Note: This is a sequel to another fic of mine (Long Live the King). I'm hoping this fic will still make sense without reading the prequel, but this is just full disclosure, I guess?

-/-

He could have put them down anywhere, and Haytham isn't quite sure how Desmond had known to send them here. Or maybe he hadn't meant to do it. Desmond hadn't seemed to be aiming at anything in particular, so maybe it's Haytham's own fond memories of the place that has brought them to the home Haytham had grown up in.

But here he is. Here they are. Haytham looks down at the still sleeping toddler bundled in his arms. Connor had only very briefly regained consciousness after Desmond and the apple had undone… well, everything. Every bad thing that has ever happened to him. It's… a drastic step, and certainly not one that Haytham would have supported in any other circumstances. But these are not normal circumstances.

They've been through a lot. They've traveled to another universe, been cursed by a piece of Eden, and watched alternate versions of themselves drink a strange tea that eventually transformed them into animals. Haytham had spent nearly two hundred years looking after those two, while Connor… well, Connor had come to be in thrall to the apple. Under its control, he had visited every imaginable horror on the people around him. Eventually, Haytham and a group of twenty first century Assassins and Templars had been able to destroy the apple, free Connor, and return their other selves to human form.

But the trauma of remembering what he had done had nearly destroyed Connor.

This is the only way to wipe the stain of it all away, and give Connor the second chance he so desperately needs. Desmond—an Assassin, and the person that had destroyed the apple in the first place—had wiped Connor's memory, returned him to the form of a child, and sent Haytham and Connor back to their own world. Now Haytham faces the challenge of what to do next. How to care for a child he has never really known before.

Connor had seemed well enough during his brief brush with wakefulness. Mostly, though, he had just slept. Peacefully, with a smile on his face. Haytham has never seen Connor smile like that, and it gives him hope—there's no way of knowing for sure if Connor's memory has really been wiped until after he wakes up, of course. But Haytham doesn't think that a Connor who remembers would be able to smile with such innocence.

What to tell him when he wakes… now that is a question Haytham will need to answer sooner, rather than later.

But for now, the most pressing issue at hand is reclaiming the family home. Haytham has lived through more years than most men would ever dream of seeing, and he feels safe hazarding a guess at the current date. He thinks—although of course he has no way of knowing for certain, just now—that this is somewhere in the mid-1800s. Long after the house had fallen into the hands of others.

Although come to think of it, Haytham doesn't know whose hands those would be. The last he'd heard, his sister had decided to move back in. But she'll be long dead by now…

No matter. Haytham has made up his mind to reclaim that house, and so claim it he shall. The building, although it has been kept in admirable shape, does not look recently lived in. There is no light in the windows, and it lacks the warmth that a home should have. The warmth Haytham can feel so clearly in his earliest memories, a warmth he is suddenly determined to find again.

It does not occur to him, not until he has picked the lock on the back door and carried Connor inside, just how long he has been homeless, without somewhere safe to call his own. It is odd, to have one again after so long.

Connor is still fast asleep, so Haytham carries him up a flight of stairs, to where the bedrooms lie along a single long corridor, and then after a minute or so of hesitation, lays his son down in what had once been a guest bedroom. He pulls the blanket up to Connor's chin, and then just stands there for a moment. He's utterly at a loss for what to do next. Haytham hadn't been there for Connor when he was growing up the first time, and now he doesn't know what to do.

Eventually he goes away, and leaves Connor to sleep in peace. He has things to attend to, if he wants to ensure that the house stays a safe place for the two of them. That starts with education. Haytham roams the house, looking for context. Anything that will tell him the date, the legal owners of the house…. Anything. He is reluctant to leave the house until Connor wakes, but luckily he's able to find quite a bit of information within the house itself.

By the time night falls, Haytham has learned that the house is in the hands of Templars now, although they rarely use it—that they believed Haytham's father to have hidden something inside—that they had been unable to find whatever it was, and had put the house into the charge of an elderly caretaker and his wife until such time as Edward Kenway's secrets became a priority. He also learns the date. December, 1852.

It is an hour or so after dark when Haytham hears movement from upstairs, and then uncertain footsteps heading downward. He tries to swallow back a sudden surge of nerves mixed with genuine nausea, and has just about managed to calm himself by the time Connor appears in the doorway.

"Hello," Haytham says.

Connor doesn't answer. After a moment's indecision, Haytham comes around the side of the desk he's been working at and crouches in front of his son. "Do you remember what happened?"

Connor's eyes flick from Haytham's face to the room around them. He's frowning uncertainly.

"Connor," Haytham prods, gently enough.

Connor's eyes dart back to Haytham. "Not Connor," he says, almost petulantly, and Haytham remembers abruptly that Connor hadn't gotten that name until he was a teenager. And since he's forgotten everything, of course he wouldn't recognize it.

"I know you have another name," he says. "But Connor is just another one for you to use. And it's a little easier to say. Is that alright?"

Connor gives him a considering look. "Wanna be me," he says. "Not Connor…"

"You are still you," Haytham assures him. He's trying not to think about how long Connor hadn't been himself, just a tool for the apple of Eden, forced into doing absolutely unspeakable things. But not anymore, not anymore. This is Connor's second chance. "You will always be yourself," Haytham assures his son. "No matter what you call yourself."

Connor smiles, and it's not big but it's genuine, like the sun coming out after rain. "Okay," he says. Haytham smiles back, just as genuinely.

"Thank you," he says. "Connor?"

Connor tilts his head, curious and listening.

"Do you remember how we came here? Or what happened before this?"

Connor frowns. "Bad," he says. "Bad happened?"

"Something bad," Haytham agrees weakly. "You have to be strong, alright? Can you do that?"

"Yes," Connor says, in a tiny voice.

"Your home is gone," Haytham says. "And mine is as well."

Connor's lip trembles, he looks like he's about to cry. "No 'member," he says. "No home?"

He doesn't react as Haytham sits in front of him, doesn't resists when Haytham pulls him onto his lap. "Not the home you remember, no," he says. "But I'd like you to think of this as your home now."

"Why?" Connor asks.

"Because I am your father," Haytham says. "And my most important job from now on is to make sure you have a safe place to live. Wherever you are, as long as I'm there too, you will have a home."

"You're my home?" Connor asks.

"I suppose so," Haytham says. "Yes."

"Father?" Connor says. His voice quavers. "Is Mother…?"

Of course he would have forgotten that too. So Haytham tells him what happened, in the gentlest possible terms. And Connor learns, once again, that his mother is dead.

-/-

Evie is fast asleep, curled up in bed and buried under a thick layer of blankets. It's cold out, with frost creeping its way up the windows and the wind whistling through the trees in Grandma's front yard. But here, safe in her own bed, Evie is warm and happy and not at all worried about the creeping, whistling cold outside her window.

"Evie!"

Jacob almost shouts her name, right in her ear, and Evie comes awake with a jerk. "Jacob!" she hisses, and kicks out blindly at her brother. It doesn't do anything but get her feet tangled up hopelessly in the blankets, and suddenly instead of feeling warm and happy, Evie is cross and chilly. She glares at Jacob in the dark.

"Hi!"

He's only four minutes littler than Evie, they're both five, but somehow Jacob has always seemed so much younger. Right now, Evie can hear him jumping up and down, way too excited for this late at night.

"It's bedtime, Jacob," Evie tells him.

"Not tired!" he chirps.

"Go to bed."

"I was in bed." Jacob hops up onto hers. "Then I had a funny dream."

Evie groans. "Jacob…"

"Do you want to hear about my funny dream?"

He's going to tell her anyway. Evie doesn't think for a second that he'll actually go back to bed if Evie says she doesn't want to hear.

Jacob kicks at Evie until she moves reluctantly to one side of the bed, and then he wriggles under the blankets next to her. His fingers and toes are cold when he hugs her. "Okay, Jacob," Evie says. "What did you dream about?"

"Puppy," Jacob says. "Big, furry puppy."

"Doesn't sound very funny," Evie says.

"He was a shiny puppy," Jacob says, and he giggles. "Then he licked me and it tickled, and then he went inside me and I was a shiny puppy too."

"You'd love being a puppy," Evie says.

"Yea," Jacob says. "Would you still love me if I was a shiny puppy?"

"I'd love you even if you were a stinky piggy," Evie says. "As long as you were still my brother."

"Grandma says I have to be," Jacob says. "Even if I don't wanna."

"But you do wanna," Evie says. "Right?"

"Right," Jacob says. He hugs her and laughs, because he's always, always happy. And then they sleep until morning, warm and safe and sound together. Outside, a wall of clouds drift away from the full moon they had been mostly obscuring. Moonlight drifts in through the window, and comes to rest on the twins where they sleep.

-/-

Connor.

Connor. His name is going to be Connor from now on. It's not a bad name. Not really. And he's going to live here from now on. He needs a new name, for a new home.

Connor.

It feels like a rock in his head. Strong. Something to hold onto while he tries to figure out all the new things here.

Starting with what he can see outside the window. Smoke in the sky, and buildings almost all enough to reach it. It's morning now, and the sun is slowly rising over the edge of buildings that look nothing like Connor has ever seen before. Connor doesn't even know the city's name, but he knows it's much bigger than him. And it's scary.

He doesn't hear his father walk in, but gradually he starts to sense someone in the room behind him. When Connor turns around, his father is just there. Connor feels a burst of nervous fear choke him—his mother is gone, and he doesn't quite understand why or how his father is here now. What he does know is that he's terrified of what will happen if his father changes his mind, and decides to go away. Connor doesn't know what he'd do in this big, scary city, all alone.

"Are you alright?" his father asks. "Did you sleep well?"

Connor nods yes, even though after they'd talked last night, Connor had gone to bed and dreamed of his mother.

"Do you need anything?"

This time, Connor shakes his head no. He's too overwhelmed to even know what to ask for.

"Are you sure?" his father prods.

Connor bites his lip, then points hesitantly out the window. "Where that?"

"It's London," his father says. "A great city."

"Big," Connor offers.

"Yes," his father agrees. "I'll have to show you some of it soon."

Connor isn't entirely sure about that. He's never seen anything like London before.

"We can start with the house," his father says, holding out his hand to Connor. "Do you want a tour?"

Connor nods, and takes his father's hands. It's so much bigger than his, but the bigness of his father doesn't scare him the way the bigness of the city does. It makes him feel safe. "Okay," he says, and they go to explore the house.

They walk through the whole house, and by the end of it Connor's legs are hurting and he's mostly feeling confused. The house seems too big for just two people, and it's…. cold. Not like a home.

They end their walk through the house by the big front doors, and Connor hesitates, dragging his feet a little. He wants to ask if this big, cold house is ever going to feel warm and safe like his village does (or did?), but he doesn't know how to ask.

His father looks down at him as Connor starts to drag his feet, and Connor looks up at him, and for a second the distance between the two of them seems too big to ever cross. But it only lasts a moment, before his father does something that proves to Connor that he loves him.

He crouches down right in front of Connor, and he smiles. "I know it's a lot to take in," he says. "And I know you're probably scared, and you must have a million questions you don't know how to ask."

Connor's heart speeds up, because that's exactly how he feels.

"It's going to get easier," his father assures him. "It's going to get better. And I promise you, this house will be your home."

He understands. And Connor is so grateful for that, he jumps at his father, hugs him tight, and for the first time since coming to this strange, too-big house, Connor feels completely safe. His father hugs him back, and Connor smiles.

They're still hugging when the front door suddenly creaks open next to them.