Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites! It made my day!

This chapter is a filler by all means, but I have a lot of action coming up! In all honesty, I'm almost a little hesitant to put this chapter up, but I want to get this over with so I can continue with the meat of the story. Ugh, I hate fillers.

Trust me, pull through this chapter, and it'll all be worth it! For now, enjoy some Cory and Ava fluff. God knows they deserve some peaceful, happy times. For the time being. As of now, this is probably one of the shorter, more rushed chapters I've ever put out. Sorry.

As always, I don't own Assassin's Creed or Ubisoft's portrayal of historical figures. I do, however, own my OCs.


October 16th, 1777

Days flew by peacefully since that night. Or at the very least…as peacefully as they could.

Now that our relationship had taken a drastic turn, to say the least, I had been worried out of my hair that Cory or someone else would step in and try to dissuade me. I knew the dangers of having a relationship like this with Cory, as did he. And it was in silent acceptance that we didn't address the fears that we had. I was just worried that someone else would. Whether it be Connor, Achilles, or anyone else. But no one ever did. In fact, I had gone to hunt on the homestead during the summer with Connor, and he was eyeing me the entire time with interest.

Finally, after we set some snares and waited for a little while down by the river cutting through the property, he addressed me. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked me suddenly as we sat on the banks, watching lazily as the sun rolled across the sky.

I blinked, confused. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I am sure it is nothing. It is just..." Connor paused, brushing his half-tied hair back, trying to find the right word, "You seem happier than when we last met."

Now I was even more surprised. "I do?" I questioned. I hadn't really thought about things like that since what happened last winter. Connor nodded.

There were slight hints of a smirk on Connor's face that I had rarely seen before. "Is it because of your friend?"

My cheeks grew hot. "And if it is?" I asked, unable to keep the defensiveness out of my voice.

"Then nothing," Connor responded lightly, pushing himself up off the ground, "I think that you two make a good team. You worked well together at Trenton. Nothing more needs to be said." I stood there in silence for a few moments, pondering his words, before picking myself up and joining him as he crossed the stream back into the forest.

And it was in that moment that I realized just how oblivious Connor was about women.

I had to force down a laugh around him for the rest of the day. A good team? I thought to myself. The moment Connor finds a women to cherish for himself will be the moment he finally loses that plaguing naivety of his.

His words still hung over me like a cloud. But not in a bad way. It some ways, Connor's acceptance, however misguided it may have been, felt like some sort of validation. I felt a rush of respect for the other Assassin. Perhaps he was right: things did seem to be looking up.

Even the war was looking better, if not only slightly. The colonial faith in it's army was rejuvenated after the victory at the battle of Trenton. The Hessians captured, nearly all of them, were moved to prisons in Philadelphia, where the colonial townsfolk would jeer at them and taunt them with insults. Washington's forces fought with a newfound confidence, securing victories in Princeton, a small town in New Jersey, and Fort Stanwix, a settlement not too far from Connor's tribe and my old home. But the British were not relenting, even after the long winter that left both armies decimated. At this moment, the two forces fought for dominance at Saratoga. The fighting had been lasting for a month at least. The French and Spanish were still not lifting a finger to help. The war as of late was leaving many people confused and torn, unsure of what to do now that both side's forces were evening out in strength.

As for Cory and I's relationship, you could say that I had improved in more skills than one. Since our admission of our feelings, our relationship had gotten rather…passionate. It only happened a few times, but I had to remind myself constantly to collect and take the seeds from the flowers of a Queen Anne's lace.

Just in case.

In spring, when the flowers in the meadows of the frontier were in full bloom, I would often find myself wasting my day away, wrapped in their scent. Feeling as though nothing could ruin me. Us.

But there was also a tiny voice that tugged at the back of my head, constantly reminding me of my doubt. You are both Assassins, the voice would sneer. Have you no shame? No sense of duty? No loyalty to your tribe? What happened to you, Kunishoka? Or is it Ava, now and forever? Don't forget, if you kill Methoataske, you can go home. And what will you do then? Or will you fail, and see your life fade away into obscurity?

Each day, I would promptly squash the voice in my head and return to my pleasures. But it came back the next like clockwork, as if it were a bothering fly I just couldn't shoo away.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Today was a day not different from any other. I was sitting in the Green Dragon Tavern with nothing to do. Cory and I had made our usual rounds, but nothing was different or in dire need of attention. Boston was still heavily under the British influence, but less and less soldiers appeared to be stationed there as more and more of them were called out to join the war. I sat at the bar with Donna, who was supplying me with cups of water and the latest gossip. Her prattle was a much more efficient sleep inducer than the fumes of spirits.

The door burst open quite suddenly, and I turned to see who it was, a little indifferent. The man in question was thick and portly, panting as though he had run from Virginia to Massachusetts in a single go. His stomach protruded from under his waistcoat, threatening to split the seams of his breaches. His thick beard was tangled, and he pulled off his hat and fanned himself as he took a seat next to me.

Donna set down the glass she was cleaning and looked him hard in the eye. "What'll it be, Flemings?"

"Strongest gin you have, love. And make it fast." Flemings squealed, much like a pig. He placed a few pounds on the counter, and Donna returned with the drink. He downed it in one go, then glanced to me and back again.

"The lad here?" he asked softly.

Donna shook her head. "Nope, haven't seen him all day. You're best outta luck. But his friend's here. She can help you."

I perked up, confused. "Donna, I-"

But Flemings cut me off as Donna presented him a second drink. "Ah! You even look like the boy! Marvelous!" He took my hand and shook it with a great amount of enthusiasm, but upon seeing my glare, he released me and coughed a few times to regain his composure. "I do pardon, erm, miss. My name is Jerimiah Flemings, and I am a courier in New York. I was told to inform your friend Cory Whelan that he has a package waiting for him in New York City, but as we can see, he clearly isn't here. So, if you have the time on your hands, I'm sure he would appreciate you going for him to fetch it."

I raised my eyebrow as Flemings drank his second glass, but on the inside, I could feel my heart beat a little faster. I had always wanted to go to New York, but Cory never let me. Always insisted it wasn't safe. And now here was my chance! "Should I wait for Cory…?" trailed off, glancing around to the door.

"The sooner, the better." Flemings insisted. Donna handed him his third glass of gin as he spoke.

"Don't worry, love," Donna piped up from behind the counter, "I'll tell Cory where you went."

I smiled. "I guess it's settled then. Where am I to go?"

Fleming's thick hand patted me on the back so hard I nearly went face-first into the counter. "Thata boy! Er…girl. Try St. Paul's Chapel, anytime between noon and six that night. You should find your way easily! Man'll be wearing a black coat and'll go by the name of Monroe."

With that said, Flemings downed his final drink, tipped his hat to me, and sat up from the counter. He stumbled out of the tavern, the liquor clearly starting to get to him. Donna and I watched him intently as he hit the side of the door frame, backed up, and hit the other side. He stumbled through the door at last, earning a round of applause from the rest of the inebriated customers. Donna turned back to me, a look of amusement on her face.

"He's been doing this with Cory for the past few years," she sighed, a look of wistfulness now settling in. "I wish he'd stay a little longer, though…always has things to do…"

I hardly heard her, for I was trying to resist pulling a face at the barmaid's infatuation. I bid Donna farewell and pushed away from the counter myself, eager to get to New York.

I quickly found myself a horse and made for New York. The journey was going to take a full day; eight hours there and eight hours back. Not to mention that I had no idea where I was going once I got to the city. But the ride over was nice, pleasant even. The scent of damp bark seemed like a comfort, and golden brown leaves dappled the ground and cast shadows over the path. I even let down my hood, allowing my hair to curl from the humidity over my shoulder. I received a few angry glares from travelers, but I could hardly care anymore. Not in bliss like this. I arrived in New York the next day, after spending the next camping out about halfway between the two cities.

I arrived within distance of New York at a few hours before midday. The city was even larger than Boston from a distance, but less hilly and very little farmland. I was eager to explore, but I felt a pang of sadness that the people in New York didn't care about nature like those in Boston.

The path to New York led me over a span of bridges until I came to the proper part of the city itself. I was allowed to stay on my horse, unlike in Boston, so I roamed the streets with a loftier view. I got a few annoyed mutters and stares from those I had to pass through, but none of it really mattered. Together, my horse and I strode through the streets of the city, searching for St. Paul's Chapel.

One thing that Cory was correct about was the larger number of British troops in the city. If Bosotn felt quarantined, this place was on another level. Troops harassed patrons at taverns and general stores, and waltzed out of homes as if they belonged to the king. My grip tightened on the reins of the horse, and the animals whinnied as if in protest as well.

I had traversed the entirety of the city, making it all the way to the docks, and I still hadn't found the chapel. As I struggled to turn the horse around, I glanced at the skyline; four different steeples protruded from the tops of the buildings in New York. I bit back a wail of frustration, and tapped a sailor on the shoulder who happened to be passing by. "Excuse me, sir," I asked, trying to sound as lost and innocent as possible, "Where would St. Paul's chapel be?"

The sailor, a sandy haired boy about my age, grinned at the question. "Why, it would be tha' white one over there." The boy pointed to one of the church towers to my left. It was the tallest out of the lot, and stuck out like a poppy in a field of dandelions. I nodded my thanks and gave the boy a few shillings for his troubles, snapping the reins to continue onwards. My eyes didn't leave the white steeple for the rest of the way over.

The base of the chapel was a large market, buzzing with activity. I unsaddled, tied the horse near the edge of the business, and attempted to look for this Monroe fellow. After all, this would be the time to find him. Men, women, and children mingled with each other, and animals raced around my knees, chasing themselves or other pests. Vendors offered all kinds of items, from food to clothing to medicine to simple jewelry. I passed over each stall with indifference. My eyes scanning for the black overcoat that would supposedly be my man.

At last, I saw him. He stood around the other side of St. Paul's, holding a small package and looking around, observing the crowd. I stepped out to meet him, and when I did, he seemed to bristle. Perhaps he was not expecting me? Or maybe it was because I looked very similar to Cory? Whatever it was, it was no bother.

I approached him as he glanced down, as if trying to hide from me. I cleared my throat, and he looked up.

"Are you Monroe?"

The man hesitated before nodding slightly. It was more like a jerk of the neck. "Aye."

I offered him a smile. "Great. Well, I was told by a Mr. Flemings that I was to come pick up a package on behalf of my friend, Cory Whelan."

Monroe glanced at the package, then back to me. "I wasn't informed of this."

"Cory is busy," I improvised quickly, beginning to suspect that if I didn't offer some excuse, then he may not give me the package at all, "I'm simply fetching it for him."

Monroe hesitated again, an action that seemed to last a lifetime and more, but he finally did hold out the package for me. I took it with one hand, and for a single heartbeat, Monroe refused to let go. I locked eyes with him, and he finally released it. He looked almost ashamed of himself. What was that all about?

I handed him three pounds as thanks, and set off to find my horse to return home. However, when I glanced back, Monroe was gone. All traces that he had ever been there had vanished, like he was carried on the wind. I furrowed by brows, but refused to ponder it any longer as I went back into the market, the package securely under my arm.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I returned to Boston eagerly by nightfall, package bouncing at my side. I felt like I was running on water and air as fast as a flash of lightning. Oh, how exciting New York was! The buildings taller and more numerous! The people kinder and more diverse! Sure, there was the problem of the large number of troops, but I was almost on Cory's level of skill by now. If I was to go a little more often, then how bad could that possibly be?

When I finally dropped back into the hideout, I could see Cory sitting on his cot. He was wrapping an injury to his wrist, his robes off and his shaggy blond hair hanging in his eyes. He wore nothing but a pair of army breeches and his boots, and I found the heat boiling up my neck and steaming into my cheeks. The package hidden behind my back, I gave a small tut to announce my arrival.

Cory glanced up as I did so, a smile breaking across his face. "Ava!" he greeted me happily, and strode over to meet me with a kiss. I giggled into it, ruffling his hair.

"How's your wrist?" I asked, smiling.

Cory flexed his arm, grinning. "Not too bad. Whatever you gave me worked wonders. Can hardly feel the pain anymore." His grin faded away a tad as he suddenly remembered what had happened over the course of the last few days. "Hey, um, Ava, where did you go for the last few days? Donna told me you'd be away, but she didn't say where."

I cursed inwardly at the woman. How forgetful could she be, pining after that portly man? "If we take a walk, I'll tell you."

Cory smirked and went to pull his things on. When he was ready, we exited our home. Back into the streets of Boston we went. We talked for a little bit, and when we finally made it to the Boston harbor, much bigger than New York's, I might add., I finally told him.

"Well, while I was gone," I nudged him slightly, nearly sending him into a fruit vendor. I held up the package, shaking it for emphasis, "This was what I got. From New York. It's yours, correct?"

Cory stopped dead in his tracks as if I had just pulled my pistol on him. People pushed past us, not caring.

"Where'd you get this?" Cory demanded gently yet sharply, seizing the package from me. I let him take it, trying to hide my confusion with a smile.

"I told you, New York. It was lovely. Your friend Mr. Flemings told me to pick that up for you. I'd love to go sometime else. There may be work there for us, after all."

Cory glanced back at me, his gray eyes unreadable. My smile faltered.

"I mean," I began again, fumbling as we began walking along the docks again, "There are bound to be Templars in New York, too. Haytham Kenway, Charles Lee. I'm almost certain can find them there if we put some time into it."

Cory looked away for a moment in what I supposed was thought, but he turned around after a brief ponder and pulled me in closer to him. He planted a kiss on my forehead, and I smiled and blushed. "We'll see," was his only reply. "But perhaps Connor would be…more suited to the task of killing Kenway and Lee."

I glanced at him again as we rounded the corner down the cobblestone streets back to the Green Dragon Traven. "What are you talking about?"

But Cory didn't respond. I gave him a concerned look, but he didn't elaborate. "It doesn't matter." Cory sighed, waving his hand absentmindedly, flashing another half-grin. But I wasn't buying it this time. I stopped dead in the middle of the street, and Cory halted after a few paces, looking back in bewilderment.

"You're not telling me everything," I insisted gently. "What do you mean by, 'Connor is more suited?'"

Cory laughed a little, retracing his steps back to me. "It doesn't matter. It's just a load of poppycock. You should know, of all people, that I talk nothing but nonsense. C'mon, Ava! I thought you were a little less uptight than that."

I ran my fingers through my hair, unsure if I should continue to pursue the conversation further, or to just let it drop. Finally, I nodded. But part of me was reluctant to do so. Cory sighed and wrapped his arms around me again. I pressed my cheek against his chest, ignoring the various straps for weapons and other such things. This was a happy moment. At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

A large man bumped into my back, nearly throwing me into the earth. At that moment, I remembered that we were in the middle of a busy Boston street, not the best place for a moment like this. I tugged Cory along down the road, away from too many wandering eyes.

Cory and I kept pace with each other as we walked down the road, our hands brushing slightly and our spat now over. We brushed through people who gave us nasty stares, but for once I my life, I didn't mind. I smiled broadly as our foreheads touched. "Dumbass," I whispered affectionately, giving him another small peck.

"Oi! Have you two seen the news!?"

We stopped to see a young boy standing on a crate on the corner of the road. He brandished a newspaper our way like a weapon.

"What's so important about that?" Cory remarked a little smartly. The boy refused to be intimidated, however, and a look of indignation formed on his face. He brandished his newspaper from his perch like a flag.

"The Patriots have won at Saratoga!" the boy hollered.

I blinked and exchanged a look with Cory, shocked. A few people turned their heads, distracted by the commotion. Before long, a small crowd of both men and women had formed, with whispers spreading through the townsfolk like wildfire.

"Saratoga's been won?"

"Bloody hell! I didn't think old Gates had it in him!"

"What about the French 'cross the pond? What will they do now?"

I humored the kid by giving him a few shillings for the paper and Cory and I made a quick exit from the crowd. At this point, the mass had tripled, people screaming at each other and demanding papers. My last sight of the paperboy had been with a smug grin on his face, snatching shillings and pounds from peoples' hands quicker than a woodpecker grabbing a worm. We passed men and women in the streets; some celebrating with bottles of spirits and joyous festivities, others weeping into their handkerchiefs for their fallen loved ones or their falling empire. I opened the newspaper a distance away, and Cory and I read it aloud together.

"After the surrender, in which General Burgoyne presented General Gates with his esteemed weapon as a sign of defeat, the British army marched to the northern reaches of the frontier. A list of the identified fallen can be seen below by name." Cory finished, his eyes shining. "What a bunch of yellow-bellied cowards! Fleeing back into the woods with their tails between their legs! What'll come next, I wonder?"

I smiled again. A few passersby shot us nasty glares. Most likely loyalists. Opposite, a large volley of cheers erupted from the colonists back by the paperboy as they read the news. Cory pressed his lips against mine, and we relished the moment together. We broke apart after a minute or so, panting slightly.

"What will happen now, Cory?" I dared to ask.

My friend shrugged. "Who knows?" he responded, but his happiness still seeped out into his words. "More battles. More death. But more support and allies, perhaps? This war's a long way from being over, Ava. But we aren't going to go down that easily."


( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Thanks for viewing and please follow, fav, or review if you enjoyed!