A/N: This honestly started out as a short story that was of my own characters and had no relation as to what it is now, but I had Assassin's Creed on the brain and it just became...this. Anyway, the main character is nameless because I had originally written it that way, and I kind of like it. Her relationship with Haytham is up to reader interpretation. I hope it doesn't suck too bad.
That Feeling, Indifference
"I stumbled upon the aftermath of the battle scene unknowingly, or maybe it was fate pulling me along with gentle fingers as if saying 'come see'. What I saw, his body just laying there as if abandoned, hit me deeper than I wished it did." Haytham/Unnamed OC one-shot.
I have been witness to many things, both good and bad. Some fade with time, and others stay with you like an unwanted companion. Memories shoving their way into your head when you least want them to.
What I saw before me is most likely going to be one of those things. It had taken a moment for me to really understand what I saw, the smell of smoke and gunpowder and the man that I once looked up to so highly laying limp on the ground. I had taken in the broken barrels and boxes, an obvious sign of struggle. A fight, and one that I knew was coming eventually.
I still don't know if I wanted him to win it or not, but looking upon the scene and what lay in the aftermath made me almost wish he did. Almost.
I had stumbled upon the aftermath of the battle scene unknowingly, or maybe it was fate pulling me along with gentle fingers as if saying "come see". What I saw, his body just laying there as if abandoned, hit me deeper than I wish it did.
Sometimes, when I was with him, I had told myself that I wouldn't care if he perished, as I'm sure he wouldn't care if I did. I had tried to copy and return that same indifference that he showed me, and for a while I was successful. Then, I started doing things that gave me a purpose, importance, and then his attention was on me for a while.
The odd thing was, I enjoyed it. Even after I had told myself that I wouldn't care. I don't know if it was because I wasn't given much attention in my life, and when someone gave it to me, I wanted to give them reason to keep doing so. Or maybe I was just seeking something out of him that wasn't there. He rarely praised, and when he did it was in that sort of arrogant, hidden way of his. I learned that you had to study his words to pick up on it.
Then again, maybe it wasn't even there at all and I was simply fuelling my own fantasy that he thought I was someone of importance.
He taught me how to properly fight, not just the usual stab and run that I was used to. I think it was there that I had shown a bit of potential, and when I realized that, I worked as hard as I could to take in what he told me and then preform it. But, with my strength and will, I could only go so far and that soon faded as well.
I had started to shape myself as to what he said I was. If I was useless, I truly thought I was. If he believed that I had potential, I believed that I did. Maybe I did all along, and he just didn't see it. That is partly why I hate him as well, but when it comes down to it, I feel something different.
I refuse to call it love, for it is too harsh of a word for what we had, even calling it admiration is too strong. Fondness. I was fond of him, and searched for his approval.
Yet, as I look upon his body from where I have stopped, there is an empty feeling building inside me. Part of me wishes I had been more quicker, faster, and more useful. Maybe I could have prevented this, but a bigger part of me feels that this is right.
I'm not sure if Connor killed him, though an inkling inside me tells me that he did. I don't feel rage, surprisingly, I don't feel the need to seek revenge or even an answer. There is a bit of regret, for wasting my time here, and for even knowing Haytham. If I had known that it would all end like this, a confused and lost feeling after everything I went through, I would have simply walked away when I saw him for the first time.
It's too late now.
Slowly, I walk up to his body to get a clearer look. His eyes are void of any life or light, there is nothing there anymore. Just an empty body, the only colour I can really see on him is the specks of red that cover part of his face, a gash in the side of his neck where a blade must have entered.
He is dead, gone.
Should I cry?
...No.
I don't feel it, everything is just numb. Indifference.
"I'm sorry, Master Kenway," I said, surprised at how steady my voice is, "that I have to be the first one to see you like this. I should have stayed away, kept this for someone more...important than just a possible solider that ended up being a lost cause, as you once put it. Still, thank you. I do feel some potential, an importance, in myself, and I guess I owe some of that to you..."
There is something I want to say, but my mouth can't seem to find it. My head says it for me, and if he is bothering to listen, he will probably hear it too.
I just wish I could have heard you say that you believed in me. Just once.
It's too late now, and I turn to leave him. Let someone else find him, like Charles Lee, who will feel the loss. They can hold his funeral, and I can carry on with my life. People who cared about him, and people he cared about can grieve over him.
Because, honestly, I just don't feel it.