A/N: Good morning everyone :)
Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, I hope I can keep writing up to your expectations!
We haven't met our dashing heroine yet! But here's the chapter to get our story going.
And have you seen the amazing AC3 trailer yet? Oh my gosh, Connor prancing around in the field killing all those soldiers with his badassery - I seriously can't wait for October! But is it just me or does the naval gameplay remind you of Pirates of the Caribbean? (Canon! /shot)
I wish I owned Connor, but I do own Penelope Thomas, a doctor's daughter (but alas, she is not our fated heroine of the story ;), her introduction is in the next chapter. Enjoy!
2
Dawn arrived over Boston the next day with the first rays peeking over the rooftops and across the glittering surfaces of the murky waterways. The night shrunk back, lurking as the thick shadows in thin lanes and back alleys. By the docks, the fishermen courted crates of fish and a few rats scurried along the sides of buildings. The sun warmed the air, misting the cool night away. It was quiet and pleasant for a moment as the city stirred awake.
A figure clad in white garbs and fine, antiquated weapons staggered out from the shadows. A hand tightly clutched his wounded arm, hanging by his side like a dead weight. Mouth set into a grimace and eyes hooded and unclear, the figure hissed back the pain with every unclear step. His location was set, but his direction unknown. His eyes blurred and his subconscious kicked in and out like a wild horse. He had to make it – he had to go see her. He needed help – and the bureau was too far away from where he was.
At several points down the back alley journey of two blocks, Connor felt his body slump into the wall with quick defeat. He pressed on and pushed forward at a slowing pace. His steps felt lighter and smaller, undefined and unclear of what they were doing. The cool prickling of a rain through the morning light beaded down his jaw and mixed with his sweat. He panted, eyes unfocused but with a determined mind he continued. At some point, and by some miracle, the assassin found himself at a familiar doorstep, banging on the wood and concentrating hard on standing upright.
A few moments later, the door opened, and a lovely young woman in a blue colored dress answered. Her eyes widened at the sight of the assassin before her in disbelief and shock. "Connor?" she asked, uncertain.
He replied with a groan and an unsteady sway. Panicked, the woman, who Connor had known as Penelope Thomas (an alley to the assassins), grabbed his arm and quivered under his weight as he leant over utterly spent. "Merciful Lord! What has happened to you?" she gasped, and shot under the man's uninjured arm and helped him inside her house.
The world tipped and the next thing the scent of washed linen invaded his nose. In the back of his mind a distant thought echoed that he was now lying down in one of the woman's nursing cots. The thought brought back weak relief. He made it.
Small hands began to push his hood off his face. No – no, he needed his hood on his mind protested. He raised a weak arm to stop the hands but it fell heavily back onto the mattress. Defeated just like the rest of him. Somewhere along the road of catalepsy and perception he was reminded that he was asked a question. "Templars…" he rasped, his mouth dry and lungs convulsing. "I was tailing…a spy…ambushed…poisoned."
"Heaven's divine, Connor," the girl whispered, her tone frightened. "What have you gotten yourself into?" A hand palms his sweating forehead. "You're burning up!"
He groaned, low and guttural. He was in pain. He felt like he was going to throw up.
Seeing his paling face, Penelope pushed Connor to his side and kicked out a wooden bucket from underneath the bed. He groaned but didn't throw up as much as he wanted to. A thick ringing filled his ears as Penelope started shouting down the hall for medical supplies and extra hands. He felt her delicate fingers grasp his large, clammy palm. Her thumbs rubbed over his knuckles in a soothing rhythm. It felt good – beyond the pain. A mother's touch that Connor missed.
He opened his unfocused eyes and saw three kneeling Penelope's weaving side to side in front of him. "You're going to be okay, Connor," they all told him. He could see the darkness behind her, tugging in his mind. "You're going to be okay, I promise."
Yet, Connor fell into the darkness, his last thoughts lingering onto why Penelope had twin sisters.
When Connor awoke for the first time in what seemed like years, he was mildly surprised that he was still alive and still in the nursing cot at the Penelope Thomas' house. His injured arm had been wrapped professionally in a bandage. His eyes were still heavy and took a while to focus in the dark room. The poison was now a dull burn in his body and a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.
A small kerosene lamp with its flickering flame on the small table beside his cot casted dancing figures amongst the walls. He watched them silently for a moment, lost in thought and selfishly enjoying the peace it brought him. At the same time he was disconcerted of his past actions. He should've been more careful, he should've known the spy was going to rat him out, he should've-
A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he immediately tensed, despite his predicament of being bedridden. A man dressed in fine dark clothes stood in the doorway. A tamed beard and moustache sprinkled with grey framed his ageing face. The assassins spared the man a cautious look. He was a well known Boston doctor, a secret ally to the assassins and ...Penelope's father. Connor relaxed and composed his gaze to the flickering shadows along his wall.
"You're awake." The doctor stated and strode into his room with a hooded glint in his eyes. "And you're alive," he added wryly. "Count yourself lucky, Connor. If you had been any other person, you would've been dead the moment the poison was in your system."
Connor's eyes fell to the doctors amused expression. He chuckled but it came out as a dry, painful rasp.
"Easy there, you're still recovering."
Connor closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed slowly. He winced at every movement and forced the words out of his mouth. "How...long?"
Peter gave Connor a serious expression. "It's barely been eight hours. Penelope told me that you were ambushed by some Templars. That doesn't sound like you."
The assassin turned to glare at the doctor and Peter chuckled and raised his hands in defence. "How are you feeling?"
"Shit," the assassin grounded out from the back of his teeth. His head was spinning and his body couldn't decide whether he was hot or cold. Even at this moment he was having some difficulty concentrating. The room was starting to spin again.
"Then you're recovering well," the doctor muttered. Long, cold fingers prodded his wound tenderly. "You'll be like this for a few days. I will send word to the other assassins that you're here."
It was when Connor could feel the bandages being removed and replaced did it register that he had no clothes on - except for his breeches. The assassin's haunted eyes flickered around the room and he felt momentarily lost. He found his array of weapons, garments and boots by the dresser and frowned.
Peter followed Connor's gaze before the assassin could look away. "Our servants had to remove your clothes and weapons for us to help you. Your body was burning up and when the fever possessed you, you started throwing yourself around. It took several of us to pin you down and strip your goddamn weapons off you before you killed anyone. That was a miracle in itself."
Like I could've helped it, Connor thought bitterly as his consciousness snarled at the impending darkness of his mind.
"I don't understand why you assassins have to carry around all those bloody things on you," the doctor muttered under his breath.
"You have... to be ready...for anything," Connor panted pathetically, his head lolling to the side limply. "As an...assassin...you can't know..."
"Alright, alright," the doctor huffed, finishing his wrapping of the bandage and pinning it in place. "No need to get your breeches in a knot. Now give yourself some rest, Connor. You need it."
Peter stood up and gave the dirty cloth to an awaiting and unseen servant just outside his door. The assassin gave out a hearty breath, staring unfocused at the man by the doorway. "I'll be back in a few minutes. If you're awake then, we can see if you can drink something," the doctor replied, closing the door and sinking Connor back into the darkness.
Two days later, Connor felt his mind being tugged back to life from voices drifting down the hall, muffled, yet audible through his closed door. He kept his eyes shut and his body still even though he wanted to be up and moving. You're too weak, his mind told him.
"-you seen this girl, ma'am?"
There was a pause and Penelope's voice resonated to his room. "…No. I haven't. I'm sorry, officers. What is the matter?"
"…we're distributing posters around the city. She is a runaway slave, guilty on the charges of murder in New Orleans…"
"Oh my…"
"We have leads that she's in hiding here in Boston. If you see her, do not approach her, she is dangerous and must be reported to guards immediately."
"Of course, officers. I will see what I can do."
"Keep the poster, ma'am. We're doing a run over with some families and want to spread the warning by word. Have a good day."
He heard the front door close and Penelope walking down the hall to exchange a few whispered words to her own servants. In his faded and weak state, focusing on the clipped conversation took away some strength. He can't understand what they're talking about and lost interest quickly.
During his drifting state, Connor couldn't shake off how ironic everything was.
And Connor finds it ironic because he's an assassin hiding in her house and she's getting told that she should report a runaway slave to the guards. So silly, so silly~
Apologies if Connor seems OOC - it's really hard to get someone in character when all you know about him is from a few minutes from trailers v.v'
Next chapter we get to meet our main girl! xD WOO WOO