Notes: Just a friendly warning that this chapter has some PTSD symptoms!

...And we're finally getting somewhere!

Chapter 7: Never Assume

Shay wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He just didn't have it in himself to disobey Haytham. ...Even for something as insignificant as taking a bit of rest. It irritated him a bit, yet at the same time it was something of a comfort. If Haytham still bothered to give him pointless orders, he hadn't made a mess of things. Yet. Miserably, Shay sat down at his desk in the captain's cabin. He was afraid to sleep, when it came down to it. ...Never mind the nightmares. What if he woke up screaming Haytham's name again? Mills had said to 'just kiss the man already' when he left the cabin after that horrible conversation. Shay had told him, in no uncertain terms, right where he could shove that idea.

With a sigh, he reached for his pen to fill in the ship's log for the day. It wasn't there. He frowned and dug around a bit, finding it neatly tucked away in the top drawer with the inkwell. Haytham. He must have used it. Shay was too lazy to bother putting it away half the time. Absently, he opened the old leather bound log that he'd had since he commandeered the Morrigan. There was a page torn out, right after where he'd recorded the previous day's progress. A surge of annoyance that Haytham would touch his things passed through him, but then he recalled that he had in fact given Haytham permission to use whatever he needed. ...So what had he been writing?

Shay shook his head and filled in the log, reporting the news about the fort and Haytham's decision to press onward. He flipped the book shut, and nearly crawled to his bed as he realized for the first time in days how tired he actually was. That was when he saw the scrap of neatly folded paper tucked under the edge of the book he'd left on his bedside table. Curiously, he pulled it out and knew from the feel of it that it was part of the missing page from the Morrigan's logbook. Curiously, he unfolded it. It had only one sentence written on it, in Haytham's tidy scrawl. 'You are not alone; never assume that I will think less of you, or that I would ever look down upon you in the first place.'

Shay stared at it for a moment, at a total loss. Why couldn't Haytham have just said that? Oh, right. He stormed out of the room and ignored his presence for the rest of the afternoon like some kind of petulant child. He was thankful that Haytham apparently wasn't angry with him. Shay tucked the scrap of paper back under the book and laid down on the bed. He needed sleep. He was in no condition to try to analyze the cryptic message that could have several possible meanings. That and... He didn't know what to do about the fort. He had to think of some kind of excuse not to go onshore. The image in his head was enough to make him nauseous. Destroyed buildings, dead bodies strewn in the debris – no. He had to stop thinking about it. It wasn't Lisbon. It wasn't his fault this time.

With a small sound of frustration, Shay yanked the blanket out from under him and wrapped it around himself. He fell into a fitful sleep soon after, his dreams a series of broken images of dead eyes staring up at him and blood on his hands.

When he dragged himself out of the cabin the following morning at dawn, he hardly felt rested at all. He took his place at the helm, beside Haytham who was already up. He greeted Shay with a polite nod of his head, which he wordlessly returned. He didn't really feel like talking. He felt like he might actually be dead and not even know it. He fought the urge to tell Haytham to stand somewhere – anywhere – else. Something about him being in Liam's old position was giving him an ulcer. He couldn't even begin to put words to all the mixed up emotions where the Grandmaster was concerned. There was respect and trust, sure. ...But there was also something else, something else he didn't want to acknowledge because he knew it would never lead to anything good. He tried to steer his thoughts away from that path, from wondering if there could be something between them like what he'd had with Liam. He knew he could never replace Liam, but if Haytham could be... Shay shook his head, as if the motion would dash the idea from his mind. Haytham wouldn't want that, and there was no good reason that he should. Besides, he would probably think Shay had finally lost his mind if he ever suggested a such a thing. Never assume...

Shay glanced at Haytham out of the corner of his eye. He was looking straight ahead, with his hands resting on the railing. The snow had stopped for the most part, but it was still windy so he'd left his hat in his cabin. Instead, he wore he his usual overcoat with a thick woolen scarf.

"Something on your mind, Shay?" Haytham asked, without even looking at him. It was as if he knew that Shay was thinking about him.

"Aye, the fort... Why are we botherin' to go all this way? It's just three skips of a louse, if you ask me." Shay replied. It was the truth, but not at all what was on his mind.

"It probably is, but we need to be sure." Haytham replied in a tone that clearly implied that he knew Shay was avoiding the issue, as usual.

"Sir," Shay began to say, and faltered for a moment. He checked to make sure none of the crew members were around before he continued speaking. "When we get there, would it be alright if I... If I don't go on shore?"

"Why?" Haytham asked, frowning. "Surely it's not anything you have not seen before."

"That's just it. I have seen it before." Shay replied, gripping the wheel so hard it hurt.

"I understand. I will take a few of the crew with me, you may stay behind if you prefer." Haytham replied, with a nod. Shay let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and felt some of the tension go with it. He'd rather not go there at all, but this he could live with.

It took them another week to make it to the ruined fort. Shay watched as Haytham nimbly jumped down onto the broken docks, splashing a bit of frigid seawater on his coat. Shay took a deep breath and followed. He had meant to stay, but he didn't feel like explaining why to the crew.

"You do not have to do this." Haytham reminded him as they approached the caved in main gate. Shay sloshed through the slushy, wet snow beside him and shook his head.

"It's fine." He replied. It wasn't, and he knew damn well that it wouldn't be. But, given a choice, he'd rather have an emotional crisis in front of Haytham than explain to his crew that he was actually terrified to go ashore because he was probably going to have flashbacks of Lisbon. ...Not that any of them really understood. They weren't there. Well, Mills and Martin had been, but they never left the ship.

The first body was laying in a heap near the gate, his limbs twisted in unnatural angels. Haytham averted his eyes from the fallen redcoat, but kept going. Shay tried not to think of how well the ice had preserved the poor man's corpse. There were more slowly decaying bodies strewn about the inner courtyard in random places. Some of them with their weapons still in hand. Four of them were crushed beneath a fallen wall that belonged to one of the guard towers. Shay's heart began to race, and his breath caught in his throat. He could swear he could hear that poor woman screaming her child's name, begging God to spare her little boy. There was the scent of blood in the air, and burning flesh as innocent people died, trapped in burning buildings that fallen in on themselves. Shay fell to his knees, panic consuming him as he fought to remember how to breathe. It was just another nightmare. He had to wake up. ...But why was it so cold?

"I suppose there is little point in reclaiming this place. It is not really worth the – Shay!" Haytham's voice sounded far away, and he tried to call out to him but he'd fallen through the window and the water was rushing to met him -

"Shay!" Shay gasped, choking on the icy northern air. It took him a moment to remember where he was, as his mind tried to process why he was lying in the snow with Haytham kneeling over him. "Can you hear me?" Shay nodded stiffly and forced himself to sit up. He shivered, though not entirely from the cold and shoved his badly shaking hands under his arms.

"...Lisbon." Haytham said, and Shay nodded silently trying to breathe enough to ease the pain in his chest. Carefully, he hauled Shay back to his feet and led him to a crumbled brick wall just outside the main gate, where the bodies and most of destruction weren't visible. He sat Shay down on the edge, and took the space beside him.

"You need to breathe, Shay." Haytham told him patiently. "This isn't Portugal. It's the north sea. You're safe here, and you did nothing to harm these people."

"I... Know." Shay replied hoarsely. "Sorry, I... Should have stayed."

"Why did you come?" Haytham pressed.

"Because I can't keep runnin'." Shay mumbled, a little more coherently. He felt like he'd fallen off a horse half drunk and landed in a spike pit. Vacantly, his mind registered the warm weight of Haytham's hand on his shoulder. He leaned into the touch unconsciously, clinging to Haytham's presence like some kind of an anchor. Slowly, he came back to reality and wondered if he'd ever be able to look Haytham in the eye again. All this, because he didn't have the stones to think of some lame excuse to stay on board the Morrigan. But was that really it? Or was it something else? Maybe he wanted to try and face his demons, knowing that he wasn't alone this time.

Not alone.

He took a breath and choked on it, coughing violently. Haytham wordlessly held him upright until it passed. Shay fought back tears, watching as his shaky breaths rose in misty clouds before him. He leaned against Haytham's shoulder, for physical support mostly. But he couldn't help but think of how badly he longed for something as simple as the warmth of human contact.

"We should get you back to the Morrigan. The cold won't do you any good." Haytham said, and stood, pulling Shay up with him.

The hunter staggered, but gained his footing and let Haytham lead him back the ship. Haytham fed the crew some story about how Shay had fallen on a patch of ice, and nearly shoved him through the door of his cabin in an attempt to save him the shame he'd been so desperately trying to avoid. Haytham ignored Shay's protests and sat him down on the edge of his bed. He pulled the thick duvet over Shay's shoulders and took a seat beside him, but not close enough to touch like before. Shay glanced over at Haytham who appeared to be deep in thought, but he seemed to know he was being watched and gave Shay a slight smile.

That was when Shay realized that he was completely, and utterly dead as nit. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and wondered if there was any hope for him at all. It had started as an internal conflict of whether or not he could trust Haytham as a confidant... Which had evolved into more than a few thoughts of them together. But now, it was suddenly clear. Black and white, even. In stark clarity.

He wanted Haytham, had probably wanted him from the day they met. He looked up, his dark hazel eyes meeting Haytham's steely gray ones, and he wondered how to put words to it. If he should put words to it. What if he rejected him? It'd kill him.

Three skips of a louse – worthless, or complete a waste of time.

Dead as nit – dead, really super dead.