Ratonhnhaké:ton can remember, distantly, a time before he was a girl.

Those had been good days. His mother had still been alive in those days, and he had been happy. He'd also been a stupid kid, with no idea what the future held. He remembers days spent with friends, some of whom had died on the day of the fire, and with his mother. He's absolutely positive he'd been a boy all the time in those years, but Ratonhnhaké:ton has never been able understand how the two are connected. Maybe it was just the stress of everything else that had happened at the time.

Whatever the reason, the fact is that Ratonhnhaké:ton hasn't gone more than a day in over ten years without switching from one gender to the other. It's an unbelievable hassle, one that leaves him constantly on edge and just waiting for it to happen again. It's not something he actually thinks about consciously- it's just an eternal, nagging worry that robs him of sleep and keeps people away.

But today is different, because today Ratonhnhaké:ton is actually taking the time to sit down and think his situation over. This is the first time he's ever really had to think about his curse in a larger context than just how it affects him- today is the day he's leaving his home behind for the first time, and that means facing an entire world that knows nothing about him or his… changes. Ratonhnhaké:ton has no idea when (or if) he'll be back. That part's easy to deal with, though- he's already gotten pretty used to the idea of being away from home. He's even excited to see the world for himself, to fight against the injustice of what's happening to his people.

But for the first time, Ratonhnhaké:ton is really worried about his changes. It's no longer just a hassle for him, personally. It's also a curse that could lead to him being branded a demon or a witch by the superstitious. Ratonhnhaké:ton has been warned to keep his female side a secret, unless he wants to be run out of town or killed.

So he makes plans.

He is thirteen years old, and his body is changing on him. More than it usually does. His female half is just finishing a growth spurt his male part has yet to catch up to. Both bodies are going through changes that Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn't really understand, but unevenly so that he's never really sure where he'll be on any given day. The changes to his body (bodies) and the constant changes between bodies is enough to drive him half insane. If there was something he could do about it…. Any of it…

But there isn't. And to move on from here, Ratonhnhaké:ton knows he will have to change again. Except this time, he'll be changing not just his body but himself, lying to everyone he ever meets and keeping impossible secrets. It's not fair and he hates it with every fiber of his being, but he knows there's no other choice. From here on out, he'll have to hide the existence of his female side (although how he's supposed to do that, when puberty is pulling the two parts of him in opposite directions, is a mystery).

But just making the decision is helpful, and Ratonhnhaké:ton feels himself stand up a little straighter when he nods to himself and moves onward again. He'll manage, somehow. He has no choice, anyway. At that moment, Ratonhnhaké:ton swears to himself that he'll lie to the whole world if he has to. That no one will ever find out, ever.

-/-

Achilles sees through him almost at once.

Within twenty four hours of the old man letting Ratonhnhaké:ton through his front door, he's eyeing his new charge with narrowed eyes and demanding to know what's wrong with him. It's not the best way to start, and Ratonhnhaké:ton is wary of revealing too much. But Achilles is relentless, and eventually Ratonhnhaké:ton decides he would rather explain than get kicked out of the house. Not after all the work it took just to be allowed inside.

So he explains in terse, clipped words that sometimes he is a woman, that there's nothing he can do about who he is or what his body does (without his permission), and if he could stop he would but he can't. Then he waits, expression carefully blank, for Achilles to judge him. He's half expecting an instant denial, either anger or disbelief. There are arguments already on his tongue when Achilles shrugs and changes the subject. "If you're going to be staying here for a while, you're going to need an English name."

"Wait," Ratonhnhaké:ton says. "You don't care?"

"It's not exactly unprecedented," Achilles says. He not only sounds indifferent but also unimpressed. In some weird way, that makes Ratonhnhaké:ton a little annoyed. About the only thing this curse is good for is the extreme range of reactions he gets from people.

"You know other people like me?" he asks.

"Not personally," Achilles says. "But you're not the first assassin in history to be both a man and a woman."

"I'm not." He means it as a question, but he's so surprised it comes out as a flat statement instead.

Achilles nods anyway, and elaborates. "It's fairly common knowledge within the order that Ezio Auditore-"

"Who?"

"An Italian from a couple centuries back," Achilles says, waving the interruption away. "He was mentor at the time, and arguably one of the best men we've ever had. He never let being a woman stop him."

"He was…"

"And recently- over the last couple hundred years- there have been rumors of others, too, even earlier than Ezio."

"But no one still alive today?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asks, just a hint of wistfulness in his tone.

"No," Achilles says. And maybe Ratonhnhaké:ton is imagining it, but for a second the old man's face softens. "Not that I know of."

"Oh."

"It doesn't matter, anyway," the man says, and changes the subject again. "Now what name should you have?"

"I like mine," Ratonhnhaké:ton says stiffly.

"No," Achilles says. "Your… transformations will make it difficult enough for you to blend into normal society. An unpronounceable name won't help you at all."

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," Ratonhnhaké:ton says. "It's not unpronounceable."

But Achilles is looking at him with an expression that makes it clear he has no intention of backing down from this, and Ratonhnhaké:ton sighs. "Fine," he says. "But I don't know any English names."

(Except that's not true- some long buried memory is worming its way to the front of his mind, and Ratonhnhaké:ton frowns because the name is just on the tip of his tongue- then it comes to him)

"Connor," Achilles says.

"Edward," Ratonhnhaké:ton murmurs, still trying to remember the rest of the scene from the memory. But it's no good. He can remember hearing the name… somewhere, a very long time ago, but he doesn't remember who told him or where they were at the time, or anything.

"Alright," Achilles says, and so Ratonhnhaké:ton's English name comes to be Connor Edward Kenway. The middle name gets dropped a lot, but Ratonhnhaké:ton- Connor- doesn't much mind. For some reason the name seems important, and he's glad he gets to keep it.

-/-

The next few years are difficult, but Connor isn't the kind of person who gives up easily. Every fresh challenge makes him more determined to push past it and succeed. And that's good, because there's no end to the challenges he's presented with. As if hiding his constantly shifting (once a day on average) gender isn't enough, Connor learns to put up with racist attitudes and a culture he does not understand. He can live with all of that. He can even use it as motivation to push past it and do better than anyone expects.

Except there's only so far that can take him, and sometimes it's just exhausting.

Then comes the assassination of Benjamin Church. It doesn't start out badly- Connor hears about some suspicious activities in an abandoned church nearby, and duly goes to look it over. When he gets there though, the church is less deserted than it should have been. Connor is halfway through the door when he stops abruptly, eyes fixed on the woman in the middle of the nearly empty room.

It's a strange sight- a middle aged woman dressed in practical trousers and wearing men's boots- most likely a concession to the snow on the ground and the uneven terrain of the area. She looks up at once, turning around to face him with a knife in her hand, eyes narrowed. There's something so eerily familiar about her face that Connor doesn't even recognize the templar markings on her clothes and weaponry.

Connor is shifting into a defensive stance when the woman blinks and actually drops her weapon in apparent surprise. She doesn't draw another, and actually falls into a relaxed stance. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Who are you?" Connor demands. There's something about this entire situation that just seems off somehow, and it rubs him the wrong way that he just can't put his finger on what it is.

She gives him a look that makes Connor feel like a very small child asking a very obvious question, and her whole body seems to shiver for a moment before shifting, and suddenly Connor is looking at a man. Definitely a man, and not a particularly girlish one either.

His first thought, oddly enough, is- So that's what it looks like from the outside. And then- Oh no, because he recognizes that face. There's a painting of him in Achille's basement.

"I'm-"

"My father," Connor says, interrupting him because he would rather say the words than be forced to hear them.

"So you do remember me," Haytham says, and for some reason he sounds surprised.

"I've seen your picture," Connor growls. "What are you doing here?"

Haytham opens his mouth, then shuts it again with a snap, shaking his head to discredit whatever he'd been about to say. "I'm here for the same reason you are, I expect," he says instead. "To hunt down Benjamin Church."

"One of your own men?" Connor asks. "I doubt it."

"Is it so hard to believe he could have betrayed us?" Haytham asks. Again, he manages to convey the impression that Connor is a foolish child. Except this time, he does it through judicious use of eyebrows. His voice sounds bitter and betrayed, and Connor takes a tiny victory from that.

"No," Connor says, reluctantly. Something about the coldness in Haytham's tone when he says Church's name makes it impossible to doubt him. "Why are you a woman?"

"You should know as well as I do," Haytham says dismissively. He bends down to retrieve his dropped knife and Connor tenses, expecting an attack- but his father only slides the knife into a sheathe.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're the same as I am," Haytham says, with no apparent concern. "Sometimes a woman and sometimes a man."

"There's no way you can know that."

His father's knowing smile makes Connor want to punch him. It's so smug that it almost seems like a physical blow. And that, of course, is when his stomach tenses up, his skin gets cold and clammy, and-

Connor curses under his breath as his body swaps from man to woman. The change isn't as bad as it used to be now that puberty is over and both his bodies are back to looking more or less the same. But it's still humiliating, and Connor hates his body at that moment for changing on him with his father right there.

"Hmm," Haytham says. "You're not a very attractive woman, are you?" and his body shivers again into a woman's. He takes a step toward Connor, studying his face and touching his own in an obvious comparison. "Not much family resemblance."

And suddenly it strikes Connor that there's something different about the way his father's transformations work. The timing is too perfect to be accidental. "You did that on purpose," he says.

"Of course," Haytham says.

"How?"

Normally he wouldn't have asked the question, but- well, Connor is completely done with living his life at the whim of some function of his body he doesn't even understand. And for whatever reason, Haytham doesn't seem like an enemy right now. He doesn't even have a weapon drawn, and if Connor had wanted to kill him right then he could have. Easily.

"It's easy," Haytham says dismissively. "Just a matter of self-discipline." He coughs and doesn't quite look at Connor. "I could show you."

Connor almost laughs aloud at the offer. After all, he's standing in the middle of an abandoned church, a woman, with his father, also a woman, who happens to be a templar. And he's just offered Connor help.

"Why would you do that?" he asks.

"Why not?" Haytham asks. Then, before the silence can get uncomfortable, Connor sticks out his hand.

"Connor Edward Kenway," he says, stiffly.

"That's your name?"

"Not the one I was born with, if that's what you mean," Connor says. "But it's one most people can pronounce."

"Fair enough," Haytham says. Then, almost too casually, "Edward?"

"I heard the name somewhere," Connor says. "Why?"

"No reason," Haytham says. "No reason at all."

-/-

So they meet again. And again and again and again. Sometimes Haytham gives Connor instructions on how better to balance his time between being a man and a woman. Mostly Haytham just lectures while Connor sits in silence and tries to pretend that he's not desperate for exactly this information. Sometimes he asks questions, too- there are hundreds of things he's always wondered about, but with no women around in his life, this is his first opportunity to ask.

And sometimes they actually work together. As impossible as it seems to Connor, their interests really are aligned in hunting Church down. It's an interesting experience, working together, but the longer it goes, the less terrible it seems. Sometimes Connor even catches himself feeling happy they're having this time together. Then Haytham will say something Connor can't even wrap his mind around, something so indicative of his templar loyalties it makes Connor want to take a swing at him.

He never does, though, and he's not exactly sure why. His father is a strange man (and woman), and not really the kind of person Connor would normally want to spend time with. He's judgmental, distant, and often aggravating. His opinions are so completely opposed to Connor's that he sometimes thinks it must be some big cosmic joke- they're opposites in everything from their outlook on life to taste in food.

So it honestly confuses him that he keeps going back to his father. Every time they part he swears to himself that this is the last time. But it never is, because every time they make plans to meet again, he shows up. Promise or no promise. And he can lie to himself for a while that it's just because he needs Haytham. As far as he knows, there is literally no one else on the planet that can teach him to control his curse. And they are still chasing Church, after all, and it makes more sense to work together than against each other.

Most of the time, anyway. There are some points during the chase when Connor wholeheartedly regrets agreeing to work with his father to do anything. For example, the day they trace him to a brewery in Boston, guarded by men Connor can only assume are templars.

"They're your men, aren't you?" Connor asks. "Can't you get us past them?"

"Me, yes," Haytham says. He's staring at the brewery with an expression of intense concentration on his face. "Not you."

"You're not going in there alone," Connor says. "I don't trust you."

Haytham snorts, but doesn't seem insulted. "Alright then," he says. "But you're not going to like my next plan."

"I don't like any of your plans," Connor says, which is not quite true. Right now though- sitting in the darkness on a roof across the street in the middle of the night, not sure what he's walking into but half convinced it's a templar plot- all he can remember are the bad plans. "What's this one?"

"Quite frankly, there's only one reason to bring a woman into an empty brewery," Haytham says.

"What?"

Haytham sighs. "You are a woman today, in case you've forgotten."

"I know," Connor says. "I meant what's the reason you would take a woman into an empty brewery?"

Haytham suddenly coughs and his whole face goes red. "Has anyone spoken to you about… reproduction?"

"What?"

"Sex."

"Oh!" Connor feels his own face turn red as well. "You're going to tell them- I mean, that we're-"

"I'm not going to say anything," Haytham snaps. "Trust me, they'll draw the conclusion on their own."

"But why-"

"Connor!" Haytham snaps. "I don't like it much either, but either you go with that story or you stay out here while I go after Church."

Connor genuinely considers both of these options, and also thinks about just turning around and leaving. This is the worst thing he's ever had to do, but he does have to do it. In the end, he just doesn't trust his father enough to let him out of his sight. "Fine," he manages to say, hissing the word out through clenched teeth. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing," Haytham says. "Just stand there and try not to look so…" he gestures at Connor, then sighs. "You look like something just died in your boot."

"I'm not exactly happy about this," Connor says. "Honestly- are you just doing this to bother me?"

"Of course not," Haytham says. "I've done this before myself."

"You've pretended to-"

"There are a great many places in this world that a street woman can pass through without being noticed. You should remember that."

"Wonderful advice," Connor says. "Exactly the kind of life lesson I always hoped to learn from my father."

Haytham snorts. "If all I ever teach you is that pretending to be a prostitute is a good way to gather information, at least I've taught you something." And with these oddly half-inspiring words, Haytham turns away. "Come on. We're never going to do this if you're in assassin's robes."

-/-

When they finally get to the brewery doors, the guards don't do much more than leer at the pair of them. "Tasting of the forest fruits?" one of them asks, and Connor very nearly stabs him right there.

-/-

It would have been nice if they grew apart after that. It could have ended gradually, leaving some of the good memories untarnished. But the night at the brewery doesn't cause a real hitch in their relationship, after the initial awkwardness, and they keep working together until after Church is finally gone. That night, Haytham pulls Connor aside.

"We need to talk."

"About what?" They're on the Aquila, headed back to Boston, and he's actually feeling pretty good right now.

"This is the last time we work together."

"Of course," Connor says. He keeps his gaze focused on the sea in front of him, trying to pretend this conversation isn't important. "Church is dead. I have some control over my body." Not as much as he wants, but more. "There's no point in seeing each other again."

"Connor-" Haytham hesitates, and for a second Connor thinks his father is going to say something more, and he's half interested in finding out what that's going to be. Insults, maybe, or- something else.

But he only gives Connor a half pay on the shoulder, drawing away quickly when Connor flinches away. The night suddenly seems colder and darker, emptier than it had mere moments ago.

"We can't," Haytham says, utterly unaware that Connor is trying to ignore him. "We're on opposite sides of a war that has been fought for hundreds of years. This will not end well."

"It doesn't matter," Connor says. "I don't want to see you again after this."

Haytham snorts, sounding mostly amused. "You are such a child."

Something about that- either the tone or the words themselves- is the last straw. Connor spins around and charges at his father, a wordless sound of rage tearing from his throat before he can pull them back. Between one blink and the next, he's managed to pin Haytham against the rail of the ship. His tomahawk goes to his father's throat and Connor realizes he's panting in a ragged way he barely recognizes.

"No," he says. "I am not a child. I am not a fool, as you seem to think me. I am a grown man and can handle my own affairs without your interference."

"Which is why you're having this wonderful fit of overreaction at the moment," Haytham snaps.

"The only thing I've ever gotten from you is a curse. I don't want it, and it makes every day of my life much harder than it needs to be. Every morning, I wake up and have to check what gender I am, because I have a habit of changing when I'm asleep. Every single morning. You say I'm a child, but what I am is incredibly frustrated."

"I did try to help, you know," Haytham says. He almost seems apologetic, but Connor isn't ready to hear that from him. Even if his transformations have been more under control lately.

"It doesn't matter," he says and steps back, taking his weapon with him. "My point is that you have no right to judge any part of me. You never wanted anything to do with me until our interests happened to align in hunting down Church, and now that he's dead you're leaving. I don't want to hear your opinions on me. I don't care what you think. As soon as we dock, I want you to leave and not come back."

It would have been a good speech, maybe. Except that as badly as Connor wants to believe his own words, there's something in the back of his mind that just won't let him. He's never as disappointed as he is in the moment that Haytham nods and turns around, vanishing belowdecks without another word.

He's an annoyance, a hassle, and disagrees with everything Connor stands for. But he's also the only one that's ever been able to understand what happens with Connor's transformations, and working with him hasn't been as terrible as it might have been.

Not a ringing endorsement, exactly, but it's something.

-/-

They meet again, much later, and again they fight. But this isn't the same as before, with words and threats and insults. This time they're not father and son, but templar and assassin. And that means neither of them can afford to back down.

Connor walks into that fight knowing that he won't walk back out unless he kills his father first. Haytham is well past his prime, and he's standing in the way of something Connor needs. And for a while, it looks like the fight will play out exactly like that- they fight, and while both of them are injured, in the end it's Connor that gets the upper hand on Haytham. The world is falling apart around them, and for a second Connor really thinks he's going to kill his father. And then-

He remembers the night of the fire, remembers it in a way he hasn't been able to in years. Not just scattered bits and pieces- Lee's sneering face inches from his own, his mother's final words, the smell of smoke and fire he's never really forgotten. Something about this moment brings the whole thing back to him, and he remembers the day with a detached criticalness he isn't used to. He remembers the little moments, and he remembers-

The first time. Up until then, Connor had spent his whole life as a boy, and the sudden transformation had shocked him, threatened to break him in ways that might never have been repaired. He'd cried like the child he was, and there had been someone there, promising that everything would turn out alright, and that somehow this wasn't the end of the world…

"It was you," Connor says, backing away in pure surprise. "You were there." And Haytham is too busy coughing up blood and panting for breath to hear him or say anything. "You-" Connor shakes his head, trying to ignore the way it makes the whole world spin. Or maybe that's just the revelation that his father had been there when he was a child. On the day his mother died, at the very least, and probably more often. Now that he's thinking about it, there are other memories, hazy and distant but very definitely present.

This changes everything. It shouldn't, because this isn't about them. This is about assassins and templars, not family. But Haytham had been there, when Connor has always assumed he didn't care enough to even acknowledge his son's existence. Knowing he'd been there- he'd been there- it changes what he thought he knew about everything.

"Come on," Connor mutters, and heaves his father to his feet. The man spits out a glob of red and manages a few words.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Of course it would be something judgmental. "Don't complain," Connor mutters. He doesn't know what he's doing. "Just… come with me."

And that's how his father comes to stay with him. It's awkward, and they never come right out and talk about what Connor remembered in the moments just before he was about to kill Haytham. Connor's not sure he could have explained it, anyway. But they do talk about nearly everything else, because during the next few months they are both confined to bed while their injuries heal.

And they come to an agreement.

They will always be an assassin and a templar- that's not likely to change any time soon. But their situation is also a little unusual. Not just because they're father and son, but because they're also mother and daughter. There's no one else like them. Not in this century anyway (and Connor is weirdly triumphant when he finds out Haytham hadn't known about Ezio or Altair). So they have to keep in contact. It just makes sense.

For them, anyway. It's weird, but it works.

-/-

Connor is burying a medallion when he sees… it.

Which, alright, is a strange thing to be doing, especially since the place he's burying it is an old gravesite. But his life is strange, and for some reason the spirit from his village is convinced that it's important. So he'd asked his father for the damn thing, and after a lengthy argument, Haytham had admitted he didn't much need it anymore. He'd had it for decades by this point, and was no closer to figuring out what it's for.

"Happy birthday," he'd told Connor when he handed it over.

"It's not my birthday," Connor had said.

"I've certainly missed enough of them," Haytham said, with obvious reluctance. "So here, have…" he glanced uncertainly at the medallion in Connor's palm. "Whatever this is."

"Thanks," Connor said. "I guess."

And now- since he'd been told to keep it hidden, he's burying it in a place he doubts anyone will ever look. He's about three feet down when he sees it. Him. Her. Them. It looks like a ghost, a half visible person that has absolutely no distinguishing features. He can't even tell if it's a man or a woman, of how old it is.

"You don't have to bury it so deep," the thing says when it realizes it's caught Connor's attention.

"Who are you?"

"I'm, ah-" the thing makes a movement with one transparent hand, running it through invisible hair. "Really tired. That's all." It's voice sounds oddly distorted, like it's speaking from the other side of a very long tunnel, but Connor thinks it sounds defeated somehow, too.

"That's not an answer," he says.

"Doesn't matter," the thing says, and lapses back into silence. Connor stares at it, trying to figure out what this thing is, why it's here, what it's talking about. But there's no way to make sense of this, so Connor just keeps staring, leaning almost absentmindedly against his shovel. The thing doesn't even seem to notice- it's difficult to really tell what it's doing, given that it's barely visible as a faint shimmer in the air, but it seems to be completely lost in thought.

"Why are you here?" Connor asks.

His words seem to rouse the thing out of its preoccupation. It stirs a little and looks over at Connor. "I don't really know," it says. "Usually I only get to see people when they're about to die, but you seem fine." It gives a dry laugh. "But I'm pretty sure I'm not going to live much longer, so… maybe that's why." Connor's about to say something, but the thing isn't done yet. "I really admire you, you know?"

"What?"

"Sure," it says. "I mean, when you first got- what do you call it, a curse?"

Connor nods, a little dazed because he has no idea where this is going.

"I thought you were going to lose it," the thing says. "But you're definitely still sane. Like, at least 90%. Maybe 95."

"Thanks," Connor mutters. "I think. How did you know about that anyway?"

"It's kind of my fault," the thing says. "So- sorry about that."

"You- how did you-"

"If I knew how it worked, I wouldn't have done it, I swear."

"Well that's reassuring," Connor mutters. A thought suddenly occurs to him. "Why did you tell me not to dig so deep?"

The thing has already started to fade when its final words reach him. "Because I'm the one that's going to have to dig it up."

And then it's gone, leaving Connor alone and staring at a patch of empty grass next to a hole in the ground. "Wait," he says, even though he knows there's no point. "I don't understand."

-/-

Apologies for the fact that I just cannot write Connor today.