Notes: I'm sorry if Shay seems like some kind of sad little emo kid. That's not what I'm going for, but you've got to admit that he has to be at least a little messed up after the things he's lived through. Anyway, this chapter's a little short so... Double update! I hope you're all enjoying reading this as much I am writing it.

Chapter 6: How to Mend a Broken Soul

Shay didn't answer right away, he just stared at his hands as if his silence might be enough to make Haytham lose his patience and leave him to wallow in his misery. It didn't work. Haytham tapped his fingers the arms of his chair, out of Shay's line of sight. He'd never had the misfortune of having to discipline badly behaved children, but he imaged this was pretty close to how some of them might respond when backed into a corner. ...And maybe that wasn't the right way to approach this. For all he knew, Shay might react like an angry cat if he didn't see a line of escape. Just as Haytham was thinking it might be better to avoid the claws and spitting, Shay finally broke the silence.

"I'm tired o' this life, tired o' the killin' and the guilt. ...But I made this bed and now I have to lie in it. I know that." Shay replied, still not meeting Haytham's eyes. "The worst thing, though, is that I'm sick o' bein' alone. Everythin' else, I can live with. I hated bein' an Assassin. Hell, I hate bein' a Templar too, but I know how important our work is and I'm not about to abandon it. But I wasn't alone then, like I am now. I'm not as strong as the lot o' you think I am. I never was. Liam was always my strength. You can't fix that. No one can."

"Shay -!"

Shay didn't reply, he just got up and left the cabin without another word. The crew probably wouldn't notice anything off about him unless he drove the ship into an ice burg to spite himself. Shay, Haytham now knew, was a lot better at hiding his emotions than he ever imagined. How much pain was behind that seemingly easy smile? Shay was right though; he couldn't fix it. But he was wrong about something. He wasn't alone. He was just too damn stubborn to let anyone in. Gist had tried, and obviously gone about it the wrong way. He meant well but he didn't always think before he opened his mouth. Gist also wasn't nearly as tenacious as Haytham. He wasn't about to give up on Shay, even if the man's own pride could very well wind up being the death of him.

Haytham dug through the drawers in Shay's desk for a bit of parchment and a pen. Thoughtfully, he dipped the pen in the inkwell and neatly addressed a note to Shay. He rewrote it several times before he decided it was passable. He read it one last time as the ink dried, before carefully folding it and leaving it on the small table beside Shay's bed, where he was sure to find it.

As expected, Shay completely ignored Haytham's presence when he returned to the deck. The weather was turning foul, and snow was starting to fall heavily. Haytham watched as the other man absently brushed some of the wet white powder off his shoulders and shook it out of his hair like a dog might. The crew was mostly quiet, some of them running off to their quarters to bundle up properly as a chill wind was picking up with a vengeance. Shay just wrapped his gloved hands tighter around the wheel. His jaw was clenched and if Haytham read the signs right, he was furious with himself more than anything. Though, he wasn't sure if it was because he had shown weakness or something else entirely.

Strangely, all Haytham really wanted was for him to be at peace with himself. He still couldn't figure out why he cared so much. If anything, he'd have given his soul to know what Liam's secret was. How had Liam been able to get through to him? What was it that he had done to keep Shay looking forward? Surely it wasn't the sex, not that Haytham particularly wanted to think about that. If it had been, Shay would have had an entire harem of whores at his side rather than trying to drink away the memories. That much, Haytham was sure of. Shay was nothing if not good at running from his demons. Clearly the state he worked himself into was a clear sign that he'd finally bolted straight into a dead end with no gold bridge leading out.

He yawned, inhaling snowflakes and wondered for a moment what exactly it was he liked about sailing. Haytham wished Shay a good evening, which was completely ignored, and returned to his cabin for the night. Haytham lay awake, staring at the rafters above him. Sleep never came easily for him, but even less so tonight. The answer was obvious, Shay needed a confidant but there was more to it than that. He didn't want to be alone, did that mean he wanted a lover? No, Haytham doubted that. But one thing was starting to make sense.

Liam wasn't just Shay's friend and lover. He was his protector. Shay had said himself that Liam had saved him from the streets, and more than a few tavern brawls gone wrong. Liam had seen Shay at his worst, and dragged him back to his feet instead of letting him dwell on his mistakes. He hadn't given him space to work it out on his own. He'd probably backed him up against a metaphorical wall and told him to get his shite together. ...Which was basically what Haytham had done. Although, Shay wasn't terrified of disappointing Liam. And that, Haytham realized was the thing that was holding him back. Like Charles, Shay needed his approval, craved it even. Though, unlike Charles, Shay wasn't angling for rank and prestige within the order.

What Shay needed wasn't a lover. He needed someone to keep his arse in line, pick up the pieces, and not think any less of him for being a little broken.

Deciding that sleep was just going to keep eluding him, Haytham sat up in his bed and lit the small whale oil lamp that was sitting on a wooden crate next to him. His (technically Gist's) 'cabin' was actually the back corner of the cargo hold. There was just his bed, a small writing desk, a dresser and some cabinets for storage. In other words, it was hardly glorious, but better than a hammock in the crew's quarters. The area was boxed in by walls of neatly stocked crates of cargo, leaving only an opening wide enough to walk through that led to an equally narrow path to the hatch. Haytham pulled on his coat and grabbed the lantern. He'd tried to navigate the winding pathway in the dark once, and had no intention of repeating that particular experience.

The deck was quiet, aside from a few of the crew members milling about playing a game of cards nearby. He could see Mills at the wheel, with his long blonde hair tied back with a ratty scrap of red cloth. He had his head bowed against the snow. Haytham assumed that Shay had gone to bed, and leaned against the railing to look at the choppy waves below the Morrigan's hull.

"How far to Fort Baie Rouge?" Haytham called to Mills.

"We're not goin' there." Though, it wasn't Mills that answered. It was Shay. He was sitting with his back turned to Haytham, playing cards with the other men. Haytham could see his hand from where he standing, and winced. He had this game won, that was for sure.

"What?" He asked incredulously. "That was the whole point! We need to -!"

"There's nothin' left o' it, Sir." Shay explained. "We passed by a British convoy about an hour ago. The captain said they were heading to New York seein' as the fort was abandoned and blown to smithereens. They didn't find anythin' but rottin' bodies when they went ashore. The Assassins just destroyed it, apparently. They didn't garrison it."

"That makes no sense," Haytham replied shaking his head. "It would have been to their advantage to seize the fort rather than destroy it."

"I don't think they have the manpower to maintain it." Shay told him cryptically. "Their numbers in the colonies aren't what they used t'be. It would make them vulnerable if they spread themselves too thin. They're just tryin' to make as much chaos for us as they can. It's better'n nothin' in their eyes."

"So now what?" Haytham inquired, seating himself beside Shay. He seemed calmer than before. That was a good sign. At least he wasn't ignoring him for the time being.

"Whatever you want, Sir. We can head back to New York, or Boston if you'd like. Maybe check in on Pitcairn and the others." Shay suggested, tossing his hand, a royal flush, down on the deck. Haytham would bet money on him cheating; no one was that lucky. There was a collective groaning from the others as they slid the pot (a motley collection of odd trinkets) in Shay's direction. He just waved it off and told them to keep their things, that he was only playing for something to do with himself. ...Which Haytham knew meant he wasn't sleeping either.

"No, I want to see the fort with my own eyes." Haytham told Shay firmly.

"As you wish, Sir." Shay grumbled. "Mills, set a course back east!" Mills didn't reply, but the Morrigan slowly turned back on course.

"You should rest, Shay." Haytham told him. "This storm doesn't seem to be letting up." Shay finally turned to face him and gave him a look that quite plainly stated his opinion on that matter. Haytham raised his eyebrows, and Shay gave in without even saying a word. He muttered something under his breath and stalked off to his cabin.

"Startin' to feel like a hen-frigate 'round here, eh boys?" Martin piped up, laughing. It took Haytham far longer than it should have for him to pick up on the comment, and the others had already fallen into hysterics by then.

"I assure you gentlemen, that even if we engaged in such a relationship, by no means would I be the bloody wife." Haytham hissed.

"Aww, didn't know you was engaged!" One of the other men chimed in. Haytham turned his back on them, swearing to himself as he headed back to his own cabin. He figured Shay would be more than a little angry if he taught them a lesson or two in the meaning of pain.

Hen-frigate: A ship that's ran by the Captain's wife.

Gold Bridge: An easy means of escape