Shay was pacing his quarters, agitated, and not unlike a wounded animal. Which Haytham supposed he was, a killer standing there with a dangerous look on his face, a cut across his cheek, a deep stab wound at his shoulder, a gash across his ribs, drying blood and a multitude of bruises violently decorating his form.

Shay had just killed Adéwalé not an hour before and though he didn't realise it, Haytham had seen and heard every word thrown back and forth between the two.

An open sadness on Shay's face. "Forgive me, Adéwalé."

A glare you wouldn't think a dying man would have the energy to give. "You dare beg forgiveness, child? Hell welcomes traitors like you."

A grimace at the hurt caused by the dying Assassin's words. Then a look of spiteful conviction. "Then I go there PROUDLY, knowing that I have done right."

A desperate grip on Shay's arm. "You've become... a monster, Shay."

The possible belief of these words was clearly evident on Shay's face as he tore free of Adéwalé's grip. "Perhaps I have."

He was sweating profusely, trembling – though whether with anger or in shock, Haytham could not tell.

"Shay, sit, please. Let me look at your wounds" he urged gently. Shay's eyes suddenly regained focus, and Haytham barely had enough time to react as Shay nigh on collapsed into his arms. He sat Shay in the chair at the desk, and quickly went to find someone to fetch the supplies he'd need to tend Shay. Haytham came back to find Shay staring him in the eye, Shay's bleeding sorrow.

In barely more than a whisper he said "I am the monster Adéwalé said I am, aren't I."

Haytham knelt before Shay and gently grabbed his upper arms. "No. No you are not. You feel pain at what you have had to do. You are trying to make it right. If anyone is a monster it is Achilles, it is Adéwalé, it is Kesegowaase, it is La Chasseur."

Shay gave Haytham a bleak and pitiful attempt at a smile before his eyes rolled back and he slumped against Haytham, unconscious. As carefully as he could Haytham sat him back in the chair, and cleared off one of the desks – it's easier to clean the desk than the bedding after all, using his own coat to lie Shay on.

He slowly took off Shay's coat so as not to restart any bleeding and bundled it up under his head as a pillow. A knock at the door and Christopher was there, with one of the crew and a basin of hot water, a further jug of the water, and a copious amount of bandages.

"Should you need anything else, Master Kenway, I will be at my post."

"Thank you, Mister Gist."

Christopher nodded his acknowledgement as he shut the door on his way out. Haytham carefully removed all of the clothing from Shay's torso and, after cringing at the distinctly axe-head shaped bruise under his ribs, began cleaning the wounds.

"You know Shay, you're no monster. If you're a monster, that would make me, Christopher, George – bless his soul – monsters too. You're a man who's been coerced into monstrous actions. But you've paid your debts. You're definitely not a 'hunting dog' either. Damn that Adéwalé. Damn Achilles and the rest of that blasted group too."

Haytham was too focussed on his task and his words to notice Shay coming around slowly. A shaky swipe of the cloth across the stab wound on Shay's shoulder had him gasping in pain.

"Shite, I'm sorry Shay. Let me help you sit up."

"Don't bother; I don't think I could sit up at this moment."

"I need to wrap your wounds. Just wait." Haytham went to the door and called for Christopher.

"Tell the men to sail for Fort Arsenal. I will have my doctor see Shay there. Also, have one of the crewmen bring up some blankets. I'd rather not move Shay more than necessary. When you're done I shall need your assistance in seeing to Shay's wounds."

"Certainly, sir."

Haytham turned from the door to see Shay's unfocussed gaze.

"You really don't think I'm a monster?"

"No, I don't. I do however think you are a sneaky blighter, playing dead like that."

"Couldn't help it. Didn't have the strength to do anything, and your voice was soothing. At least until you started cursing Achilles and the Assassins."

Haytham chuckled. "I am flattered Shay. I have to tend to your back now."

Shay braced himself as Haytham rolled him, but couldn't stop himself from crying out. "I'm sorry, Shay."

"Don't be. It's not you who did this to me."

Shay dozed as Haytham cleaned some rather painful looking wounds, and Christopher re-entered the captain's quarters. Between the two of them they soon had Shay clean, bandaged, in fresh underclothes, and under the bedding Christopher had procured.

Christopher looked at Haytham with a sense of understanding, and said "I do not know what you are to each other, but if you can ground him, Grand Master, and remind him it's okay to have faults and make mistakes, I do not need to know. I might be free with words sir, but I shall take this to my grave," and closed the door with a slight bow before Haytham could react.

Haytham wrapped his hand around one of Shay's as he used the extra desk space and chair to sleep as comfortably as he could. With some pain and difficulty Shay moved his hand to return the favour from the last time they had met, and carded his fingers through Haytham's hair until they both fell asleep.