Notes: So, this completely unrelated buuut. Chevalier is basically the biggest douchenugget ever. He makes a comment about the Morrigan being the "silly fairy queen that ruined Merlin the wise". That was Nimue, actually and she wasn't a fairy queen. Morgan Le Fay also was NOT the Morrigan if that was what it was referencing. ...Then he tells Shay to "read a book" because he didn't know who Jack Rackham was. Dude, you're such a Hypocrite. Lmfao.
And on more a relevant note, I realize that in order to not completely trash the timeline, I should probably let you guys know that this is taking place around the early 1760's. So, after when Haytham saved Jenny and they killed Birch, but before he knows that Connor exists.
Chapter 13: A Fool's Errand
As the days went by, Haytham and Shay fell into an oddly domestic routine of sorts. Shay still found himself pleasantly surprised to wake up each morning next to Haytham. It wasn't that he expected him to change his mind, rather he was terrified to take his presence for granted. Luckily, he'd mostly managed to avoid Gist and Charles. He didn't really want to deal with their antics, and it became clear that Haytham had next to no patience for it either. Shay had actually seen the man dodge behind a corner to avoid Charles one morning. It had taken every shred of self-control Shay possessed to keep himself from bursting out into laughter. ...Which meant he'd been left to try to lie to Charles about Haytham's whereabouts. Charles hadn't bought it for a second.
The lull in Shay's normal line of work also found him helping the Order in other ways – mostly clerical work and managing the finances. ...It was boring, tediously so. Spending his days pouring over Haytham's ledgers while he and Charles tried to dig their way into the loyalists' good graces was incredibly dull. So dull, in fact, that he often found himself staring vacantly out of the window in Haytham's office counting the minutes until he returned for the night. Then, it was tolerable. Laying in bed together, listening to the slightly older man gripe about how arrogant the colonists were, never ceased to amuse Shay. Haytham rarely complained about anything, but it was painfully obvious that he wasn't any more interested in his duties than Shay was.
"I can't do this anymore; I'm bored out o' my mind." Shay finally said one afternoon, when Haytham reappeared at Fort Arsenal a little early. Haytham heaved an irritated sigh and seated himself in the chair across from Shay. Shay watched him with a frown, wondering to himself how it was that every little movement that Haytham made had a sort of fluid grace to it. Every step was surefooted and very rarely, usually only when speaking to Shay about the relationship they shared, did he stumble over his words. ...Shay doubted he'd ever actually stumble unless the ground itself shattered beneath him.
"I agree wholeheartedly. I have half a mind to leave this trifling nonsense to Charles, and see about tracking down more precursor sites." Haytham replied with a bitter note in his tone. "Is there anyone else here?" He added as an afterthought.
"No. Gist won't be back 'til later. Last I heard o' him, he was down at the tavern gettin' properly sauced." Shay replied, wondering what Haytham was planning. Either way, Church and Thomas weren't even in the equation – both of them had left for Boston over a week ago.
"Hmm. Is that so... Well, Charles will be occupied until well into the evening." Haytham told Shay, and got up from the chair. He placed his hands on the edge of desk in front of him and leaned in close to Shay. "So it is just the two of us. Perhaps we should make good use of the privacy." He said in a suggestive tone, barely above a whisper.
"What d'you have in mind, Sir?" Shay asked coyly, giving him a crooked smile.
"I think you know." Haytham said flatly. "Well, I would like to say that, but..."
"We have work t'do, don't we?" Shay groaned, barely managing to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Can't it wait?"
"No, it cannot." Haytham replied, but something about the way he said it seemed off. It was relatively obvious that he was hiding something, but there wasn't much Shay could do about it. If he knew anything about Haytham, it was that he would open up about whatever it was eventually and that there was no point at all in trying to make him talk. ...Because he wouldn't. In the meantime, Shay had work to do.
Shay tailed the courier through the winding streets of Manhattan, growing more and more irritated by the minute. The man was deliberately taking a seemingly random path to throw him off his trail, but Shay was better than he was. Still, he hoped Haytham was right about the nondescript brown paper wrapped package he had tucked under his arm. If his sources had their information straight, that parcel might lead them straight to the precursor box. With a grunt of annoyance, Shay flattened himself against the cold, damp bricks of the wall he was behind as the courier stopped to make sure he wasn't being followed. Shay was well aware that he was leading him in a pointless circle, hoping he'd either give up or lose his trail. Whoever the recipient of the package was, the courier was going well out of his way to keep their identity a secret.
Finally, the courier veered down a different street. Shay silently followed, grateful for the cover of darkness that might make the idiot think he wasn't being followed anymore. Which luckily seemed to be the case. Shay kept close at heels as the courier darted from alley to alley, steadily heading toward the waterfront. He didn't dare take to the rooftops, the man was cautious and might see or hear him from above. Instead, he used the shadows to his advantage, skulking through the narrow streets close behind.
Well after midnight, they finally arrived at a seemingly abandoned warehouse not far from where Hope's gang had been manufacturing their poisons. Shay remained hidden behind a cart full of reeking, moldy hay. There was no way in hell was he jumping into that one. The courier checked over his shoulder one last time before vanishing into the warehouse. Shay followed, slipping through the door behind him without a sound and whipping himself behind a pile of empty, decaying wooden crates. The air in the place smelled of rot, and grass peeked through the floorboards in places. Obviously, no one had used this building in years.
The courier walked to the middle of the room where there was a small wooden table that was no less decrepit than the rest of the warehouse. He sat the package down there, and picked up a little silver bell which he rang three times. Shay bit his tongue until it bled to keep from swearing when he saw who walked in from what was likely an office of sorts on the other side of the main storage area. Shay watched in disbelief as none other than Christopher Gist placed a few gold coins into the courier's outstretched hand. The second the courier vanished out of the door, Shay leaped from his hiding spot.
"What is the meanin' o' this, Gist? Workin' with the damned Assassins? I thought you were better'n that!" Shay shouted, backing him into a corner.
"If you would just let me explain-"
"You had best start talkin' and fast!" Shay growled, grabbing the small parcel and ripping the paper covering off.
"Actually, ask Master Kenway. He tasked me to keep you distracted as long as I could. This was his idea." Gist replied sheepishly. "That is just bread by the way, from the bakery by Fort Arsenal." Shay ignored him, he knew Gist well enough to know that he was just chattering pointlessly as a defense mechanism. It was indeed a simple, freshly baked loaf of bread. Shay sat it back down in disgust.
"Why did he want you to distract me?" Shay demanded, not sure if he should be angry or worried.
"I have no idea, but I am not about to ask questions when the Grand Master gives me a direct order." Gist told him, frowning. "...Maybe I should have, though."
"You don't say." Shay grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at the warehouse doors. Without another word, he headed back to Fort Arsenal with Gist grudgingly in tow. To make matters worse, it had started to rain and both men were drenched within minutes. It was the sort of downpour that soaks you to the bones and doesn't seem like it'll let up for days. Worst of all, was the wintery chill in the air that made it utterly unbearable.
"I can't believe Haytham sent me for a horse ladder." Shay whined, shaking water from his hair like a dog and side-stepping a would-be pickpocket.
Gist shivered and glumly tried to wring water out of his overcoat. "If you ask me, something seems to be troubling him. When you spend as much as time as I do playing cards, you get damn good at reading people."
Shay mulled over Gist's words, trying to work it out in his mind. What would possibly worry Haytham enough that the others would see past his facade? Haytham was nothing if not an expert at hiding his true emotions. But then, Shay thought to himself, it takes one to know one. He kicked an empty liquor bottle out of his way, watching how it splashed through a muddy puddle. The real question wasn't one of what was bothering Haytham, but of what would make him feel that he needed Shay out of the way. Was he afraid he'd be caught in the crossfire of some grand scheme? Was there an Assassin on Shay's trail, maybe? There were a million and one possibilities and Shay knew the only answers he'd get would be from Haytham himself. Unless it was something less practical... He grabbed Gist by the arm and shoved him through the door of a tavern they'd nearly passed by.
"I need your help," Shay said flatly and prodded Gist in the direction of a table in the far corner of the busy little place that was about as private as they'd get. Gist muttered something indignantly and sat in one of the warped wooden chairs. Shay took the one in the corner and silently prayed the staff wouldn't be angry at them for dripping water everywhere. "Two ales," Shay snapped as the barmaid came over to them, before Gist had a chance to open his mouth. She gave him a dirty look and turned around.
"What's this about then?" Gist asked, dropping his hat on the empty chair beside him.
"Haytham... I..." Shay faltered, just as the barmaid returned and delivered their ales. When she left, Gist gave him a knowing glance and Shay just wished he could evaporate on the spot. But he had to have this conversation. If his hunch was right, and they usually were, he was going to need help. ...And Gist was far preferable to Charles.
"How much do you know about Haytham's past?" Shay asked, gathering his wits.
"Not that much, except that his father was a pirate and an Assassin." Gist replied, sipping his ale.
"I meant a little more recently, like d'you know anything about Ziio?"
Gist choked on his ale and laughed heartily. "Is this jealousy I sense?"
"Just answer the question. Why'd he leave her?" Shay growled, already regretting his decision to ask for help.
"He didn't. She left him – something about him not making sure Braddock was dead on the spot. I'm sure there was more to it, though. There always is. Haytham never said, and frankly it's hardly any of our business, so we never asked." Gist replied, thoughtfully. "Why do you ask?"
"Listen, Gist, I need your help. I'd rather not ask, believe me, but it's either you or Charles. ...And I'd rather shoot myself than have this talk with Charles." Shay explained, staring down into his tankard like it held the meaning of life just out of his reach. "The boys on board the Morrigan are a bunch o' bird-wits, but they have the right o' it – about Haytham and I, I mean."
"I knew it," Gist said, grinning like an idiot. "...But why do you need my assistance?"
Shay hesitated for a moment, hoping he was reading the signs right. "I don't think either o' us has any idea how t'make a relationship function, and Haytham's tryin' t'find some way to stop it before he winds up pushin' me away like he did Ziio." Gist covered his mouth with his hand, in a painfully obvious attempt to stifle laughter. Shay kicked him hard in the shin.
"Sorry, it is not funny. I mean, it is, but I shouldn't be laughing at you." Gist replied, composing himself. "Also, you are probably right. But how do you think I am going to be of any assistance?"
"Because I have no bloody idea what t'do about it and no one else to ask!" Shay groaned.
"Shay, you are fretting over completely trivial things. You're not a woman, but you sure can act like one. Both of you do, actually." Gist said resolutely. "Put your big boy trousers on and have a chat with him about it. You want to know what makes relationships work? Trust, and no small amount of communication. If you want to make it work, you need to talk about it – and not with me."
"This is goin' to end badly, en't it?" Shay mumbled.
"Maybe. Or it will end in a good romp. That depends on how you handle it, I suppose." Gist said and downed the rest of his ale. Shay hadn't even touched his. "Well, sitting here feeling sorry yourself is not going to fix it, now is it?"
Shay gave him an utterly fake smile and got to his feet. "You're a pain in my arse. ...But thank you; you're right. I hope."
"So, did you kiss him yet or not?" Gist asked as they stepped back into the rain.
"Aye, a while ago." Shay said somewhat sheepishly and Gist chuckled knowingly.
Sauced – Drunk, but it can also mean a sexually transmitted disease. Like, 'he got the sauce'. Depends on context, I guess?
To send for a horse ladder – Going on a fool's errand
bird-witted – idiot