Connor had been fully aware that the Templars were, and basically always had been better equipped than the Assassins were. They had better numbers, better finances and better resources and they had always had quite an advantage. So when Haytham had fallen short on contacts this had come as quite a shock to Connor. No matter what the situation, his father had always had someone conveniently keeping tabs on whomever or whatever they were tracking down next. In this case, the two of them were searching out a man who had been playing both sides of the field in several respects. He had a habit of showing up under the pretense of friendship, and then robbing his victim's blind. Connor wasn't quite sure how he had been roped into helping his father catch and kill this man, as he was unsure how his father convinced him to do most things, but he had already committed, and there was no backing out now.

However, it was starting to frustrate him, especially since their last four leads had been dead ends and false starts, and his father apparently had no new information to offer up.

"Nothing?" He growled as his father paced back and forth in the small room; he had rented for the two of them in New York. "Not one of your contacts has anything useful to say." He repeated, flatly.

"Well my contacts are few and far between now, thanks to someone." His father turned on him, motioning to Connor.

The Assassin rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "While I am pleased to learn how easy it is to topple your information network, in this particular instance, it presents a problem." He ignored Haytham's incredulous snort, and put a hand to his chin in thought. "Very well, I suppose I can ask one of my contacts if they have heard anything."

This caught Haytham's attention as he turned, raising an eyebrow at his son. "One of your contacts? You have contacts?"

Connor returned his arms to their folded position on his chest, picking his words carefully in his head. "There have been several people who I have met, who have felt the… oppression… of Templars more than others. They had heard or seen that I tended to get results in situations like theirs and sought me out, to ask my help in taking care of their problems. Afterwards, they wanted to join my cause." That was about as easily as he could explain it. "So yes, father, I have contacts."

"You have other Assassins."

"In so many words, yes." Most of them had officially been welcomed into the brotherhood. Several had taken the trip to the homestead with him, and Achilles had inducted them properly.

Haytham cursed and raised a hand to his eyes. "Why is it, every time I leave the colonies, someone does something to create ill-will among the people which in turn spawns Assassins?" He motioned to Connor again, scowling as he did.

"It would seem you do not have as tight control over your own order as you would like to believe, father."

"Something I'll have to deal with." He muttered to himself. "For now, lets meet this contact of yours."

"Lets?" Connor let his arms fall to his side.

"Pardon?"

"You cannot come with me. I do not want to put my contact in any danger from you or your men."

His father's jaw went slightly slack. "Are you suggesting I just sit here and wait?"

"You did not seem to have a problem with that earlier."

"Oh don't start that again. Look, I promise as soon as we are done, I will forget your friend's name and face. No harm will come to them from me, I assure you."

Connor raised an eyebrow at his father. "I can trust you to keep that promise?"

"Have I ever lied to you, Connor?"

"You-"

"Exactly, I have been nothing but honest with you. Now then, shall we be off?"

An angry scowl creased Connor's face. His father had a habit of cutting him off before he could argue, and giving reasons that Connor could technically not argue with like 'because I said so', or 'just do it'. He sighed and rolled his eyes again before reaching back and pulling his hood up over his head. "Very well, follow me." He turned on his heel and walked out the door. He made his way down the stairs and out the door of the Inn they had been staying in and out onto the busy streets of New York. Haytham followed closely behind him, as Connor slowly began to make his way up the street.

"So do you think this friend of yours will have anything?" Haytham spoke up, a slight edge of sarcasm in his voice.

"I am not sure." Connor frowned deeply, and casually sidestepped a vendor, raising a hand to signal his lack of interest in whatever product he was selling. "She has been busy in Delaware recently, but she has normally kept a very close eye on the northern end of New York. It is worth asking."

"She?" Haytham looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. "Your contact is a woman?"

Connor looked up to meet his father's gaze, puzzled. "What is so extraordinary about that?"

"Nothing extraordinary." His father shrugged. "Just not what I was expecting."

Connor decided not to question it further and simply focused on maneuvering his way through the city. New York was incredibly large and he found it very difficult to memorize his way through it. He relied heavily on tall churches as landmarks, but he had gotten lost more than a few times. Still, he knew as long as he traveled northwest, he'd find one of Dobby's usual locations. She had never been too terribly difficult to find, after all.

The majority of the walk was spent in silence, interrupted every so often by a few children who were used to more clueless targets, and attempted to pick his and his father's pockets. A quick shove or a few coins tossed their way was enough to deter them, however, and the remainder of the short journey went on uninterrupted. They made their way to the less populated part of town, and Connor began to slowly scan the houses for one he recognized.

His father continued to look on quietly, following at a short distance seemingly lost in thought. Connor was happy to not have to worry about it as he continued to look on for any signs of his friend. Slowly the scenery began to look more and more familiar, and finally he found himself in front of a house with green doors and battered shutters.

"She lives here?"

Connor started a bit, having almost forgot his father was there. "No." He shook his head and slowly began to make his way towards the back of the house. "She usually can be found here though." Sure enough, leaning against the edge of the house, whittling at a piece of wood was Deborah Carter. Connor smiled at her and reached up, pulling his hood down as he walked up to greet her. "Dobby."

She looked up sharply at the mention of her name and smiled suddenly at the Assassin in front of her. "Connor!" She removed herself from the house and walked over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Good to see you."

When he had first met Dobby, it had taken him a few minutes to decode all of her sentences through her heavy accent, but after knowing her for a while, it had faded and he could understand her perfectly. "You as well." He nodded to her.

"What brings you all the way up here?" She put her hands on her hips and took a step back. Her gaze suddenly flickered behind Connor and she motioned past him. "Who's your friend?"

Connor turned his head and looked back at Haytham who was still standing a few steps behind him. He then suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Should he take the time to explain who Haytham was? Explain why he was working with the grandmaster of the order they were fighting? No, he decided. No he should not. He waved his hand to indicate it was unimportant. "Just an associate of mine."

He was suddenly very aware of his father turning his head sharply and staring at him, with a sort of incredulous anger. Dobby seemed to not notice. "An associate, hm? Well aren't you popular." She smiled knocking her fist against his shoulder. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to know if you know anything about a man I'm looking for. He's been smuggling stolen goods through here." Connor spoke quickly, trying to ignore the glare Haytham continued to give him.

"Hmm." She folded her arms. "Stolen goods? I haven't heard anything about that. But…" Dobby pocketed the knife and block off wood she had been carving. "There has been some crooked business ventures down on the docks."

"What do you mean?" Haytham spoke up from behind Connor, taking a step forwards.

"There's a man who's set up shop down to the east of here, a real weasel of a man if you ask me. He was a bit on edge from what I saw of him."

"Did you see what he looked like?" Connor frowned.

"Sure." She put a hand behind her head. "Real small fella, missing a few teeth, and always wears a red bandana. Sound like your man?"

"Certainly sounds like a start." Haytham folded his hands behind his back thoughtfully. "Is he still there, do you know?"

"He's been got a small army of guards and traps protecting a warehouse he's got himself holed up in while ships come and go, getting loaded up with all sorts of packages. I figured he was doing some sort of shady business, but I haven't really been able to get close. But now that you're here, I suppose I won't have to will I? Unless you'd like my help."

Connor shook his head. "I can take care of this, thank you. You still have business elsewhere don't you?"

"Just waiting for a few things to go through before I head back to work." She shrugged. "I would be up for getting into a scrap or two with you, though."

"That's alright, thank you Dobby."

"Let me know if you change your mind, then." She reached up and patted the side of his face. "Take care out there. Even with your skill, it's going to be difficult." She smirked.

"I will." He turned his head away lightly, to look at his father, before nodding away. "Good bye for now, Dobby."

"Bye now." She nodded at him and then looked to Haytham. "You take care too."

Haytham smiled thinly at her. "Nice to meet you." He spoke briskly and then turned to Connor. "Well then, I suppose we had better go."

Connor nodded, and began to walk off in the direction Dobby had pointed him in. Haytham followed closely, and quickly checked over his shoulder to see how far they had gotten before rounding on his son rather quickly.

"An associate, am I? That's how you're introducing me?"

Connor looked over and continued to walk, pulling his hood back up. "You may have an easy time explaining to others that I am your son, but it is not that easy for me."

"And why is that?

"You are the grand master of the order I am attempting to impede-"

"Attempting, good choice of words."

Connor chose to ignore the remark, and continued on. "I have explained my relation to you, but it is harder to explain why I am working with you. I will explain it to her properly later, when time permits. Or would you rather I go explain the entire story to her now, and allow more time for the only lead we have to go dead?"

"It's incredible, really. The sheer lack of respect you display for me." Haytham snorted, continuing to walk beside Connor, and continuing to look very put out. "You introduce me as an associate, and then claim you did so because time did not permit you to say the words 'this is my father'? Honestly, Connor." He growled under his breath. "You know, where I come from there's a certain commandment people are expected to obey, that I do believe goes something along the lines of: Honor thy mother and father."

"Correct me if I'm wrong father, but is there not another commandment from the same set that dictates: thou shall not kill?"

There was silence between them after a moment. "You know the ten commandments, then?"

"Achilles did not just train me in running, jumping and killing."

"Of course." Haytham sighed. "Look, the point of that was-"

"Father." Connor put a hand on Haytham's shoulder to silence him and then pointed forwards. "There." Straight ahead of them was a large warehouse with several expanding overhangs near it, and an entire squadron of soldiers and mercenaries patrolled outside.

Haytham followed his son's gaze. "Well that is promising. But this conversation is not over."

"Yes, father, you can continue to lecture me later." Connor rolled his eyes. He crouched a little as he moved closer, and ducked behind a crate. He scanned the warehouse, and watched as some of the guards moved back and forth, looking about a bit lazily. "There is a window up there." Connor nodded upwards to a window on the far side of the building. "If we can get there, it will make things easier."

"Very well." Haytham came up next to him. "Go on then."

Connor spared a quick glance backwards. "Remember, father, Dobby said there were traps as well. So be careful."

"Please, son." Haytham straightened himself, indignantly. "I've been at this a fair bit longer than you. Traps are the least of my worries."

"Then let's go."

Getting to the window was easy. Even though he was aging, Haytham was still able to keep up with his son, who leapt across crates and planks as if gravity had decided to stop applying to him. Haytham climbed over the windowsill, under the glass panes that Connor held open for him, and stood up straight. The warehouse was slightly larger than he had been expecting, but from the platform he and his son now stood on, they had a fairly good view of everything below them.

There were at least twenty men below them, all of them preoccupied with moving the large boxes, presumably filled with the stolen items they had been using to track the man they planned to kill, to the door of the warehouse. Connor walked up beside him as Haytham continued to scan the warehouse floor.

"I don't see our man…" He mused, quietly raising a hand to his mouth.

"Do you think he is somewhere else?"

"He might be." Haytham shrugged. "We can make our way down there, and see if there's anything or anyone who can tell us where he is."

"Alright." Connor nodded, and looked around. "Over there." He nodded a ladder that had been shoved up against the platform they stood on, in the corner. It would be discreet enough for them to climb down, without being spotted. He nodded up at Connor, who maneuvered his way to it, and slowly turned himself over onto it and began to climb down. Haytham walked over and peered over the edge at his son, who looked up at him, from about half way down the ladder. "Careful, some of the rungs are broken."

"Alright." Haytham grabbed the edge and turned around lowering his feet onto it and beginning to climb down. As Connor said, about two of the rungs very suddenly gave way under his foot, but he was able to catch himself before he either fell or made some amount of noise that would give them away. He finally lowered himself to the ground and turned around to see Connor crouching behind a stack of boxes out of sight of a few guards that were trying to figure out the best way to pick up a particularly heavy crate. Haytham looked over at Connor who raised his eyebrows as if to say 'this may take a while'.

The Templar grand master crouched down and made his way over to his son, before lowering one knee to the ground and peering around the corner. The guards were struggling under the weight of the box, and clearly weren't going to be moving anytime soon, so he pulled himself back and slowly got comfortable. Connor however remained vigilant, peering around the corner, crouched in a position that was starting to make Haytham's legs hurt just by observing. He sighed and slowly allowed his mind to begin to wander.

He had claimed that he was upset by the earlier incident because of the lack of respect, but truth be told it ran a bit deeper than that. Upon finding out about Connor's existence, Haytham had felt a surge of emotion. Not all of them joyful, seeing as was in actuality the assassin who had killed several of his coworkers, but not one of those feelings had been shame. However, Connor had apparently known that Haytham was his father from the very start. And not once had Haytham wondered what Connor thought of it. He had assumed his son's feelings had been similar to his own, but he was slowly seeing that that was untrue.

After all, Connor had known that his father was the grandmaster of the Colonial rite, and had dedicated his life to killing him anyhow. There were years of resentment and hatred behind Connor's feelings about Haytham, and it had taken him this long to realize just how deep those feelings ran. Connor couldn't even introduce Haytham as his own father. He was ashamed, or perhaps even embarrassed to acknowledge he was related to his greatest enemy. Of course Connor called him father, although when he was angry, or feeling bitter he would call him slightly less polite names, but even the way he said it was almost as if he was trying to insult Haytham with the title.

Haytham sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He had never had to deal with problems like this before, and honestly he wasn't quite sure how to handle it. Then again, it wasn't as if someone came up to you and gave you a hand-book on how to be a good father. Haytham would have to figure it out as he went, like everyone else. Though he had slightly more challenges than the average parent, seeing as he and his son were fated to kill one another one day, unless Haytham could talk him round with reason.

"Father?"

A hand on his should and a slight shake brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes to see Connor peering up at him from under his hood. "Hm?"

"Are you alright?"

Haytham blinked. "I'm fine… why do you ask?"

"You looked as though you were in pain."

"Oh." He frowned. He hadn't aware his emotional turmoil had been so visible on his face. He waved his hand. "Just some old battle wounds acting up. I hardly even notice it anymore." He lied smoothly.

Connor looked slightly suspicious, but turned around, deciding not to question it. "One of them mentioned a ledger with times of departure for the ships. Perhaps if we find that, we will find out if our target has left on a ship or is planning to."

"Yes… good idea." Haytham nodded. "Did he say where it was?"

Connor nodded and pointed over at a table near the door. "I can get around to it fairly easily." He looked back.

"No." Haytham spoke without even realizing it.

"No?" Connor sounded just as surprised as Haytham felt.

"… No." Haytham affirmed. "I will get the ledger. You go around the other way, and see what else you can find." He nodded at the door and raised a hand. "Listen in on a few more of the workers, they're bound to let something useful slip."

His son regarded him with apprehension, before glancing off to the side again, his eyes following Haytham's gesture to the door the workers had walked through, and he nodded slowly. "Alright, fine." And with that he was gone.

Haytham edged around the crate he hid behind and locked his eyes on the table. Very slowly he pulled himself to his feet and checked his surroundings before darting from his cover. He moved quickly and silently, very careful not to alert anyone to his presence. He might have not been as good as he had once been, but he could certainly still get around just fine. He straightened himself up, as he approached the table and peered across its surface. The sound of lapping waves was slightly louder and Haytham realized the warehouse must have extended over the docks, and they were over water now.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he scanned the table, sure enough just as Connor had said there was a blue ledger resting on the surface, face up and closed neatly. Haytham scooped it up, and cracked it open, flipping through a few pages. It certainly looked promising enough, and with some time he would be able to easily decipher where his target had run off too, or where he planned to run off to. A small smile creased his lips, and then…

"Who the hell are you?"

Haytham flinched and closed his eyes before snapping the book shut and holding to his chest. "Oh not this again…" He turned around to see a balding man, with blackened teeth and drooping features glaring at him. The man's eyes went to the ledger in his hands, and then to the sword and pistol at his side, and then his eyebrows shot up in alarm as he realized why Haytham was there.

Haytham wasted no time tucking the book into his belt, and then flexing his wrist, coaxing his hidden blade from his sleeve, he dover forwards raising his arm and plunging towards the man's neck. However, the man was quicker than he gave him credit for, and raised his own arms, his open palms shoving against Haytham's shoulders, pushing him backwards. Haytham stumbled, a bit before regaining his footing, though he nearly lost it as his foot snagged on a piece of line that had been lying on the floor, but he was easily able to pick himself up. He managed to steady himself, and stood up straight again, but as he did he noticed the man grinning maniacally at Haytham's feet and then darting for one of the pillars towards the left of him. Haytham darted after him, but the man reached the pillar quicker than he could move, and with one fluid motion, produced a knife and sliced through a taught piece of rope. As he did, Haytham heard the sound of a metal grate slamming against stone, and he raised an eyebrow.

"What was that supposed to-" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as the aforementioned rope he had tipped over, very suddenly tightened around his ankle and yanked his foot out from under him. He gasped as he was suddenly pulled across the floor, and out of sheer reflex he reached up and managed to grab a post in the ground, and wrapped his arm around it. He gasped in pain as the rope pulled tightly around his ankle and continued to pull, putting an enormous amount of strain on his leg. He lifted his head and looked down to the rope, and began to follow it. It led to a large metal drain, in the floor near the front of the warehouse about three feet away from Haytham. No doubt it lead to the ocean, and was weighted rather heavily, which explained the intense weight on his ankle, and if Haytham were to let go of the post he had managed to secure, he would quickly be pulled to a watery grave. This must have been one of the traps Connor and his contact had talked about.

"Now I've got you!"

Haytham looked up at the drooping faced man, who stood poised over him, a pistol in his hands, which was aimed squarely at Haytham's face. His eyes widened a little bit and he looked down at himself, looking for something to defend himself with. He still had his weapons, but if he were to let go or stop propping himself against the weight that was pulling on him, he knew he would slip under the water quicker than he could kill the man and cut the rope. He was pinned. He looked back up, and as the man's finger tightened over the trigger, very suddenly his head jerked backwards as if pulled by what little hair he had, and a shining silver tomahawk slide over his neck, opening it and spilling his blood across the floor. He gagged for a brief moment before dying, and falling to the floor, in a heap, revealing Connor standing behind him, running the edge of his newly bloodied tomahawk over a cloth.

The boy looked down at him for a moment or two, and Haytham could have sworn he saw a smirk on his son's face. He sighed and pushed himself up against the post, grimacing at the pain in his leg.

"Connor do you remember what I was saying earlier about honoring your mother and father?"

"I do."

"This is one of those instances, so if you would, kindly keep your remarks to yourself."

"Did you get the ledger at least?"

Haytham glared up at him, and nodded to his waist. "Yes I did, now please." He sighed, looking down. "Cut me loose."

Connor's grin grew just a little wider, and he gave his father a mock bow. "Yes, of course, most honored father." He said, as jeeringly as he could, and then, he quickly knelt down, produced his own hidden blade from his sleeve and sliced through the rope.

Haytham scowled and pulled his leg back up, reaching down to examine his ankle. "Oh shut up." He muttered.

Well, at least he couldn't complain that his son did not have a sense of humor about the whole ordeal.

(So most of these stories come from conversations I have with my friend while we play it. Because we play it, and then we replay it, and then we work on full synch, and we have quite a bit to say. This idea came from a time when my friend and I were replaying the mission where you chase after Church on the Aquila, and she mentioned that not once on the ship does Haytham refer to Connor as 'captain'. Her original thought was for Connor to insist on being called 'captain, and Haytham responding with his general snarky self.

"While we are on this ship, you are to refer to me as 'captain'."

"Very well, then you are to refer to me as 'most honored father'."

And thus, I decided I had to write a one-shot in which Connor calls Haytham: "Most Honored Father". I feel like it turned out okay.)