Reginald Birch's Last Stand

I heard the shot, and after that, I was aware of almost nothing else, save the three men in front of me.

I couldn't spare a glance in Haytham's direction. At first, I told myself it was because I had to focus everything on Birch and the Templars. Birch himself wouldn't hesitate to shoot us both if I stopped for even a second.

But, thinking back, I realized I might have been afraid to look. To see if he'd been shot or not. If he was dead on the floor with a red hole between his eyes.

Pitcairn was the one who intercepted me. I knew he had a gun hidden somewhere on his person, but for the moment, I was too close to shoot at. So he drew a...sword? Rapier? and used it to block the hidden blade I'd aimed for his throat. I vaguely remembered Achilles warning me that Pitcairn was decent with a sword or something of the like, but…honestly, I'd never expected him to actually use it.

Our blades met with a great clatter of metal on metal. He tried to push me back - but I pushed harder and took a few halting steps closer. There was no fear in Pitcairn's eyes when he stared back at me.

"Wait," he said to me, but I ignored him and pressed harder.

I was barely aware of what was happening around me, but I tried to keep an eye on Biddle and Birch, just in case they decided to round on me. I saw flashes of Biddle from my peripheral; the other Assassins were keeping him engaged. Good. And Birch was stalking the edges of the fray, his gaze following someone else. The Assassins, probably. I wasn't sure.

And Haytham... I saw nothing of him. I didn't want to look. Not that I could, what with Pitcairn almost literally breathing down my neck.

Pitcairn finally managed to push me away. I kept my balance and stood back. Pitcairn watched me, walking in a slow, methodical circle. He didn't even blink, didn't seem bothered by the fact that the wounds he'd sustained in our earlier fight – on the upper floors, before Haytham and Charles surprised us – were still bleeding.

He would be much more of a challenge than Church and Hickey. Maybe even Charles Lee.

At first he did nothing, and I assumed he was waiting for me to make the first move. That was my first mistake, and one Achilles had warned me against. "Never make any assumptions about your enemy," he used to tell me. "They like to surprise us. Even a group as predictable and old-fashioned as the Templars."

Pitcairn moved to his left. I instantly adjusted my position.

And then he struck to the right. I started to dodge again, but I was too slow. His blade ripped through my jacket sleeve and slid across the skin of my arm. It stung, but I fought to keep my attention on the Templar.

I'd already switched my hidden blade from the gauntlet to my hand. It was longer than your average dagger, but still a poor weapon against the longer reach of a sword. I would have to make due until I was in a position to shoot or stab him.

Pitcairn wouldn't give me those positions so easily. I was coming to realize this when he lunged again. I moved from his reach and struck out. He was fast, but he was older than I was; the blade caught his sword hand and drew blood.

We were even. For the moment, anyway. But I saw now that I could use my speed to my advantage.

Pitcairn moved forward to strike again. I threw up my knife and managed to block it - but he was pushing forward again, trying to force me to my knees. He was stronger than I anticipated.

But not strong enough. I slipped closer to him, until I could feel his breath against my face. The surprise was clear in his eyes; why was I getting so close? Did I have a death wish? His grip didn't let up, but it didn't matter.

I rammed my forehead into his face. Pitcairn staggered backward, giving me a chance to dart forward, wrest the sword from his grip, and shove him to the ground. I pinned him down before he could push himself back up and attack me.

I held the knife over his neck. And I was about to slit it before he spoke.

"You're Haytham's boy?" he asked. His voice was strong and unwavering, even with a weapon being held to his vulnerable throat.

"It doesn't matter right now."

"But you're him? You're Connor Kenway?"

"Yes. Just Connor. Now-"

"Listen to me, boy. Don't kill me. I can help the two of you."

I made a noise that sounded like a derisive snort. "What makes you think I'm going to trust you now? After you just tried to run me through with a sword?"

"What do you expect me to do, cower while you come rushing at me with a hidden blade? Now, listen: I believe in Haytham more than I do Birch. Let me help. Please."

"...I can't trust you."

"Why? Because I'm a Templar?"

"That's part of it."

"Your father is a Templar, and yet you still seem to trust him."

"That's different."

"Not so much," he said. "Let me up. Let me help."

I hesitated - probably for too long, given our circumstances - with my knife still pressed against his neck. All I had to do was cut, and I could move on to Biddle or Birch. We'd be one step closer to ending this.

Pitcairn made no move to resist me. "Please," he whispered again. "I've known Birch for longer than you have. I know his weaknesses. And I agree with Haytham - I don't believe in what he's pushing the Order towards."

I paused. Stared at him.

"My gun is in the holster under my right arm."

"What?"

"My only other weapon. Take it, if you think I'll attack you."

I reached tentatively for it with my free hand, watching carefully for any other sign of movement from the man. But Pitcairn remained completely still, his expression passive but anxious, his hands flat against the tile.

My fingers brushed against metal. The gun was indeed there. I took it out, made sure the safety was still on, and slipped it into my waistband.

"You want to help my father," I clarified, speaking slowly.

"Yes. And in doing so, it seems I will be assisting the Assassins as well." He shook his head faintly. "Ah, I never thought the day would come. But Haytham is a great and capable Grand Master, one I would follow to the ends of this earth."

He spoke with conviction I'd never heard in Hickey or Church, or even Charles Lee. I hesitated for only a moment longer before I carefully, carefully stood and stepped away. I put the heel of my shoe on his sword as Pitcairn got to his feet as well. He spat a wad of blood on the floor before he turned back to me.

Pitcairn nodded to his weapon. I pressed my foot more firmly against it.

"I'm not going to attack you with it," he said, exasperated. "Now hurry! The longer we stall, the more time Birch has to act!"

Birch. Where was he? I cast my gaze around the hall, but wide as it was, there was still barely enough room for all of the Assassins and the three - two now, perhaps, if Pitcairn kept his word - to fight. My Assassin brothers were taking care of Biddle; or at least Stephane and Jacob were. Clipper was fending off a few stray security guards at the other end of the hall, while Jaime patrolled the opposite side.

I wouldn't be of any help to them. There wasn't enough space, and I would only get in the way. But maybe there was something else I-

I stopped looking around the hall. Because I could see Haytham then, on his knees, grasping at the patch of blood that was spreading across his shoulder.

He wasn't looking at me. But Haytham was alive.

I looked back to Pitcairn. He was wiping blood from the corner of his mouth again. I must've rammed him so hard that he bit his tongue.

That almost made me smile.

Still, I nudged the sword in his direction. It came up short - he'd have to approach me to get it, and I was still holding the knife in my hand.

"If I see you turning on-"

"I know, Connor. I understand. I don't doubt your ability to handle yourself. But let me prove my words to you."

Pitcairn took a few cautious steps forward. I moved back and let him take his sword.

I was going to wait to see what he would do: stab me in the back, or stay loyal to his word? But a terrible shout rose behind us, louder than the din of the fight.

"BIRCH!"

Haytham. I ran in his direction without a second thought. I thought I could hear Pitcairn following behind me, but it didn't matter; in that moment, he was the last person on my mind.

I reached him first. Haytham was holding his bleeding arm with his free one, and he was pushing himself to his feet. The anger and hatred were clear in his eyes; burning, raw. His teeth were bared, and he was hissing curses through them.

"Wait," I said, reaching to grab his uninjured shoulder. But my father was blind to me; he only had eyes for Birch, for the man standing across from us with a smug grin on his face.

"Haytham," he said, shaking his head. He sounded like he was speaking to a child. "I had great respect for you once. But you've lost your way, and we can't allow you to misguide any more of our Templars."

Haytham managed something of a dry smile. "I think you're referring to yourself."

"I have a vision."

"One that will lead the Order to ruin."

They were still arguing. I longed to take my knife and run it through Birch's throat, to silence him forever – but this was my father's fight. He let me settle my debts with Charles Lee. I had to allow him the same with Birch.

For now, at least. Birch was the one who killed my mother, after all, and I had a few words of my own that I wanted to exchange with him.

Birch's eyes flicked to Pitcairn. "What do you think, John? What do you have to say about all of this?"

"I am here to support Haytham," he said without missing a beat. "He has changed, certainly – but I understand where these changes come from. He's not as malicious and misguided as you make him out to be, Reginald. And he hasn't betrayed the Templars; he still has a vision of his own for a more peaceful and controlled world. And I will follow it."

The color drained from Birch's face. Haytham turned to face Pitcairn as well. The anger in his expression was replaced by relief.

"Well. I certainly wasn't expecting this from you. But very well. If you insist on this as well, then…"

Birch was still holding the gun in his hand. He started to raise it.

I pushed past Haytham and ran headlong for Birch. I thought I could hear my father's protests, but they were faint, muffled behind the pound of blood in my ears.

Birch readjusted his aim so the barrel of his gun was pointed toward me. I pushed myself to run faster, faster – I didn't think I'd make it, I could see his finger twitching on the trigger, I-

A shot rang out behind me. Birch's eyes went wide and he dropped the gun. It clattered to the floor as a red stain appeared on his upper chest, close to the junction where his shoulder met his arm.

"Now we're even," I heard Haytham say.

I slammed into Birch. The knife was still in my hand, and I tried to shove it into his stomach – but he was still alert, still unbelievably fast. He grabbed it, wrapped his fingers around the blade. He tried to shove me away, but I pushed back until he was against the wall and blood was dripping down his hands.

"Even if you and your merry band escape today, you will still be eradicated," he said, loud enough for only me to hear. "The Templar Order is even more powerful than you could ever imagine."

"Just because you don't see us doesn't mean we aren't there."

"Oh, truly? You can't lie to me. I have the reports, I have the information. I'm in an even higher position than your father. There are almost no Assassins left. You are finished."

"You know absolutely nothing about the Assassins."

"That's what you think."

Birch suddenly shoved against me, hard, and I stepped back to regain my balance. He took the opportunity to land a punch against my gut. I staggered, winded and gasping, and he grabbed my throat.

"We allowed the Assassins a measure of mercy last time," Birch said as he squeezed. "But I won't allow it again. This will be your last stand."

"Not mine. Yours."

I stabbed my knife into the underside of his arm. Birch howled with pain as he released my neck, and I went to stab him again, again, over and over-

Haytham stopped me before I could. He put a hand on my shoulder, and my knife came to a halt in midair, mere inches from Birch's chest.

I stared back at him. "Don't-"

He engaged his own hidden blade. And nodded to me.

It was satisfying beyond belief to feel the blade of my knife slipping into Birch's abdomen – to see the twist of his face, the way he stared back at us, the way he looked down to see a knife in his stomach and another in his chest.

Haytham's voice was soft when he spoke. "It's over, Reginald. It's finally over."

Birch's mouth moved, but no words came out. He gurgled pitifully and stared at us.

I stepped back as Birch slid to the ground. Haytham joined me, his hand unconsciously reaching for the bloodied spot on his arm. His mouth was a thin, pained line, but the anger left his eyes and he seemed…oddly peaceful.

"It's over," he said again, more to himself than anyone else this time.

"Not yet," I said. "We still have to get out of here. And Biddle-?"

"Taken care of," Stephane answered me. I looked over my shoulder and saw them standing there, bloody and scratched but none the worse for wear. How long were they watching our struggle with Birch?

"Were you hurt anywhere? Stabbed?" Haytham asked me. "Your throat?"

"It's fine. But your shoulder-"

Haytham scoffed. "I've survived much worse. The bleeding is already staunched – I'll work on treating it further once we're to safety."

"We'll go for the delivery docks, as planned. We have transport waiting there," Jacob said. He glanced at Pitcairn. "Are you planning on saving him too, Connor?"

"I'm…" I hesitated, but Haytham straightened up and took control.

"John," he said to his fellow Templar, "I want you to get in contact with William. Maybe Hickey as well. Tell them what happened here."

"Of course, sir. What about Charles?"

My father paused, averted his gaze. "Don't tell him anything. Not yet. I'll get in contact with him when the time is right."

"May I ask what you're planning to do…?"

"I have a lot to take care of. I'll speak with you again when I'm better prepared," he said. "Abstergo will be in chaos until they get things sorted here. And I want no part of it. Not anymore. But I won't stop being a part of the Order."

Pitcairn looked like he wanted to protest. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and sighed quietly.

"I trust you, Haytham," he finally said. "You have your own ways, but you've always been loyal to the Order. You have the right ideas."

Haytham took his hand from his shoulder and gripped Pitcairn's arm. "Thank you. For everything."

Pitcairn clasped his own hand over Haytham's. "I'll see you soon."

"All right, enough of this," Clipper said. "Let's get out of here before anything else goes wrong. Jacob, Jaime – you know where the docks are, right?"

Haytham replied before the others could. "I do. Come with me."

"…We're not really letting the Grand Master go back with us, are we?"

"We can talk about this later, Clipper," I said. "For now, the most important thing is to get back to Achilles, and-"

Haytham suddenly cursed and shoved me hard. Clipper shouted, and I saw Jacob running toward us. His expression was one of surprise and anger.

I caught myself and stumbled. Haytham was standing in front of me, his hidden blade engaged again and dripping blood. Not mine – not yet, anyway.

But he was looking over me. Behind me. Why? He tried to push me out of the way again, but I wouldn't let him.

Birch? How could he still be alive?

I let the hidden blade slide from my own gauntlet and started to turn.

Not quickly enough, though. I heard the gunshot from behind me. And then the red-hot pain when the bullet smacked into my hip.


ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER SIMILAR TO THE ONE IN THE LAST CHAPTER, YES, I KNOW, I'M SORRY. But the final battle can't end just like that without a few surprises...!

Again, thank you SO much for your reviews on the last few chapters. I love and appreciate you guys. ;A; My university life is about to get SUPER hectic, so I'm trying to write more fun stuff like this before I have a ton of papers and projects due. Graduation's in the beginning of May, so they're cramming everything they can into these next few weeks, haha. And I don't want to have another month-long gap with cliffhangers like this!