There was a safehouse fifteen minutes out from Abstergo headquarters. Haytham had stayed there during the week he spent planning his recon mission, and it was where he brought Connor after everything went horribly wrong.

He didn't feel anything. After he had deposited the unconscious Connor in the house's (or to be more correct, apartment's) single bed, Haytham had gone out to the only other room, where he gazed absently out of the grimy window and examined himself for reactions.

However, apart from a small amount of anger, he felt remarkably calm. He'd had far too much practice at pushing his reactions aside until they could no longer put himself or his goals at risk. For some reason, however, he couldn't block out the nagging anger, which told him that when he sat down and had the time to actually feel, he would be extremely upset. So- worth considering exactly where the emotion had come from.

Not that it was difficult for him to figure out. Simmons had told him she knew nothing of templars and assassins. And yet here he was, halfway around the world, unable to explain away the coincidence of being sent to gather information on a company that just happened to be holding his son captive.

And he still didn't know why he'd even chosen to rescue the boy.

On the short trip between Abstergo and the safehouse, Connor had woken briefly. Haytham found "himself mentally returning to this moment over and over again. It would have been disturbing to witness anyone lose their mind the way Connor aparently had- to see them babbling in some strange tongue, unable to recognize where they were or the people around them.

Haytham ground his teeth and strode away from the window. What he needed was answers, and he could think of only one place he might hope to get them. Of course, that meant pulling out the phone he had been provided with and figuring out how to use the blasted thing.

-/-

It took nearly ten full minutes to find the phone and dial Simmons, and she didn't even pick up the first time he called. He tried twice more, and finally she answered. Her voice, when it came over the tiny speaker, sounded tired and muddled. "Whoever you are, you better have a good reason for calling me at 2:00 in the morning."

Haytham glanced at the time on his phone- barely 7:00 pm. "Time difference," he said. "I think we need to talk."

"Kenway?" She suddenly sounded a bit more awake. "Something wrong? Or did you find something?"

"I need to know why you sent me out here."

"I told you everything I know."

"You told me nothing."

"Which is all I know." Simmons's tone had turned reasonable; it annoyed Haytham to no end. "I'm middle management at best, Kenway. All I know is that someone higher up than me has intel that they think makes Abstergo worth checking out. You seemed like the guy to do it. I sent you."

"Who decided they needed to be looked at?" Haytham pressed.

"Is it really that important?"

"Yes."

The line was silent for several long moments- so long, in fact, that Haytham started to wonder if he'd accidentally ended the call. Finally, she sighed, and said, "Alright look. I think the guy we got the information from is still in Italy. He was last I heard, anyway, but he tends to go out of communication a lot. Doesn't really think much of the Initiative, from what I can tell. I'll send him your way if I can get hold of him. Is that enough?"

"Fine," said Haytham, and put down the phone as Simmons hung up.

-/-

With no idea when (or, to be honest, if) the unknown Initiative contact would arrive, Haytham set himself to pacing the small apartment, occasionally checking in on the still asleep Connor. Now that the immediate danger to life and limb were behind him, he could feel an unwelcome slew of emotions beginning to creep up on him.

Foremost among them was worry. And this surprised him. When he'd first met Connor, more than two centuries ago, technically, he'd thought him unemotional. Detached. Frustratingly single minded, unconcerned with anything that did not directly affect his current goal, whatever it might be.

There had been times Haytham had wished he could have been around as the boy was growing up, if only so he could give him the good hard smack he occasionally deserved.

But now, somehow, that had all changed. As much as Haytham despised the feelings, even as he recognized them for their irrationality, still he could not stop them. Every time he looked in at Connor, or remembered the sight of him strapped into a table designed to do who knew what, all he could think was that Connor was his son, and that he did not deserve whatever had been done to him.

The sudden bout of protectiveness disgusted him, but he found himself unable to push it away. With a growl of frustration, he sped up his pacing.

The distraction did not work as well as he had hoped it would have.

-/-

Thre hours later, Haytham looked up to see Connor standing in the doorway. He looked exhausted, and leaned against the doorframe for support, but he at least seemed to recognize his situation- there was none of the strange, mad confusion in his eyes that Haytham had seen the last time Connor woke.

He broke the silence first. "Connor."

"Father."

Neither of them spoke again for a while. Then, realizing Connor probably hadn't eaten for a while, Haytham asked, "Do you need any food?"

"Do you have any?"

"Ah." There had not been much food in the safehouse to begin with, and he had eaten most of it within the first few days. Since then, he had been going out when he felt hungry. "No," he admitted.

"Then I can wait," said Connor.

The thick silence fell upon the room again as they both focused their attentions on avoiding one another's eyes.

Then, there came a knock on the door.

-/-

And... another story without much action. The next one has rooftop chases though! Well, a singular rooftop chase, anyway. And more time travel. :) I promise, it's already written and everything. I just need to unlazy and type it up, which is not going to happen today because it's my day off work and I have plans. :))))