It's only Monday, but Edward already has enough piled up work to keep him stuck in the library for most of the day. He's claimed an entire table to himself by the simple means of spreading the contents of his backpack over the entirety of its surface. One of the librarians keeps stalking past, glaring at his mess, but Edward ignores her and she doesn't actually say anything to him.

He's been there several hours already when he spots Altair and some guy Edward's never seen before at the other end of the library. They quickly spot him, and a minute later the two of them are sitting on the other side of the table.

"You are a hard man to find," Altair says, carefully clearing a space on the table in front of him.

"I've been here all day," Edward says.

"Ah." Altair nods in sudden understanding. "That makes sense, then. I didn't think to look in the library until we'd checked everywhere else."

"Ha ha," Edward says. "Who's your friend?"

"I'm Desmond," the stranger says, before Altair has a chance to say anything.

Edward looks him over, then glances back at Altair. "You look like you could be twins."

"Genetics," Altair says. "I have a question for you."

"Shoot," Edward says, closing his laptop. "I'm sick of working on this anyway."

"Are you related to anyone named Haytham?"

"No," says Edward, but slowly, and he can't deny that there's something familiar about the name. He tilts his head sideways and half closes his eyes, digging through memories of his first life that are still only half familiar. Suddenly his eyes fly open because he can't believe he forgot that. "I mean, yea. But not, um..." He glances at Desmond, because this really isn't something he wants to go into this in front of someone he doesn't know.

"Yes or no?" Altair asks. "Which one is it?"

"Yes like you were in your last life but no like you're not anymore?" Desmond asks.

Edward stares at him, then glowers at Altair. "I think I'm missing something here," he says. "How does he know about that?"

"It's a long story," Altair says. "I'll tell you later."

"But-"

Edward makes an exasperated noise, but so far Altair hasn't given him a reason not to trust him.

"So who's Haytham to you?" Altair asks.

"He's… my son," Edward says. He tries to sound casual, but can't stop himself from shaking a little as he says it. There are a lot of bad memories he hasn't figured out how to deal with yet, and a lot of other memories that he just hasn't had time to go through. So maybe it's not all that unlikely he hasn't remembered Haytham until now- but he still feels awful. "Why do you want to know?"

"I-" Desmond doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Well, he's here too."

"And…" there's no mistaking his tone. "Why is that bad?"

"The only reason we know he's here is because he put his kid in the hospital," Desmond says.

"What?" Edward's first instinct is to deny it, because that's not the way he remembers his son, but then he shakes his head and doesn't bother. The last time he saw Haytham, he was ten years old. Edward has no idea what kind of man Haytham grew up to be. Or what his life has been like in this century. Or which life he even remembers.

"This is so confusing," Edward mutters, and drops his head into his hands.

"Do you… do you want to talk about it?" Altair asks, and Edward shakes his head quickly.

"No," he says. "I mean, yes, but…" The skin on the inside of his wrist is pale from too much time spent indoors, and the circinus on it is so faint it's not even visible. Mary must be really far away. "There's someone else I need to talk to."

-/-

Mary's in Alaska when her cell rings, on her way up north to visit a town so isolated, it's only contact with the outside world is when the weather is warm, and tiny planes from farther south come by to deliver supplies.

"Damnit, Edward," she mutters, but picks up anyway. They haven't spoken in at least a decade, but they are technically soulmates (although she still has no idea why). "You have the worst timing," she says, instead of hello.

"Mary?"

"Of course. You called me, remember?" There's nothing but static on the other end, and Mary frowns. "Listen, if you have something to say, then say it, but if you're just calling to bother me, then hang up now. I have to be flying out of here in half an hour."

Edward waits a long time before answering, long enough that Mary starts to think about just hanging up on him. Then he says- "Tell me about yourself."

"What?"

"I want to know who you are this time around," Edward says. "I want to know how much a person can change."

"Are you drunk?" Mary asks. "What do you mean, 'this time'?"

"No," Edward says. "I'm not drunk, I just… want to talk." And maybe it's just the shitty cell reception up here, but his voice sounds tiny and lost in her ear.

"Hey Read!" Someone calls, and Mary glances over her shoulder to see one of the runway guys pointedly jabbing at their watch. "You ready to go?"

"I-" Mary glances at her phone, then at the man, then shakes her head. "I can't do it."

"What?" He frowns. "Why not."

"Weather," Mary says.

"It's perfect weather for flying!"

"Nah," Mary says, grinning a little. It'll be worth dealing with Edward just for the confused expression on the man's face. "There's a storm coming in."

"But-"

"I'll fly out tomorrow," Mary says, and heads inside.

"Mary?" Edward asks.

"I'm still here, Kenway. Keep your pants on. What did you want to know?"

"Everything," Edward says.

"Way to narrow it down," Mary says. "Alright, well- the last time we saw eachother was high school, right? You were a freshman, I was a sophomore-"

"Then my family moved, yea," Edward says. "I know that part." He sounds annoyed, and a little more animated, which is reassuring.

"Alright, um…" She looks around, and the abandoned plane on the runway seems the most obvious place to start. "I got my pilot's license a couple years ago. Always wanted to fly, now I do." Edward doesn't say anything, so she sighs and goes on. "I'm in Alaska now, but I'll probably be out by the end of the month. I don't know where I'll go next. I like to move around a lot, so- I don't know. Maybe I'll go out east somewhere. Or west, or south- I don't know. Somewhere without snow, hopefully."

"Ever been to the Caribbean?" Edward asks.

"Where are you, Edward?" Mary asks, instead of answering his question. She doesn't want to talk about the Caribbean. It reminds her too much of her nightmares…

"New York," Edward says. "I'm getting my master's in archeology."

"You're getting a master's degree?" Mary laughs. "That's- what? Six whole years at school?"

"Why does everyone always act so surprised?" Edward asks.

"Oh, I don't know," says Mary. "Maybe because you've never been interested in anything that takes actual effort? Or have you actually grown up since I saw you last?"

"Mary," Edward says. "You would not believe the amount of growing up I've done in the past week."

"Edward…" She frowns, because there's something about his voice that sounds different from before, a seriousness that she wouldn't have expected from him. "Edward, what's wrong?" she asks. "Seriously. Tell me."

"I can't tell you."

"Well you can't just call me up and have a conversation like this one and not tell me why!" Mary snaps.

"Do you ever have dreams?" Edward asks.

"Everyone has dreams."

"Weird dreams," Edward says. "Dreams that seem like memories, but aren't-"

"No," Mary lies. Something digs into her palm, and she realizes that she's holding her phone far too tightly. It takes a real effort to loosen her grip, far more than it should have. But she doesn't want to think about the nightmares that trouble her all too frequently.

Edward goes on like he doesn't even hear her. "Am I ever in them?"

Mary shakes her head, tries to make a joke out of it. "Are you asking me if you're the man of my dreams?"

"You should pay attention to them," Edward says, and hangs up. Mary stares at the phone and tries to comfort herself that at least he sounds happier. If slightly more crazy.

Only it doesn't comfort her at all, and Mary finds herself wondering if it might not be time to pay New York a visit. Not that she's worried about Edward- of course not. He's a fully grown man, he can take care of himself. Even if he does sound odd. Of course she's not worried, there is no reason to worry.

She worries anyway.