his mouth, face flushed and eyes wide, his expression nothing short of shocked.

His father had just... called him...!

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked weakly.

-=-=-=-

The taste, the broad shoulders, the strength... it was wrong. Before Haytham hit is head against the bed he realized it, but the deep voice of his son further fractured the moment.

It left immediately. Any warmth fleeting as he examined the adjacent night stand. No words, not for quite sometime. They came out jumbled, deep. Empty.

" 'M drunk, lad. That's all." The tightness returned, assaulting him. Fingers stopped stroking the pictures in front of him to play with the puckered scar on his bicep. Through clothing, it was still rough, thick. He swallowed harder suddenly, shutting his eyes.

"Thought 'twas a dream. A pleasant one for a change." He reopened them. Still glassy. It seemed impossible to control, through the haze.

Again his mouth opened. Connor should leave. He knew this. And yet...

"You hate me, don't you, lad?" He smiled. Nothing in it was humorous. He shouldn't hate him. The last bit of family he had shouldn't hate him. Not after everything he'd done to keep them safe. Under normal circumstances he'd embrace the hatred and move on.

But the idea jumbled and lost concept in his mind. Haytham grabbed for the bottle with his other hand, sloppily bringing it to his lips again. Only after he placed it down did he slur. "You have no i-idea what she put m-me through, 'n I still think about her." Not every moment of the day, he'd too much on his plate. But often enough. Disrupting his thoughts, leaving him... like this.

That's what he wanted. Eyes focused, hand shakily grabbing Connor's. Just to tell someone the damn truth. Who better than the last living member of his own family? He said as much, para-phrased and slurred, closing his eyes again. His mind swam. Something told him this wasn't wise. He ignored that too, and the urge to stop talking left.

Whether Connor would listen was up to him. He simply couldn't remain silent any longer.

-=-=-=-

“No shit you're drunk!”

Christ! Just... ugh! Connor had half a mind to turn around and storm out of the room, let Haytham deal with his drunken ass alone. He had brought this upon himself after all.

Connor however, didn't. It was the smile, devoid of humor. The words, about her. The hazy look in his grey eyes, still full of pain.

Connor had every right to leave him like this, but he couldn't. Just like he had every right to hate his father. “I don't hate you.” he muttered as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, clenched into fists. “I pity you. Look at yourself.”

Even after all this time, what had happened eight months ago on that long, swindling road through the forest; it still held an impact in their lives... and it seemed more-so in Haytham's life than in his. It didn't look like his father had given her death a place at all yet... hadn't accepted that it had happened and that there was nothing to be done about it anymore.

Connor felt conflicted... his father clearly needed some help right now, but at the same time he had also just kissed him while calling him by his mother's name! One couldn't just simply brush that aside! “I think you've had enough of this.” he muttered and reached out to pry the bottle out of his father's fingers. “Wait here.”

He turned and quickly made his way to the bathroom and made a mental note to remove all bottles of alcohol from the apartment as he turned the bottle over and let the contents drain away in the sink.

He wasn't just bothered and conflicted... he felt confused too. That first time they had sex, after the funeral, afterwards Haytham had told him it had helped. Even so, it had felt like a spur of the moment thing; they had both been emotional, mourning and drunk... it had just happened.

Last week though... the blow job. Nor he nor his father had been either of the above, and afterwards Haytham had been so cold to him, not even bothering with a thank-you.

And now he had just called him by his mother's name. His dead mother's name, the name of the only woman Haytham Kenway had ever loved.

So what was he to his father then? A convenient, willing body? A replacement? Certainly not a lover... not even a one-night stand.

Or had it all just been a big misunderstanding, all of it? Was he simply being paranoid right now? Fuck, he didn't know anymore... he could handle casual sex, even with his father... but everything around it, the deeper meaning to it... Connor wasn't sure if he wanted anything to do with it anymore. Besides... he had Bianca now.

Haytham though, Haytham had no one, and even though Connor tried to steel himself against that thought... that too bothered him.

Once the bottle was empty he reached for a clean glass and filled it with cool water, taking this back into the bedroom, and sat down on the floor next to his father. “Here...” Pressing the glass into his hands Connor fell silent and plucked at a loose string on the bed covers.

… he smelled. Haytham smelled, of alcohol and more. He really should tell him to take a bath or something, but in his drunken state he'd probably slip and drown.

“You should lay off the alcohol for a while...” he said softly, hating the silence that had fallen over them. “A sorry would be nice as well.”

-=-=-=-

The world spun. Eyes shut, simply incapable of staying open. Footsteps, the drink taken from him, and more footsteps.

Pity? No. No one pitied him. There was nothing to pity.

Successful, handsome, charitable, well spoken- no, he was to be revered, admired. Pity wasn't associated with him. Even in the most dreadful of states, his head remained high for the entirety of his life.

It would've remained so currently, had it not felt so very heavy.

A cold glass to his fingertips and Haytham frowned at the contents as he cracked his eyes open. " 'M not to be pitied, lad." Slurring, it was with trepidation that Haytham stood, almost toppling over but leaning against the wall. He didn't ask for council, Connor could leave. He'd meant to tell him something. Something of importance. He couldn't recall what it was.

He knocked over the water on his first step, the clink of the glass catching his attention. Bit by bit, a small wave washed over some of the pictures. They weren't numerous. The quality on some were quite low, taken during moments of action; hunting, running, shooting. He happened upon a decent one, following the water as it spread, making its way over a picture of them.

Twenty years. Twenty years of wondering in spare time, no matter how brief, if he'd see her again. And this was all he had left.

To think he hated her for half of that time. Such time wasted...

"… Be a lad, and leave me be." Throat thick, he swayed, staggering with every step to the commode. "If I wanted pity, I'd tell you a sob story..." About his own childhood, no... he wouldn't care. Nor would Connor even care about Reginald and his atrocities. But there was one story he'd care to hear, right? If Haytham wanted pity, of course.

"… like, the truth. What really 'appened, between Ziio n' me."

-=-=-=-

Dark eyes narrowed, and Connor's lips pressed into a thin line. Fine then. Then he wouldn't pity him, just like Haytham wanted. Let him sulk in his own misery. Connor had tried and evidently, his efforts were once again not appreciated at all.

“Fine. Whatever. See if I care.” He stood up and made his way to the door, his hand already on the doorknob when Haytham's voice reached him once again.

The truth? A little late for that, wasn't it? “You clearly don't want pity, so why the hell should I listen to your so-called sob story?” He had no reason to. He'd only end up trying to offer some awkward comfort or something and be pushed away again. Why bother?

Ziio was dead, and no amount of stories, sob stories or otherwise, would bring her back. He had twenty years worth of memories of her... he refused to stain them by listening to whatever Haytham would tell him. “Go to sleep, dad... you should be sober for work tomorrow...” And part of Connor wished he had stayed there...

He left the room without another word, making his way back to the messy living room and picking up Mountain Dew cans and empty pizza boxed off the floor as he did so. He'd clean the place up a bit and get his ass to bed... he'd dealt with enough drama for one night.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't be bothered to watch Connor go. Instead he relieved himself, flushing the toilet before emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. He expected no less of his son. Let him cling to his idealizations. He needn't be bothered by what pity brought.

Sleep. Even on whoozy feet and plagued with nausea, he knew what he needed. But his bed offered no solace, no comfort now. He would get rid of it in the morning.

He snatched a pillow and entered the living room, tipsily walking past Connor and the comfortable couches.

Instead he opened the door to Connor's room and dropped himself on his bed. The move didn't bode well with him. He was glad a small waste bin was kept close by as he emptied the contents of his stomach once more. He finished, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and lying back as he declared, to the nothingness, "Forty four tomorrow." Fingers danced across a blanket, grey eyes unblinking as they traced patterns in the ceiling until he became dizzy.

He'd never truly wondered what would have been. He hadn't had the time. But in delirium, his mind ran wild.

A pair of glassy eyes shut, lip twitching downwards. "A girl would 'ave been lovely. A birthday present if ever one." He wished to rest. His mind didn't. No, it ran wild, showing him what could have been, what should have been. What had been taken away from him.

The whimper escaped him, arms covering his face. No. He would not break. He fought to long and hard to break now.

-=-=-=-

An empty soda can bumped off the edge of the trashcan, Connor's aim off as Haytham suddenly sauntered into the living room, wobbly with a pillow tucked under his arm. Connor watched him go, one eyebrow raised as he father walked through a door, into... “Hey, that is-” his own bedroom...

Ah.

Well, he supposed it couldn't be helped... after all, he and Bianca had had a tumble on Haytham's own bed, and while that had seemed like an amazing idea at the time, he did realize in hindsight that it had been kind of a dick move. Even so, he didn't particularly mind switching beds for a night.

He turned to pick up the fallen soda can again and dumped it in the trash, just as the wet gagging sounds coming from his bedroom reached his ears. Oh come on! “There better not be any of your barf on my deer rug!” he yelled and stomped off towards the master bedroom. He was done cleaning here! And Haytham better clean that up in the morning (in return he'd wash the sheets of his bed, ahem).

~*~

The next morning he woke up feeling more tired than he had felt going to bed last night. Groaning Connor slowly sat up and fumbled around for the alarm clock... it was still a little early but it was unlikely he'd be able to fall asleep a second time... might as well get up.

He dragged his feet to the bathroom, took a morning piss and a shower. It took him quite some time to realize that he was faced with a small problem... namely, he needed fresh clothes. And said fresh clothes were in his currently occupied bedroom. “Oh balls...”

Steeling himself Connor wrapped as much of the towel around his body as he could, because after last night the last thing he wanted to do was give his father any weird ideas, and crossed the hallway, turning on the TV in the living room until he reached his door. He knocked, knuckles rasping against the wood. ”Dad? You awake?”

No answer and Connor frowned. Well shit, asleep or not, he had to go in there and not just for his clothes but for his school bag and supplies as well. “Dad?” He knocked again and sighed before he took a firm hold of the doorknob. “I'm coming in.”

The second he opened the door he was greeted by a waft of foul smelling air. Connor quickly turned away and made a face... well, at least Haytham had vomited into his waste bin, that was something. He didn't look good though... was he even awake? “Dad?” Connor gently shook his shoulder and grimaced. Screw this. “I'm calling William, you're not going to work like this.” Phone... where was his phone?

-=-=-=-

Hours spent lying awake, Haytham was awake to see the crack of dawn. He'd been awake to read the update of his age on Linked-in, Facebook, and various other social medias. He was mentioned briefly in a news cast, eye twitching as a sincere reporter wished him a fair New Year despite the misgivings the current year brought.

He turned off the television, rolling over and forcing himself to sleep, only to have dream after dream until a hand shook him awake again.

Stirring, he frowned, mumbling. "… Mm?" Oh yes, phone. "William doesn't let me attend any business oriented tasks on my birthday." Ugh, his breath was horrid! His head pounded, and he sat upright, aware of how blurry everything still seemed around the edges. He glanced at the cable box, noting the time. If his calculations were correct... yes. Yes he was still drunk.

Not nearly as much as the night before, evidently. His legs shook as he stood, Haytham passing through the living room- he needed a massive quantity of Listerine-

"...Speaking of birthdays, we've a few today."

He halted before rolling his eyes at the television. As if the day truly mattered.

"CEO and local resident Haytham Kenway has reached the forty-four mark after a great year in sales and corporate building." A pause and the second newscaster nodded, facing his counter part. "Unfortunately he couldn't be so lucky elsewhere and wish him the best in endeavors along with a happy birth-"

He clicked it off, staring blankly at the screen for a moment.

"Indeed, happy birthday, Haytham." Whispered, he stalked forward wobbly. "To the drunk father and his dead wife and child. May the next year bring solace..." He scoffed bitterly, nails digging into his biceps. "Next year, why not murder William and Connor so I can jump off a fucking building guilt free." To the liquor cabinet. Drinking cured a hangover, he heard that somewhere. It was a hypothesis that needed testing.

"Better yet, dangle Ziio in front of me some more, you incompetent reporters. Why not remind me of the second child? Maybe it would have hated me as much as my first born, though doubtful as that seems but yes I am such a great conqueror of almost everything." A shot poured, Haytham went to drink, only to spot Connor out of the corner of his eyes.

"It's rude to stare, lad." Hadn't he ever seen a drunk man having a pleasant break down on his birthday?

-=-=-=-

Connor's eyes narrowed and he neared, snatching the glass out of Haytham's hands. “Really? This is how you're going to spend today? Sulking, brooding and drinking while you haven't even recovered from last night yet?” How immature! “I swear I'm the only adult here...” he muttered under his breath and took the bottle away as well, putting it back into the cabinet. “No more alcohol!”

As annoying as this was, getting into a fight wouldn't do either of them good... and it was Haytham's birthday after all... Today should be a fun day...

“Look... why don't you go take a shower and freshen up – you have horrible breath right now – and then we'll talk? Normal talk?” He could give his father his gift then... anything to get his mind off all this depressive shit. He himself didn't want to be reminded either that, had Ziio still been alive, she'd be due next month. He'd have a little sister soon then, or a little brother.

“I'll make tea... take a shower dad, please.” He'd offer to make breakfast too but he'd probably burn the toast and invoke Haytham's wrath again. Best to leave it.

Making his way to his own bedroom the first thing he did was open the windows to let the fresh air in before getting changed into some fresh clothes. As he fixed his hair he quickly called school to let them know he wouldn't be in today, before texting Bianca with the promise to explain later.

He glanced at the waste bin, nearly gagging himself at the sight of it – oh gross – and very carefully lifted it with only the tips of his fingers, holding it like a bomb about to go off, and turned it around over the toilet, flushing before setting the waste bin in the tub to clean out later.

Right... time for tea, and coffee for him. He hoped Haytham had taken his advice to take a shower, Connor mused as he moved into the kitchen and grabbed the water boiler. His morning breath wasn't the only thing that smelled.

-=-=-=-

He didn't desire a shower. He didn't desire breakfast. He wanted to vent damn it. To vent in absolute silence and be on his merry way.

His feet dragged home towards the shower anyway, if only because the promise of tea sounded enticing. With any luck it wouldn't be that weak, American dribble.

That and his breath was truly atrocious. He brushed twice, once before his shower and once after, rinsing until his mouth almost burned. A black turtleneck and a tight pair of Levis later, he looked dashing. Tired, circles rimming his eyes, but still an improvement. At least he looked the part of successful, jubilant business man.

He settled in a chair a solid hour later, half surprised Connor was still there, coffee percolating on the kitchen counter. He hadn't known that Connor knew how to make coffee.

Then again, Connor and he hadn't spoken in some time. The boy avoided the kitchen like the plague though, Haytham assumed his ideas to be correct. He stared briefly, tilting his head in thought.

"I thought you had classes this morning." He'd settle for that, carefully touching his tea to his lips. Yup, dreadful. Though the lemon count was accurate, as was the one sugar. "… That's quite pleasant." Connor had no idea what he meant by that anyway... besides he had a more pertinent question.

"… What occurred yesterday evening?" After much hesitance he whispered it, toying with the rim of his cup. He had no recollection of what transpired, at all.

-=-=-=-

“I canceled them.” Connor shrugged and added sugar and creamer to his coffee. He knew how Haytham liked his tea for the most part, with the two lemon wedges and everything, but it probably still wasn't right. Too bland or too strong or whatever. But hey, at least he had tried. He had meant well with it.

“I had a test but...” Another shrug. It wasn't a that important of a test, he'd figure something out for it.

The next question was... more difficult to answer. “You don't remember?” A head shake and Connor frowned. Should he tell him the truth? Or leave certain parts out? Shit, this was difficult... Sighing he leaned back into the couch cushions and ran a hand through his hair. Lying to him had never done him any favors and he didn't think that starting that today would do him any good either.

And that left the truth. “Well, you uh... met my girlfriend... Bianca. Does that ring a bell?” He glanced at Haytham's face as he stirred his coffee, placing the spoon on the table instead of putting it in his mouth for once. “We got into an argument and you left... and when you came home hours later you were drunk off your ass. Like, really drunk. I was trying to talk to you but it was like you couldn't even see or hear me, and then... you uh... well, you kissed me.” Connor felt himself blush and he cleared his throat. “You kissed me and... called me Ziio... I got angry and shoved you away... and then you grabbed your blankets and bunked in my bedroom, and I bunked in yours and that's kinda what happened... And here we are.”

That was about as accurate as he was willing to make it. “I am not angry now, by the way... at least, not angry at the whole calling-me-Ziio part... I know it was the alcohol talking.” Still angry about the blow job incident though, but he didn't feel like talking about that either.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't fathom a response. He wouldn't lie about something of that magnitude. And yet there Connor sat, attempting to communicate with him. He'd been avoiding him for almost a week, only to arrive home and drink himself into a stupor. He couldn't fathom why, though if his train of thought had any say, it was related to Ziio.

He deserved to know. Twenty one years was long enough.

"… It wasn't the alcohol, lad. Not entirely." Running a hand over his face, he shot Connor a weary glance. Would he even believe him? Probably not. Still he'd say his piece.

"I miss her." Eyes averted, Haytham toyed with the rim of a lemon. "Being with you is a constant reminder of what I've lost." He dared meet brown eyes, focusing on Connor's face. "I'm unaccustomed to grieving. I've buried enough people to know it gets one nowhere. I cannot change what has happened. It is in no way my fault. I know this, I accept it. And then I awake every morning, and see her, every time I look at you."

Breathing deep, he pinched the bridge of his nose, almost unsure of what to say. "… It's torturous. Yet while I simultaneously lament and despise it, you're my son." A moment passed, and Haytham looked into his eyes again. "I'm fond of you. Not because we're bound by blood, not because of your mother. Simply because I am."

He let that sink in for a moment, before averting his gaze. He stared at the blank television for a moment, grinding his teeth in thought.

"We had... quite a history. Unlike any I've shared prior. That too, makes this difficult." So very difficult. He bit the tip of his finger, eyes still averted. It wouldn't hurt to ask... though it hurt to speak of. Even in a tipsy state now, it was a taboo topic of discussion. But he'd a right to know.

"… Perhaps you're ready to hear the truth."

-=-=-=-

Ah...

It wasn't like Connor was making a conscious effort to be a... 'constant reminder' but it did make him horribly aware of the way he looked and dressed. Feeling more than awkward he glanced away and ran his fingers through his hair again, his knees drawing up with his feet on the cushions. It wasn't his fault he had her eyes... her skin and valued his heritage like she had done.

“Sorry...” he muttered, not knowing what else to say to all of that, though he was, honestly, very glad to hear that Haytham did not blame him for it... even more so to hear that his father was fond of him, despite everything.

“I'm...” He sighed and looked down at his coffee, now sufficiently cooled. He only took a few sips before lowering his mug again and proceeded to stare at his knees and another else. “I'm not sure if I'm ready to hear the truth... Not because of you or anything but... I've given it a place, what happened. I've accepted it and nothing will bring her back, even if we do by some miracle find the ones responsible. And I get the feeling that it's... it's not a happy truth.” His uncertain eyes flicked up to meet grey. “And it's not like I'm not curious... all I know about your past is what I've found on the internet and I have no way of telling how accurate that all is. I don't know you as well as I should and I do want to know more, but... I'm scared that this will somehow taint the memories I have of her. I'm not ready to deal with that yet.”

Setting his coffee to the side Connor wrapped his arms around his legs, his eyes still on his father. “Will it do that? The truth?”

-=-=-=-

For once, he listened. Not just hearing him, but listened. The slight accent he had when he said certain words, how he curled in on himself, his notions. And he offered the same honesty in return, swallowing.

"I couldn't say. I'm sure you know Ziio made errors. No being is impervious." He drank his cooling tea, keeping up the eye contact when he was done.

"In my opinion, it shouldn't. Her decision was to my supposed benefit. I hold no grudge. Her view was simply so very different from my own." Eyes flickered, uncertain. "I could always tell you another time." If he ever managed to muster the courage.

-=-=-=-

It shouldn't? Well, Connor supposed he could take his word on that, and hope he was right. Ziio had only ever told how they'd met, in college, before Haytham created the company. It had been a nice story, though he hadn't cared for it when she told him, mostly because the story involved his father which back then he had still believed to be a useless deadbeat.

Connor didn't know much else though... There was information on the internet about Haytham's side of the family but he had always avoided reading that. It felt weird, reading something like that on the internet... that was something he felt his father should tell him in person some day.

He took a deep breath. “Alright.” he said softly and reached for his coffee again. “Tell me.”

-=-=-=-

He waited for affirmation, tensing as it was received. He wished to tell him, yes, but no one else knew this. It was almost sacred, personal. Something he'd take to the grave in almost absolute secrecy.

It's why he hesitated, focusing on his breathing as he began. "I met her on an internship, here in the States. We happened upon each other during skeet shooting of all things." The corners of his mouth twitched. "I was there on business. She had the ability to make me forget that.

"William had to nudge me. Apparently I missed three rounds of target practice and was about to be kicked off the field. I was simply... enamored if you can imagine it." Truth be told, Haytham had never seen something so striking as her beauty before.

"We met. I stammered awkwardly, bumbling over possible conversational pieces. She ignored me for weeks, and I gave up. Then came the night at a tavern." His eyes darkened, a glint of something protective in them.

"Let's just say, I fed someone their teeth for being inappropriate." He'd leave it at that. Though his lips twitched at the memory of a hand on his cheek. Cold hands, even then.

"We weren't inseparable, I with my work and school and her with school and her clan. But I saw her as often as I could merit, even if it was to spend the night studying for some god awful humanities exam." He paused, sipping his tea. "We knew I'd return home, but ignored the passing time. I decided to stay the summer, I suppose to prolong the inevitable. I was caught, between finishing what was my final year of school, and staying." His eyes softened. "Eventually we decided it was best for me to return to England."

He paused, swallowing thickly. This was the complicated part, and he fixed Connor a steady stare. "It wasn't until I was home, in England for two months that I received a letter that... she was with child."

Trepidation laced his movement. He placed the tea cup down, unsteady fingers clamoring. "My mind was made up. A week later and I returned to New York, with my suitcase in hand. In her writings, she spoke of my work, you see. The amount of time I put into trying to formulate a company, the years I spent..." He averted his eyes, just for a moment. "… let's just say my childhood was far from what is the norm. Your mother knew this, and wished to have you... alone. I was to send a certain amount of money, and after my successful building of the company, we'd reunite. I'd visit when I could, you'd know me somewhat... granted I would be away but in a few years we'd be established. She accepted that, graciously." Haytham swallowed, throat tight.

"I could not. I did not want to stay away. She wouldn't come to England, so I'd stay here with her instead. I didn't care about the amount of time I put in, lad. I wanted her. I am a man who gets what he wants, and that is what I wanted.

"We argued for a few weeks, non-stop. I wouldn't return home, not with my child- not with you in her. She asked me, one day, what it would take to get me to leave. I said over my child’s cold, dead body. I would not negotiate. I would graduate but would loose my fellowship. I accepted that, and instead enrolled in med school."

He stopped, blinking. He couldn't stop the tightness he felt, and had to look away. "She disappeared, one night. She returned days later, and of course I demanded to know what she'd done, where she'd gone." How could he ever forget the look on her face, her chin upturned. The distant, cold voice that greeted him by the door.

"S-she told me she had an abortion." He couldn't meet Connor's face. He kept his gaze straight ahead, gulping. "She told me to leave, to go back to England. She'd done what she needed to rid herself of me, and that was that."

He cleared his throat, the thickness not yet waning. "I was so caught up in my own anger I hadn't thought to ask for a pregnancy test. She was... we were children, Connor. She was but twenty herself, and so very aware that I spent my life trying to obtain just one goal. To see me give it away... she tried to protect me the best she could. I see that now... it was an atrocious thing to do but I get it."

He did, honestly. But what truly hurt was the next part. His eyes misted, but he kept what he felt at bay. "So, imagine my surprise when about six years later I receive a letter to my business, no return address or name... with a picture. No name, just a picture of you and the words, 'I did it for us. Do not seek me. You still have work to do'."

He laughed, only to cradle his head in his hand. "I hated her. I hated her so much. When I did locate her address, all I did was send the words 'he's a handsome lad' simply because I didn't know what else to say. It bothered me, in my spare moments for years, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't demand to see you, she made it clear what she'd done and... I didn't want to see her anyway."

Shaking, his lip trembled behind his hands, his face covered. "This... her second pregnancy, it was my chance. That child was my s-second chance." He hated himself for stuttering, for being unable to meet Connor's eyes. He'd been waiting for Connor to prove his maturity, to only hide behind his own sorrow.

Yet he couldn't stop. His shoulders shook just the slightest, his knees raising to his chest, hands gripping his body as he buried his head in the crook of his elbow. He loved her. He never told her, but he had. Between huffs of breath came a choked, strangled apology, barely audible as he dug his nails deeper into his jeans. He shouldn't be seen like this. Where was his control?

-=-=-=-

Connor listened in silence, and the more he heard, the more... bothered he felt. He hadn't thought that this would be an easy story, it had been kept a secret from him after all, but... this? Lying about abortion, just to force Haytham away, to make sure he pursued his life goals? Ziio had only done that to keep her unborn child, him, safe, Connor understood that, but that was a big, horrible thing to lie about, no matter the circumstances.

It explained so much... Haytham's cold, distant behavior towards him when they first met... and now he felt bad, for yelling at his father that he was selfish, that he didn't care and couldn't be made to care. Of course they had been words born out of ignorance but that didn't justify any of it.

Why had Ziio lied about that? What had been her reasoning for not wanting Haytham to be there as he grew up? He'd probably never know... he couldn't exactly go and ask her. And as he had feared, this story was doing nothing to make him feel better... he would have preferred to live on in blissful ignorance and continue to put the blame solely on his father, even though Connor no longer hated him for it... instead of learning that his mother had been just as much to blame for the fact he had grown up without a dad... if not more so.

And he couldn't look away. Connor dug his fingers into the cushions of the couch as he looked at his father. This was so unlike Haytham... his father simply did not cry! He hadn't cried at Ziio's funeral, had barely shed a tear when he visited him in the hospital that night of the accident... the only moment when he had shown genuine emotions had been when they learned that Ziio had been pregnant, and even that had only lasted for no more than a minute before the mask was put back in place.

It was disturbing to see him broken like this, and it made Connor more than uncomfortable because he didn't know what to do or say to make it better! And he couldn't just sit here and do nothing either...

Shit... what a situation... Connor sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, not sure where to look as looking at Haytham just felt awkward, so he eyed his empty tea cup instead.

…

“I'll be right back.” Standing up he grabbed the cup and quickly made his way to the kitchen. The boiled water was still hot enough for a second round of tea and this time he would make sure it was as strong as he could make it, using the teabag over and over again until the liquid had nearly turned black. Hm... that might be overkill but what did he know? He didn't drink tea. He added two lemon slices and after a moment of hesitation, grabbed a bottle of scotch out of the liquor cabinet and added a small amount of that as well. There! This might cheer him up a bit!

Or make it worse... but hey, one could hope.

Careful not to spill anything Connor carried the filled cup of tea back into the living room and walked around the table. “Here. It's extra strong.” he said softly and held out the cup as he sat down next to his father. He made a point not to look at the tears... he didn't like it when people watched him cry either, he could only assume that it was the same for Haytham. “I... also brought this.” Worming his hand into the pocket of his hoodie he fished out a small package wrapped in paper towels and pressed it into his father's hands as well, clearing his throat awkwardly..

Right... well... happy birthday, dad. This so did not feel like the right moment to give Haytham the gift he had for him...

-=-=-=-

Pull yourself together, Haytham. The voice inside his head screamed it, demanded it. Crying? Showing weakness? In front of the lad, no less?

A shaky exhale, and Haytham wiped his eyes from behind his one hand. Such an embarrassing moment for him, he should know better, be better.

His mask was not in place, not in the slightest. He lifted his head regardless and wiped his eyes again. "Sorry lad." His attention turned the couch beside him, clearing his throat. "I should not have acted in such a..."

But Connor wasn't there. Swallowing, Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose. Right. Probably disgusted the lad with the pathetic display. That or he didn't want to listen. Both were understandable. Haytham could only wonder why he thought Connor's reaction may have been different. With the way he'd been acting as of late... why he expected such a thing was almost beyond him now.

"Here. It's extra strong."

He couldn't help the surprise, a fresh cup of darker tea in front of him. Oh. That's where he went. Haytham took the cup from the table, inhaling and wincing but drank regardless. He fought the gag, grimacing at a surprise burst of scotch his his throat. Oh that was dreadful.

He drank it regardless, in slow sips, only stopping to stare at the bundle of paper towels in his hand. It took him a moment to realize they weren't meant for him to wipe his eyes with. No, there was something wrapped within.

Brought... what? Curiously, he unwrapped the small bundle, running a finger over the wooden piece inside. About seven centimeters, small enough to fit in his pocket. Clearly something hand made, similar to that of the toy soldiers he had played with in his youth. Connor brought this, for him?

For his birthday.

He traced the figure again, tilting his head after he sniffled. "… Why?" He cleared his throat, pushing the thickness away, yet found himself unable to ask anything further. Surprised, sadness... all of this was unfamiliar. And the thought of receiving a gift...

He thought to whisper, in after thought, almost explaining. "I don't receive presents. I meant to ask the... meaning."

-=-=-=-

Connor did not answer immediately and instead reclined further into the pillows, twiddling his fingers as he stared down at them.

“I didn't know what to get you.” he muttered after a moments of silence. It was true. What could you possible give to the man who could buy whatever he wanted already? Instead it had to be something that couldn't be bought with money, something that held value in a different manner.

Now though, as Connor cast the small wooden carving a sideways glance... now he felt kinda stupid for choosing this of all things. It was still a toy after all, the only value of it being emotional.

But... Haytham was already holding it, and he did deserve to know what it meant now. “Mom... she gave that to me when I turned six. All the boys in school had this little toy soldiers to play with, based on popular TV shows and the like. It was a big hype back then, and I wanted them too, but... well, they were expensive.”

He shifted and then reached out, running a finger down the small statue's side – most of the paint had blathered off over the years. “This one mom made herself.” He couldn't help but smile... it was a fond memory he treasured, that moment when six year old Connor tore the wrappings off and found this little wooden, hand carved toy soldier inside.

“I carried it with me everywhere I went. I remember this one time I misplaced it and, thinking I'd never see it again, threw the biggest tantrum a six year old could make.” And the biggest tears of joy when Ziio found it under his closet after an hour of searching.

“I got more of these on my next birthdays, but this one always remained special because it was the first. The second one I got was smaller, and I...” Connor awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted again. “I used to pretend that the little one was me, and that this one... this one was you.” It felt weird admitting that, but it had been six-year-old-Connor's way of dealing with the fact that he had to grow up without a father figure in his life... this little statue had been a substitute. “We used to go on many great adventures all over the world. I... lost the little one and all the others... this is the only one that remains.”

Connor sighed and leaned away a bit, abruptly pulling his hand away back to himself. “I'm sorry, I know that it's a stupid, useless gift but...“ He shrugged. It meant a lot to him; it was one of the few things of Ziio that he still had. Using this as a gift for Haytham had seemed like a good idea at the time because of the sentimental value, but now it made him feel dumb, for ever having entertained the idea. It was too late to take it back though.

“I'll get you something better next time, I promise...”

-=-=-=-

His thumb kept tracing it, repeatedly. Ziio had made it... well that made sense. He winced at their inability to afford toys, yet kept his eyes on the substitute. A substitute for his own absence in a non-existent world. The last one of its kind.

He didn't quite know what to say. A sentimental thought, so many of them today. This wasn't his typical demeanor by far. These issues encountered were far from standard. As it were, he could hardly fathom a response to show his gratitude.

Instead he slipped the figurine into his breast pocket. Gratitude was never an easily expressible emotion. Yet, with everything that happened between them...

"You should come with me to Barcelona, Venice... it's part of an organizational tour my company does once every year. I've gone the past decade yearly, sans company." He found it boring after a few tours. But, perhaps with company it may improve. Doubtful but possible.

"I... must offer apologies for my own behavior."

Clearing his throat, Haytham finished the rest of his tea with a small wince. "I've been absent, unavailable in ways a person shouldn't when aware of another s grief, let alone my son's. And my behavior, yesterday..." He laughed, rising. Such an embarrassment, what was passing through his mind was beyond him. "I'm on my way to empty the contents of my liquor cabinet as it were. You're welcome to joi-"

A long, buzzing ring, and Haytham looked at the house phone uncertainly, before letting it ring. He'd answer William later. He needed a moment with his son for a change.

-=-=-=-

Hm... Venice? Barcelona? Heh, that'd be awesome! He'd never gone abroad before. “I'd like that.” What he liked even more was that Haytham seemed to accept the silly gift he had given him. Perhaps it wasn't so silly after all. He wouldn't have put it in his breast pockets otherwise.

He glanced down as he heard the phone go off, frowning when his father ignored it. Odd... he always picked up, especially when the call came from someone at the company; William's name was flashing on the screen. Didn't that mean it was important?

Then again, today had been... odd to begin with. “I guess I deserved the puke in my waste bin. I wasn't exactly pleasant yesterday either.” He shrugged. Yeah... he really shouldn't have messed up Haytham's bed (even though it had been Bianca's idea).

“Are you sure you should be drinking though? You're still a little buzzed from last night and I'm not cleaning up your barf a second time.” He stood up nonetheless. It was his father's birthday after all, they should have fun! Go somewhere or... or order a ton of take-out or... something! Anything!