Notes: So I just listened to one of Loomer's podcasts where they had the voice actors from AC say 'I'm so tired of your shit!'... And I can't get 'I'm so tired of your shite, Haytham! I don't want to hear it anymore!' in Shay's voice out of my head. Oh God. I may have to do a oneshot based on that glorious thing.

Chapter 4: Cat and Mouse

Shay was avoiding Haytham; that much was obvious. The Grandmaster didn't bother trying to hunt him down, though. It was hardly worth the effort. If Shay didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. It really was as simple as that. He needed space, probably. He was still struggling with own internal battle, and Haytham knew full well that cornering him wouldn't help. If he wanted to continue where their conversation in the Morrigan's cabin had left off, Shay would seek him out when he was ready - and not a damned moment before.

That was why he had other plans. ...Mostly because he was bloody tired of waiting.

"Gist, a moment please?" Haytham asked, knocking on the open door of Shay's office. Gist was alone there, bent over the ledger for the Templar fleet. Neither of them had seen hide nor hair of Shay since their return to New York. He hadn't left as there were signs of his presence, but he must have been using all of his training as an Assassin to avoid them like the plague.

"What is it, Boss?" Gist asked, shutting the ledger.

"Have you seen Shay about?" Haytham replied, seating himself in the chair across from the worn wooden desk.

"No, sir, I haven't." Gist told him. "I hope he stops this nonsense soon. Last I did see him, he was melancholy as a gib cat."

"And when was that, exactly?" Haytham asked irritably.

"Three days ago. He's been here, though. Either that, or someone with very similar handwriting to his sneaked in this morning, and charted a course for the Duke and Sussex to intercept a French convoy near Fogo." Gist explained, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "We'll have to sort him out somehow. Fort Baie Rouge isn't going to take itself back from the Assassins."

"No, it isn't." Haytham agreed, and swept out of the room without another word. In truth, he was kind of amazed by Shay's ability to carry out his duties without being seen. He'd even rooted out an Assassin conspiracy to take control of New York's imports and killed the man responsible. ...Or so Haytham assumed. How discreetly it was handled, and the fact that the local authorities were still scrambling to find the find the businessman's killer, was a clear sign that it was Shay's work. As irritated as he was with Shay's behavior, Haytham had to give him some credit for being able to balance his own misery and the Order's work so well. It wouldn't have been a problem, if Haytham wasn't well aware that it was only a matter of time until Shay reached his breaking point.

He needed to get him back. He just had no idea how. Either way, tracking him down was the first step. He knew backing the ex-Assassin into a corner was a terrible idea that would do nothing to gain his trust, but Haytham was out of options. He'd given him an ultimatum after all, one he'd either chosen to ignore or was incapable of dealing with on his own. Haytham suspected the latter, though the odds that Shay would ever admit it were as likely as a blizzard in Hell.

Shay (most likely unknowingly) left small clues to his movements that Haytham picked up on with ease. His notes and plans for the fleet were the most obvious marks of his presence. There were small things too, like missing ammunition from the armory and a random pattern of objects being moved in his room at night over the course of the following days. He wasn't lucky enough to actually catch Shay in there, however. He didn't expect to be, the hunter was being as cautious as ever. He left nothing to chance on a mission, and he obviously felt the same about his sudden bout of avoidance.

Haytham was forced to give up his routine of scouring Fort Arsenal for any sign of Shay that he could track, when Charles burst into his office about a week later. Haytham looked up from the rite's financial ledger in obvious irritation and gave Charles a glare that could sour milk.

"Sir, there's something going on at the brewery. The whole place has gone up in smoke, and it looks like the gangs are having another all out war with the British patrols." Charles said, all in one breath. He looked like he'd ran back there; his coat was disheveled and his hair stuck out at odd angles where it come loose from the ribbon holding it in place. There was only one thought in Haytham's mind: Shay.

"I will handle this, I want you and the others to stay here." Haytham said, and ran to the armory to gather his weapons. It was a distraction. Shay was using the local thugs to draw attention from something. But what? Well, finding that out wouldn't be too hard. He'd just have to run in the opposite direction.

Avoiding the crowds and the criminals fighting the guards in the street had been no mean feat, but he overheard a lovely rumor about a garden party in Manhattan. Supposedly it was a gathering of wealthy merchants plotting to cut off trade with England to avoid the taxes. Shay would be there, Haytham knew that. The question was one of who he was targeting and why.

Infiltrating the party had been child's play. He lay in wait, hiding inside of a flowering shrub as he watched the guests mingle. It quickly became obvious why Shay was interested in the gathering. A woman, dressed in a pale green gown with bright red hair caught Haytham's attention immediately. She was not in control of the proceedings; it was the other guests that spoke of rebellion against the crown and their unfair taxation. Regardless, she was clearly a major player, and flitted between groups of guests with a practiced ease. She appeared used to such dealings, and was likely simply gathering information. As she turned to accept a glass of wine from a waiter, Haytham caught the glint of metal under her lace cuffs. A hidden blade.

At the first (and only) time she was alone near the dessert table, was when Shay struck. Haytham barely recognized him dressed in a fine black tailcoat with gold and red accents. But from the way he walked, wary and observant of his surroundings, Haytham knew it was him in an instant. Barely seconds passed as he clapped a hand over her mouth and drove his own hidden blade through her heart from behind. She hadn't even fallen silently to the ground before Shay vanished over the white fence.

Haytham shook the stiffness out of his limbs and followed, barely managing to keep Shay in his sights as he tore through the streets, Haytham taking to the rooftops. Eventually, Shay slowed his pace as he came to a small open market. Haytham watched like a hawk from around a pile of wooden crates nearby as Shay made a show of browsing a tea merchant's goods. He was listening carefully for any signs of pursuit, searching out of the corners of his eyes for any sudden flashes of movement. Haytham saw him glance in his direction and flattened himself against the wall as his eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer than they had elsewhere. Shay knew he was there but wasn't trying to lose him, Haytham realized. If he had wanted to shake Haytham off his trail, he would have done so by now. Intrigued, Haytham followed him from the shadows.

Shay took his time, stopping to buy an apple from a produce seller and a bag of some kind of treats from a small bakery. He looked over his shoulder every now and again. Haytham couldn't tell if it was an unconscious habit born of the natural skill-set of a practiced hunter, or if he was making sure that he was indeed being followed. He stopped at the door of an old boarding house, pausing with his hand on the doorknob as he discreetly observed his surroundings. Apparently satisfied, he entered. Haytham waited a few seconds before climbing the east wall, stopping to peer through the windows of the rented rooms. On the very top floor in the right front corner of the building, he found Shay's room. He'd left the window wide open and was sitting in a worn leather chair with one of the Templar fleet's charts spread out on a table in front of him.

By now Haytham was positive Shay had purposely led him there. He never would have left a window open with his back to it. ...A window that any Assassin could easily (and silently) fit through with no difficulty.

"I was wonderin' when the bloody hell you'd find me, Sir." Shay called, just as Haytham braced himself to slip through the open window. "I'm a little disappointed it took causin' a ruckus like that to get your attention. ...And that Gist, that beef-head, didn't figure out that the 'coordinates' I penned in the naval ledger were the address to this place and my room number."

"You are impossible." Haytham said with a scowl and hopped down into the sparsely decorated room. "Why go to these lengths to avoid us, yet lure me here?"

Shay rolled up the maps for the fleet, and turned to face Haytham. "'Cause it was you who I wanted to talk with. I knew the others wouldn't know how t'find the trail. Bring your arse to an anchor already."

"You could have just come to my office if you wanted to talk, Shay." Haytham replied, seating himself on the edge of the bed that took up most of the small room.

"Not without Charles listenin' at the door for a chance to lick your boots." Shay grumbled, and Haytham couldn't help but let out an amused snort of laughter.

"All right, I will grant you that." Haytham conceded. "So what is so important that you resorted to this?" Shay shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared blankly out the window at the setting sun before he finally answered.

"You know, recitin' this in my head was a heck of a lot easier." Shay grumbled and looked down at his hands that were folded in his lap and, Haytham noticed, shaking slightly. "I know you told me to deal with this, but I can't. I'm tryin', really, but I don't know what t'do."

"Am I correct to assume there is more to it than what you told me before?" Haytham asked with genuine concern.

"Aye, but I wouldn't know how to put words to it if I wanted to." Shay told him dejectedly. "I don't regret any of it; I know I was doin' right. I'd do it all again, if I had to. It's just... It's hard. Was hard, I guess. It's a little easier now that I've killed off everyone I knew personally. ...But the fact is, I did just that, and all the rag-water in the world ain't goin' to change it, or make it hurt any less."

"Well, you could come home for a start. Staying here is not going to do you a lick of good." Haytham told him sagely. Shay opened his mouth to protest but Haytham cut him short before he could speak. "Think back to how this all began, when you found yourself still breathing and in the Finnegans' care when you escaped Achilles' homestead. How did you cope then?"

"That was before I ran Hope through and shot Adéwalé in the heart!" Shay cried in exasperation.

"I know, but what did you do then?" Haytham pressed.

"I helped Monro sort out the gangs here, and rebuild some o' the places they destroyed. I knew nothin' could make up for what happened in Lisbon, but he thought that doin' right by people could give me purpose and direction." Shay answered, suddenly interested in the warped wooden floorboards beneath his feet.

"And did that help?" Haytham demanded.

"For a while, Aye."

"What changed?"

"It's just too little, and too late." Shay told him, finally meeting Haytham's eyes. Haytham sighed; he should have known Shay was too much of a realist to be comforted by such ideals, no matter how well-meaning they might be. But what could he do? Shay had brought him here hoping for some kind of guidance, but Haytham had none to offer.

They sat in a stony silence before Shay finally spoke up. "We have to take back Fort Baie Rouge. Would you come with me? I'm not sure I can tolerate Gist right now. He has a habit for guilt-trippin' and I don't think he even knows he's doin' it. 'Sides, the crew likes you."

"Of course," Haytham told him without any hesitation. In truth, he was secretly glad for the opportunity. Maybe it was in his blood, but Haytham enjoyed being at sea. Granted, the trip on board the Providence had been anything but pleasant, but sailing with the Morrigan's crew was different. They were a jovial bunch who took whatever the winds threw at them in stride. There wasn't any drama either, they respected their Captain, and he them.

"Meet me at the docks at sunrise, then." Shay said, sadness evident in his voice.

"I will be there," Haytham assured him, and took Shay's clear note of dismissal for what it was.

Melancholy as a gib cat – down in the dumps

Beef-head – idiot

Bring your ass to an anchor – take a seat

rag-water – cheap liquor