Chapter 14: A Brief Encounter

"Are you sure you will be alright?"

Achilles' voice drew Kira from a haze; she had been surveying the paperwork haphazardly sprawled across her desk, though her glassy eyes now followed the question. "Hmm? Oh. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

The man stared back incredulously.

It had been a long night. The excitement of the ball, the threats, the brief stay as Haytham's prisoner, the assassination, and not one- but two daring escapes? Every moment had been taxing, and worse: relived in meticulous detail on Kira's return to the manor, where Achilles and Connor had waited and insisted on hearing all of her story.

She ran a hand through her hair, frustration mounting as it slipped too quickly from the soft curls into empty space: unaccustomed to the shorter length. "I am fine, Achilles," she assured with a huff that wounded her credibility. "Truly."

Achilles hovered between her desk and the open door, apprehensive, and still to be convinced. He was stalled by the same knowledge that haunted her- though she loathed to admit it: Haytham had made certain threats, and so, was conceivably out to make good on them.

"It would be natural to be… anxious," he ventured. "Perhaps Connor and I should stay, we could-"

"Protect me?" Kira scoffed, face wrinkled as though she had tasted something bitter. "I do not need protection."

"Kira, I-"

"I am not afraid of him," she interrupted once more, a silent plea to her eyes; desperate. They sought support from her mentor- begged him for it. Her resolve was in tatters: held together by nothing more than blind, reckless obstinacy, and it was not one she wanted challenged.

Achilles nodded in accordance. "Nor should you be," he smiled, content to play along if that was required of him.

Kira grinned back, a short-lived escape before her lack of sleep recaptured her, and she yawned into the back of her hand. She squinted- the light cast through the window by the midday sun unusually abrasive on her eyes.

"We will be back tonight," Achilles' voice encroached from across the room. "Be wary, Kira."

"You know I will be."

Her eyes fluttered closed as she basked in the warmth of the room, and she heard the door close a moment later. Her eyes peeled back open.

She was alone again.

It was a truth that preyed on her nerves with more tenacity than it usually would. She liked being alone, for the most part. She enjoyed her own company. Achilles and Connor were headed to Boston, set on seeing the breadth of reaction to Fletcher's death, and such opportunities- where she could enjoy the subtle sanctity of the manor to herself- were few and far between. The homestead was as much a home to her as her distant little cottage, perhaps even more so. It was rich with memories of her youth- stalked by shadows of her past self. Time stood still whenever she found herself alone within it, what years she had passed there seemingly losing their weight.

Sometimes she reflected on the frightened young girl that had arrived at the place two decades earlier, freshly torn from all she had known and loved, armed with only a set of ideals and a commitment to the legacy of her father.

And sometimes she could see herself within it. Other times, it struck her as so foreign- so incurably far away- that she could not.

Vulnerability seeping through her bones, she felt a little like that girl: waiting for the unknown to find her. She had to reprimand herself- had to force the notion out of her head- because she had never been helpless. Not then, and especially not now.

Her scattered thoughts faded.

Kira stirred, realising she had sunk down onto the desk. She raised her face from where it had been nestled into the crook of one of her arms, blinking defensively in the light, a soft frown sweeping her features. Her eyes moved quickly to the clock behind her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Only a few minutes had passed.

"You're awake. Good."

She started.

Haytham had taken to sitting across from her, and if he derived any pleasure in her apparent surprise, it did not show. He was settled in his chair, leant back- relaxed; he had exploited her lapse of attention and made himself quite at home.

Kira impressed herself with how quickly she drew her flintlock and levelled it with his head.

"How long have you been here?" she asked with a calm that contradicted the action.

The man's eyes moved to the weapon dispassionately. "Long enough."

"And you mean to kill me?"

At this Haytham tutted reproachfully, disappointed. All in good time.

He looked between her and the pistol again, leaving her to ask why she did not simply pull the trigger. It would be a dull way to end her affairs with the man, but it wasn't as though any action of hers was ever destined to make the page of any history book. She would survive; he would not. The how and the why were of little consequence.

"Put the gun down."

It had been commanded on an impatient breath, and Kira wondered if he had seen something of her reasoning in her expression. Her grip tightened with her jaw. "No."

Haytham's eyes narrowed, though not with fear; she could safely assume 'no' was not a word he was accustomed to hearing. He had been leaning pensively against his hand, though he straightened, leisurely, as if to stand.

"Not another move," Kira warned as he began to rise from his chair.

He froze, for a moment, though only to look back at her sceptically. Then he continued, raising himself to his full height with a self-satisfied smile, and sure enough, she lowered her gun.

"I thought about it, you know," he murmured as he ventured to her side of the desk, a hand gliding across the surface as he passed. "How easy it would have been- to cut that precious throat of yours as you slept- and yet," he paused- for genuine reflection or effect, she could not say. "Killing you is not in my best interest, Miss Lawrence. It never has been. Else-"

"I would be dead," she finished for him. He had moved to examine the bookshelf behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder at him apathetically.

He smiled back- pleased they could agree on that, at least.

Returning his attention to the bookshelf, Haytham drew out a book idly, leafing through a few pages as though the Assassin were the last thing on his mind. It was designed to unnerve her: to assure her of how slight a threat he estimated her to be.

It was also a tactic she had been known to employ herself, from time to time. Almost amused, she set about ordering what letters on her desk had been disturbed by her short nap, intent on playing the Templar at his own game. If he wanted to intimidate her, he would have to be considerably more creative.

"I ought to kill you," he said, still behind her, "after what you did last night."

She nodded distractedly, in the middle of piercing an envelope with her letter opener. Then Haytham was beside her- hands splayed on the desk as he stooped into her view. "I trusted you," he growled.

"You did not trust me!" she rounded on him, eyes alight with anger. "You threatened me, there's a difference!"

He was dangerously close, and they stared each other down for a few, impossibly long seconds.

"Well then," Haytham withdrew, still infuriatingly calm. He circled back to the other side of the desk and rested against it casually. "Enlighten me. If I want something from you, how should I go about getting it?"

Kira considered this briefly. "You should ask," she said. "Nicely."

He raised his eyebrows. "And had I asked you, nicely, to not kill Benjamin…?"

"I'd have killed him."

Haytham sighed, despairingly, and Kira had to fight a smile. He had betrayed a weakness: he was frustrated, and better yet, she was the source of such frustrations. Between breaching the man's so-called 'trust' the previous night, to resisting his shrewd attempts at intimidation now, she was realising something: she had caused him trouble. Real trouble.

Which was good, in a way; she was an Assassin, after all. On the other hand, the Templar was almost certainly set on killing her.

"Why are you here?" she queried, the question catching in her throat- coming out more strangled than she'd intended.

He looked up at her as he resettled into his chair. "For several reasons- three, to be exact."

"And the first?"

Haytham picked up on her apprehension. He grinned- the very image of innocence- before scratching his head thoughtfully. "Firstly, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to please return my hat to me."

Kira blinked back at him, surprised- suspicious even, as though she were conscious of being lulled into a false sense of security. Taking her lack of reaction as a sign she needed further persuading, the man leant forward slightly, eyes sparkling amusedly. "I did ask nicely."

And he did look odd without his hat.

Not wishing to appear overeager, Kira didn't move- not at first. Then she stood with a pained sigh. "Fine. Stay here."

Throwing him a final warning glance for good measure, she made the short trip to her room. In no time at all she had fished the hat from the contents of her wardrobe, and it was not until she was returning- until she crossed back through the hall- that she hesitated.

The stairs were right there. And, if she was feeling particularly dramatic: several windows.

She could get away.

Condemning herself with an inward shrug, she stepped back into the study, hat in hand.

Haytham was waiting, obediently- not taking any risks, it seemed, when his precious hat was at stake. "Much obliged," he smiled as she passed it over on her way back to her seat, and he set it upon his head almost proudly. "And the rest of the clothes you stole?"

"I'm keeping them." She sunk into her chair, not seeing fit to explain her reasoning. The clothes had proven useful once, and may well do so again. That, and she enjoyed having a souvenir of having outwitted the man. She had to resist voicing that last one. "What else do you want?"

"Why must I want something?"

She folded her arms, looking back at him as though it were a foolish question, and he chuckled, yielding. "I wanted to congratulate you," he said. "On your escape."

A slight raise of an eyebrow- speaking volumes of Kira's mistrust- was all he received in return.

"It was masterfully done," he continued, regardless. "It is fair to say I underestimated you."

"Yes," she spoke, soft but with power. "You did."

"It won't happen again, I assure you."

She huffed dismissively. "Spoken as though it already is."

There was silence.

It was a checkmate of sorts, though one Haytham conceded… happily? He smiled at her good-naturedly, in a way that made her standoffish front appear unnecessary, even ridiculous. Was she being unreasonable? Then it struck her: no. No, because if he was so willing to grant her this little victory, then that would mean…

"Why are you here?" she asked, suddenly nervous- suddenly realising. "Really?"

Haytham's smile faded. "Because I am a man of my word."

Beneath the cover of the desk, Kira's hand drifted to one of her sheathed daggers. Her pulse was heavy- humming loud in her ears, making her skin prickle with dreadful anticipation. It was something she was well-acquainted with: a feeling that she would have to fight for her life. An understanding that it was not a fight she would necessarily survive.

The Templar's declaration had been cold. There was one, underlying emotion, though- and it had been what she had feared.

Pity.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt. She drew a sharp breath.

"Peace, Miss Lawrence." Haytham engaged his hidden blade, and it took all of Kira's nerve to not flinch at the sound. The weapon glinted as he studied it in the light. "You'll be relieved to know I have devised a compromise."

"A compromise?"

His blade retracted. "You're going to help me."

The words took all of a second to sink in. "No," Kira spat, defiant, "never again. If I knew I should die for it, still, I would refuse to-"

"Save your martyrdom, woman." Haytham's gaze was stern. "It would serve you well to hear what I have to say."

Kira was certain the man was anything but trying to spare her trouble, but she heeded his advice, nonetheless. His severity was genuine; what she did- or, indeed, what she said- was going to have consequences, that much was obvious.

The Templar rewarded her submission with a brief curve of his lips, before he leant forwards; back to business. "In my son's village, there is an artefact- a crystal ball. You know of it?"

"No." She received a sharp look. Rolled her eyes begrudgingly. "Yes."

He was amused by her attitude, despite everything. "Excellent. I need it."

Why? Kira had to swallow the innate need to ask the question. She had been to Connor's village often- had been introduced to his culture, his people, and even the artefact: the mysterious orb which had bid him seek out the Assassins years ago. Everything she had seen was a testament to her young friend's trust in her, and she was in no hurry to betray such faith.

Aside from this- and from her unguarded reservations about all that pertained to the Precursors- the orb itself was clearly powerful. Though she possessed no understanding of it, putting it in the hands of a Templar Grand Master would surely prove catastrophic.

"I'll not fetch it for you," she said, content with her litany of reasons not to.

Haytham stood, smiling as though he knew she was fighting a battle she'd already lost. "You will."

"Why? Why would I-"

"Because, Miss Lawrence, if you don't do it- I will." He adjusted one of the cuffs of his coat. "Such a task would require no small amount of cunning, and you have proven yourself far more capable than I in that regard. Needless to say, if it fell to me to retrieve the artefact, I doubt I could do it with your talent for- ah, what is the word?" He made a show of thinking about it. "Subtlety."

The implications of what he was saying were ironically clear, and Kira shrank back. "You wouldn't."

"What choice would I have? We cannot all be Kira Lawrence, after all," he lamented, feigning regret. "It is a dreadful shame, that. Someone might get hurt."

Kira stood suddenly, distraught. Done with the theatrics. "You would really hurt those people?" she exclaimed. "To punish me? To make a point?"

"Well, yes," Haytham said, as though it were the most obvious thing in all the world. His apparent apathy was at odds with the woman's distress. "Fortunately, it will not come to that, will it?"

It was more of a statement than a question. The Assassin stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief and shining with bitterness and indecision. Even her posture was aggressive: still poised to attack. Refusing to relinquish the idea that she would put up a fight.

"Will it?" Haytham pressed again.

"No."

Kira slumped into her chair, refusing to meet his gaze; she couldn't bear it a moment longer.

"You have two days," the Templar spoke, devoid of triumph or compassion. She listened as he moved away from her, the looming presence of his figure retreating to the door. There was an awful silence as he lingered there, though she did not think of him, nor could she; her thoughts were trained on Connor and his people. She pressed her fingertips to her temple as she reflected on how welcoming they had been. Of all the trust they had shown her.

Then she plotted the logistics of how she would break it. How she would have to break it.

God, it would be easy.

"I warned you, Miss Lawrence."

Kira's gaze was drawn to where Haytham still waited by the door. "I know you did," she said.

She could not find it within herself to look at him with any strength.

Haytham stepped into the hall, closed the study door behind him, and inexplicably hesitated.

Kira's voice was fresh in his mind. Docile. Defeated. As bleak as that look in her eyes. He thought about when he had left her the night before. How she had fought him, regardless of his threats. He remembered a dull ache from where she had managed to strike him in her attempted escape. He remembered being surprised.

It was nothing to the shock of finding Fletcher dead. People rarely surprised him once, let alone twice.

His hand was back on the handle of the study door, and he could not remember putting it there. He thought again to the previous night, of how Kira had looked at him then: with contempt. With sheer, unadulterated defiance.

His fingers tightened unconsciously on the handle, verging on twisting it before he realised what he was doing. Realised that he missed it, that he even regretted-

No.

A final thought of her sitting slumped at her desk. Of her defiant eyes the night before.

A final moment's hesitation, then he forced himself to walk away.


Author notes:

Hi, everyone. Thanks for taking the time to read my story so far. Please review, follow, or favourite my story, as I appreciate all feedback, and I'd love to hear what you think. :)

Happy Easter for Sunday, everyone! I hope you all enjoy the holidays. The next chapter will probably be out sometime after the holidays, I think. It depends how busy things are. Hopefully, it'll be around then, though.

Kittycat312