"Fathers represent another way of looking at life—the possibility of an alternative dialogue." -Louise J. Kaplan

-o-

Connor came back with his arms full of clothes. He began handing Jacqueline various garments, picked carefully from the tangled ball he hefted. She took them, but had to point out the problem with this plan of his. "You realise this may not work, right?"

He gave her an inquisitive look. "Why not?" Jacqueline shot him a deadpan stare and pointed at her breasts.

While he was busy being embarrassed, Haytham stepped in. The old Templar was still sitting against the wall. "Just wear a hat and don't tie your clothes too tightly. Hide your hair and you should be fine. The boyish figure you have should help."

Jacqueline flushed angrily and stalked away, back into the alley where she could change. There were myriad straps and buttons on her outfit that had her struggling for a while to undress while so agitated. Eventually she pulled on the uniform. It was a little loose, but it did make her look like a boy. She put her hat on and walked back toward the other two.

"Go, Connor." She ordered huffily. He looked between her and his father, wary of rising tension, but stood and left.

He was back faster than her, tugging uncomfortably at the lapels of his jacket. He looked up at Jacqueline. "Your hair." He noted. When she floundered to tuck it away, he gently took the braid and tucked it down the back of her jacket. Then, her hair looked much shorter and male.

"Now you could pass for a young man with even more ease than before." Haytham was just mocking her for the sake of it now.

"Arse." She muttered, flipping the Queen of Hearts normally kept in her stocking and tapped it into the brim of her hat. Still behind her, Connor's fingers brushed the nape of her neck in what he probably wanted to be comforting, but just made her shiver and press her lips together. He stepped out from behind her and came face to face with Haytham.

Haytham straightened his son's jacket, tugging at it in a way that was undeniably paternal. "This should suffice. Follow me."

The guards near the door stood at attention when they got near, weapons bristling. The one at the actual door held out his hand. "Hold, strangers! You tread on private property. What business have you here?"

"The Father of Understanding guides us." Haytham answered simply.

"You I recognise." The guard said after a beat. "Not the savage and the boy."

Haytham held a hand toward Jacqueline. "My errand boy." Everyone present received a shock when he gestured to Connor. "And he is my son."

The guard looked amused at this last statement. "Tasted of the forest's fruits, did you?" He chuckled. Connor and Jacqueline exchanged a look behind Haytham's back. "Off you go, then."

The door opened to a courtyard of worn grass and broken wood planks. Some guards patrolled there. Jacqueline kept her head low, feeling the eyes on her. It was good that she looked convincingly boyish, but nonetheless she felt edgy being surrounded. Haytham led them to a side door, which in turn opened to a hall lines with large barrels of alcohol or wine. It turned only once, a sharp right angle that stopped abruptly at a locked, unguarded door.

"It's locked. Give me a moment." Haytham crouched with a lockpick and torque wrench.

Connor leaned against the wall, and Jacqueline near him. "Must be strange for you, discovering my existence as you have."

His father glanced up at him, briefly away from the softly clicking locks. "I'm actually curious to know what your mother might have said about me. I always wondered what life might have been like…if she and I had stayed together. How is she, by the way?"

"Dead. Murdered."

Connor dropped it on them so suddenly it felt like a gunshot. Haytham looked genuinely shocked for a moment, and even Jacqueline was reeling at the reveal, though in a different way—she didn't tear her eyes from Haytham's expression, relishing the emotional blow a bit too much to be healthy.

"What?" Haytham lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, you're sorry?" Connor was angry now. Jacqueline rarely saw him so; he could be irritated or impatient, but this could only be summarised as angry. "I found my mother burning alive. I'll never forget her face as she sent me away. Charles Lee is responsible for her death by your order. And you're sorry?"

During this speech, Haytham glanced sideways at Jacqueline, as if to say, "You knew." Her smirk had gone, but the sick satisfaction remained.

"That's impossible." He addressed to the younger man. "I gave no such order. I spoke the opposite, in fact—I told them to give up the search for the Precursor Site! We were to focus on more practical pursuits…!"

"It is done," Connor shoved his father aside to get to the door. "And I am all out of forgiveness."

Haytham stood, stunned, as Jacqueline also moved past into the room. He joined them a moment later in the larger room. A paunch, white-wigged man stood a few metres away, with his back to them.

"Benjamin Church," Haytham adjusted his cloak, having regained his composure. "You stand accused of betraying the Templar Order and abandoning our principles in pursuit of personal gain. In consideration of your crime, I hereby sentence you to death."

The man turned—he was not Church. Before they could react, he roared, "Now!"

Men swarmed in from behind barrels and wooden support columns, bearing bayonets. The fake Church aimed a pistol at the bristling trio he had surrounded. "You're too late. Church and the cargo are long gone. And I'm afraid you won't be in any condition to follow…"

The ensuing fight was cramped and dark, mildly painful for Jacqueline and overall annoying. The faux Church taunted them from a distance while blades glinted and blood flashed scarlet in the moonlight that shone down in pale rectangles from the high up windows. It had become second nature for Jacqueline to drop to the floor when she heard the latching of rifle triggers, but she lingered a tad too long and cut it close, her commandeered hat spinning off into a dark corner with a new hole.

She nocked an arrow as the fight wound down and shot it into the back of the last man standing. He yelled out and flopped face down. Connor stalked over to the fake Church, who in the chaos had gotten knocked on the back of the head and was groaning in the dirt.

Connor slapped his hand onto his back. "Where is Church?"

"I'll tell you. Anything you want!" He begged. "Only promise me you'll let me live!"

Haytham gave an agreeing nod. Connor tugged the man to his feet. "You have my word."

The man seemed infinitely relieved. "He left yesterday for Martinique. Took passage on a trading sloop called the Welcome. Loaded half its hold with the supplies he stole from the Patriots. That's all I know, I swear—agh!" He cried out as Haytham jammed a knife between his ribs. "You promised…" And he crumpled to the ground.

"And he kept his word." Connor gestured to the man's body.

Haytham wiped the knife off on his sleeve. "Let's go."

"Get down!" Jacqueline had been keeping an eye out during their discussion, and spotted a small firing line, three men with aimed rifles. She grabbed Connor's hand and pulled him down with her. Seconds later, barrels of gunpowder across the warehouse erupted into a might explosion, shaking the floor and sending a ball of fire roaring over their heads.

They stood up shakily, stumbling to and fro. The timbers of the entire structure were coming down—the second floor had collapsed completely in some places. Haytham ran off immediately, hopping up onto the next floor and dashing away into the growing flames. Connor paused to take a breath, hands on his knees, but Jacqueline pulled him along.

"Allons-y, Connor, or we'll suffocate!" She urged, and he sprinted on.

Then ensued a desperate race to get to fresh air. The warehouse had become a complicated mess of flaming wood and semi-exploding remnants of gunpowder. Jacqueline had enough adrenaline in her body to keep her going, following Connor's path through the upper beams of the building. Balancing and running across the criss-crossed beams, a piece of ashen wood crumbled away from her foot. She launched herself far enough forward to get to the adjacent beam, but was left hanging, ribs now burning from the strain.

"Connor!" She exclaimed, struggling to climb up. He stopped and looked back. Alarmed, he bobbed back across the beams to pull her up.

"Be careful." He advised.

"Sorry, I was too busy trying not to burn to death to focus on not falling to my doom." She called ahead to him.

He reached wherever Haytham had stopped before her, climbing up a steep wall of fallen flooring. She ran a few stiff steps up the wall and grabbed his outstretched hand. Haytham, it seemed, had been cornered by two remaining soldiers. Soldiers who went crashing to their deaths when the floor underneath them caved in with a burst of sparks and splinters of wood. Haytham had also fallen, but was hanging on the edge. Connor pulled him back onto "solid" ground.

The older man moved over to the loft door. He tugged at it, but a heavy wood beam rested over the door—the only solution was force. Jacqueline lifted her leg and tried bashing it in. "Stuck! See if you can find something to pry it open." Haytham called back to Connor. There was no response. "Connor? What are you up to?"

The two at the door turned and saw Connor taking a few steps back. Jacqueline knew what was coming next and didn't bother arguing. She waited while Haytham tried to reason. "Oh, no. Don't do that. There's no way of knowing what's on the other siiiide!"

Connor charged and smashed the loft door in, taking both companions with him. They went flailing and tumbling out into open air. Jacqueline was utterly confused and disoriented until they struck water with a great splash. Bubbles gurgled from her mouth in surprise, and she floundered to the surface.

Connor surfaced with a gasp beside her. "We do now." He told his father, who glowered.

They swam up to the nearest part of the wharf. Jacqueline heaved herself up and wrung out her hair. With a grin, she also wrung out Connor's ponytail. The water made him shake out like a dog. "Church has at least a day on us…we'll need to move quickly if we're to catch him."

"We have a ship we can use." Connor gestured between himself and Jacqueline. "Meet me on the pier when you're ready."

The latter immediately brightened as they walked away from Haytham. She was boiling over with eagerness to be back on the Aquila. "Let's hurry back to the Homestead to fetch the Aquila." She said, tugging his arm like it would make a difference.

"I want my robes back." He said, getting a laugh from her.

"Oui, I think I do too. These clothes are so uncomfortable!" She tugged at the itchy stitches. "Ack! I'm never wearing men's clothes again."

Dawn came up slowly as they made their way back to where they had stashed their robes. Jacqueline's stomach grumbled in protest by the time they reached the tight alley corner. She pinched her mouth together and removed her clothing from under the stone it was stored.

"I didn't expect you to tell your father about…about your mother, the way you did." She admitted, pulling off her damp, too-big jacket.

"He had the right to know." Connor replied coldly. "Even though he is responsible."

Jacqueline sighed and leaned against the wall, the fatigue from earlier catching up to her. "You told me not to get revenge. Wasn't that—I mean to say, it was a bit hypocritical."

He glared sideways at her. "It was vengeance enough for both of us."

"Was it?" She narrowed her eyes. "Did you forget you have to kill him?"

They had been stepping closer to each other, the atmosphere sizzling with tension. "I did not forget. Unlike you, I'm trying to find a way out without needless killing."

"It's hardly needless!" She pointed at him accusingly. "You have forgotten his place in the Templar Order."

Jacqueline stopped when their chests touched. She reminded herself that Connor was capable of overpowering her, and it would be best not to be on his bad side, though she knew he would never hurt her. Instead, she sighed again and rested her forehead on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her middle and put his chin on the top of her head.

"Things are going to get bad, aren't they?" She whispered.

She looked up at him when he didn't respond. The answer was written on his face. Jacqueline exhaled tiredly. "Time to go."

-o-

Jacqueline sprinted down the hill toward the Homstead's small wharf. There wasn't much that made her distinctly happy anymore, but the Aquila was right up there on the list along with Connor, Bisou, and oranges. The day was chilly, but with a bright scent of spring frost and blooming bloodroot flowers. Most of the sailors lived on the Homestead in small houses near the wharf. She made a beeline for Faulkner's ramshackle hut, came to a nearly skidding halt in front and knocked.

He opened the door with the regular smell of whiskey coming with. "Ahoy, lass. What brings ya down here?" He stepped aside. "Come in an' have a drink."

She walked in and he brought out another glass, filling it halfway with strong amber liquid. "Now, if yer here t' go on some fool's errand, I ain't feelin' quite in the mood fer goin' out on the sea." He started.

"Not exactly. Would warm weather change your mind?" Jacqueline threw back the drink and leaned forward to set the glass on the table. "I have a favour to ask."

Faulkner nodded, grinning past his beard. "Aye, I reckon that might suggest a change in the winds."

-o-

-Yes, it's a sailing chapter coming up! Which means the Caribbean and Thomas the Lookout! :D

-Of course I'm going to be keeping the tension up (I hope), since things aren't exactly serious between Connor and Jacquie yet. Yet. ;)