Hello! Forgive me if this chapter probably made Connor OOC, but I hope it would turn out alright for you guys. So yeah, please read and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed

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Connor sighed miserably. How could his day get better and better? He'll sum everything up; first, he got swallowed by a blinding light that brought him back into the past. Then, he was put into the time where he doesn't even exist yet, not to mention, his father isn't even in the Americas in the first place. After that, the Templars that are supposed to be buried 10 feet below the ground are still running around happily in the streets of Boston. What made things a lot worse is that, he doesn't even have a penny to spend while being stuck in this madness.

He just stayed in the old room for a few hours, brooding on many things. He still can't get over the idea of him travelling in time. Even though the room is closed, Connor could still hear the loud singing of drunken men downstairs.

"I guess I have to find a job" he muttered bitterly as he marched to the door of his room. He decided to at least roam around the Boston that he never knew before. In his mind it was probably the same thing. The moment Connor opened his door, the woman who owns the tavern was seen right in front of his doorstep. The young assassin felt uneasy.

"My, you look a lot more dashing in those clothes, are we? By the way, my name Theresa Melbourne, owner of the tavern" she said as she reached out her hand for a handshake. Connor reluctantly gave her a handshake. He thought it would have been rude enough if her didn't shook her hand and leave her hand waiting for nothing.

"Umm... Hello, I guess? My name is Connor. What can I help you with?" he asked politely, not even sure if he's supposed to give a smile. With the look on the woman's face, he probably looked stupid while trying to figure out if he's going to smile or not.

"Rent, you need to pay the rent as long as you stay here" she said casually, and Connor leaned on the jamb of the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

"But, I thought Mr. Plum paid for my rent" Connor said, waiting intently for the woman's response.

"He paid for your second day here. He told me you look lost in the woods and by God knows how long you will stay here"

"I wasn't planning to stay here for a week or so. I just thought on getting a ship back to where I'm supposed to go" Connor explained while counting the number of days on his fingers.

"And how are you supposed to do that? You probably have some gold in your pocket, perhaps?" Theresa inquired and Connor gave a childish frown. How can he forget that he doesn't even have a penny in his pocket?

"Well..."

"You need help, boy"

"I don't need any! I guess I'll just..." Connor thought of ways on how he can earn money, fast. He can go to the Frontier to hunt and sell his loot to the market. If he wants something faster he could just pickpocket on the streets, but it wasn't really Connor's style. He doesn't usually steal from other people for his own gain like earning money.

"You'll just what?" Theresa pushed; impatience can be traced on her face.

"Maybe I'll just go around hunting in the Frontier, and sell some of my loot to the market..." Connor replied, a faint smile formed on his face as if he just formulated the best solution to his problems.

"Well, if you say so. I can't stop you if that's what you wish" Theresa said as she went down the stairs. Connor decided to start hunting tomorrow morning. Having a day of doing nothing was too rare for him, probably because he was too stressed on how his life was running in his time. But in this Boston, this time he was thrown on, he doesn't even exist. No one even heard of the name Connor Kenway or even Ratonhnhaké:ton. In this time, he can live a peaceful life. He can live the life he always wanted ever since. So, why can he not try to live like a normal person for a day?

Connor strolled down the stairs. He can smell the strong odour of rum wafting in the air and the boisterous laughter of men rang to his ears. Connor searched the room. It seems like there is no trace of Charles Lee or William Johnson around, much to Connor's delight. The tavern never looked any better. He can't even tell the difference between the other taverns out there. His eyes wandered through the tavern, not even noticing that he was about to hit a drunk Redcoat as he roams around.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" the Redcoat yelled and took Connor's collar, as if he was trying to intimidate the man. Connor's face remained calm, even though he could feel the anger starting to grow inside him. His dark eyes scrutinized the Redcoat's face. He looked like a normal New Yorker, save the part where he looked a bit closer to an elk.

"I didn't mean to disturb you. All will be well if you let go of me and no one will get hurt" Gods, Connor sounded a lot like his father there. But now isn't the time to think about that. He should find a way to get out of this mess before everything gets worse, a lot worse. He could feel the tension rising, especially when the whole tavern went silent and their attention are now focused on the two of them. The Redcoat let go of him, and Connor sighed in relief, thinking that he finally got rid of the potential pain in his arse.

"You've got the nerve to talk back, you little savage. We'll see who will talk fancy after I pummel you into a limp noodle!" he was about to land a strong punch on Connor's face but Connor easily dodged the punch and countered by grabbing the Redcoat's wrist and threw him on the nearest wooden table he can find. The Redcoat fell on his back, with the wooden table collapsed beneath him. He was knocked out cold.

"That was easy..." Connor muttered, trying to ignore judging glances from the crowd. A group of Redcoats, probably the poor man's companions quickly popped out from the crowd in the tavern.

"What have you done?! You will be sorry for messing with us! You fucking savage! Let's see what you will do now!" a Redcoat screamed as Connor turned his head to the ranting Redcoats.

"Now, I'm going to feed you your teeth" he said daringly, as he landed a fist on the Redcoat's face. There is a sickening crunch as of bone hitting face, teeth in particular. Connor could've sworn that he actually heard the blood land. There is a low rumble of voices. Connor wished he could make out what they are saying, though it can scarcely be more than usual trash talk. Another Redcoat charged at the young assassin. A well-timed elbow from the assassin has one of them reeling. The other is thrown to another table, lands heavily and tries to block blows away from his face. Two more Redcoats lunged at Connor, their fists ready to pummel the assassin to the ground. Connor kicked the Redcoat on his abdomen before throwing him to the shelf of bottled rum. Connor quickly took the other Redcoat and smashed his face on the solid wooden counter.

Only one Redcoat remained, but he made a wrong decision of breaking a bottle of rum on Connor's head from behind. Gasps can be heard from the crowd and Connor silently stood up straight after being hit by a bottle. Blood can be seen soaking through the back of his head, his hair was drenched with sweat and his own blood. Connor silently turned his head to the Redcoat who suddenly felt fear crawl up to his feet that he can't even move. Connor's face wasn't visible because of his long hair was covering his face, but it was obvious that there's a piercing glare on his face. Even bystanders felt uneasy, it's as if Connor himself radiated fear then and there.

"You aimed that bottle on my head. You do know that hitting my head with such force is extremely dangerous, right? That would only mean you intend on killing me, right?" Connor said in a dangerously low tone. The Redcoat was frozen; it's as if all his courage faded away once he slammed the bottle on Connor's head. Soundlessly, he unleashes his fury on the man within arm's reach, uppercutting him squarely under the chin before he knew what hit him. That's one down, make no mistake. The crowd was shocked, something in Connor's technique suggests he has done this all that many times before and you begin to wonder about him.

Connor flinched on the pain from the back of his head. He was used on getting beaten up, since that was somehow a part of his job description.

"CONNOR!" a loud scream rang to his ears. Connor turned his head to where the scream came from and came from no other than Theresa Melbourne, the OWNER of the tavern Connor recently trashed.

"Look what you have done! Think of how this must've cost!" she ranted, her face was red with anger. She quickly turned her head to the crowd.

"Okay! The tavern is closed, and go get your fucking asses out of here! NOW!"

In a blink of an eye, the crowd quickly left one by one. Some of them took the injured Redcoats to the nearby infirmary. Everyone left, only those who stay in the tavern for the night and the housekeeping team were left in the tavern. All of them were busy cleaning up the debris left by the recent bar fight.

Connor was brought to the nearest doctor they can find. And much to Connor's surprise, he was familiar with the doctor that attended to him. It was no other than Doctor Lyle White. He was different from the Dr. White Connor knew. He looked younger and more groomed than the first time he met him. But still, he's still a man of small talk. He wasn't as sober as he usually was back in Homestead, instead, he even tried to crack a joke on Connor which failed terribly because he felt humiliated when Connor didn't even crack a smile. Connor left his clinic, with a cloth wrapped through his head like a bandanna, and headed back to the Green Dragon Tavern.

Theresa kept on yelling at her servants to clean everything up and constantly yell at Connor who was helping mopping the floor.

"You!" she suddenly pointed a finger at Connor. The young assassin rolled his eyes. He knew all too well that she will go on endlessly about what happened. Connor was guilty, he felt bad for thrashing the woman's tavern and even insisted to do whatever he can to restore the tavern to its former glory, but he knew that it isn't necessary to hear all that ranting to make him feel a lot worse.

"You, started all of this!" she yelled once more and Connor rolled his eyes, trying to avert his attention to something else. But he kept on failing to do so.

"I know! That's why I'm trying to help out!" Connor said through gritted teeth

"And you are doing a very poor job with it!"

"Well, what do you expect me to do?! Produce gold out of splinters and pay for all the damages?!" Connor snapped

"You might as well!" Theresa snapped back as she turned her back on him. That's the time Connor had enough and threw his mop on the floor. He marched back to the old lady with a scowl on his face.

"At least, just tell me what I should do to make up for my mistakes! I'll do anything!" Connor seethed and Theresa raised a brow at him before a grin formed on her face. And Connor's face started to heat up.

"Well, not really everything, it's... umm..." he stuttered and the woman roared into laughter

"I'm not really sure of how things run in your head but judging from the redness of your face, it isn't good" she said and Connor tried to cover his face with his hands.

"There is actually one thing, Connor" she stated and Connor was all ears.

"You will have to work as a housekeeper in this tavern. You will be the one to save money to buy new furniture, bottles of ales and rum, fix the windows and clean the tavern. In a much simpler explanation, restoring this tavern will be your rent. If everything is done, you can leave freely from this God forsaken tavern"

"But that would take a while! I'm-" Theresa cut him off

"You said anything, remember?" she reminded him and Connor rubbed his temples. He forgot, he just said anything.

"Fine, but I can't guarantee that it would look as good as it was before" Connor gave in, and Theresa gave a satisfied smile. She picked up a broom from the floor threw it to Connor. Her smile then disappeared and began ordering people around.

"Connor! Get your fucking ass over there and clean that corner! You're the most useless mongrel I've ever met! You should've-" she stopped and Connor wondered why, he only realized that they were just beside the entrance and the door opened. Two figures appeared as they pass through the door. Connor was sure the other one was Charles Lee, holding a rather big baggage. But he wasn't so sure with other one, his face was hidden beneath the tricorne hat. Connor scrutinized him some more, the clothing looks too familiar, the movements and there is probably one person he knows that would hang out with Lee while wearing a hidden blade. Charles Lee absent mindedly dropped the bags and Connor swore that he saw Lee's mouth hang open, probably because of the mess inside the tavern.

"Am I interrupting something?" a sharp British accent rang through Connor's ears. He was too sure of it; it was no other than his father, Haytham Kenway. He looks so young. His gray streaks of hair are now raven black strands of hair! Connor was sure this was the time his father was in his prime.

"But, you look too young!" Connor pointed at Haytham as he dropped his broom. Connor has no idea why he can't stop himself from saying that, but he was too damn sure that he just humiliated himself in front of everyone.

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