Chapter 15: Nothing's Ever Easy

Shay jerked awake to the sound of footsteps passing by his – their – bedroom door the following morning. Remembering where he was, and recognizing the warmth pressed against him as Haytham, he settled back into his previous position. Haytham was lying on his back, deeply asleep with Shay's head resting on his chest. Contentedly, Shay decided that being tangled up in him without a scrap of clothing between them was his new favorite way to start a day. He nearly purred like a cat and nudged himself a little closer to Haytham. The movement woke Haytham who yawned loudly and stretched, Shay held onto him to keep from being dislodged.

"Good mornin', Sir I – ...Shite." Shay groaned as a far too vivid image of that hideous Greek statue (that his fleet had brought from a job in Europe) with his pants draped over her shoulders, and Haytham's hat covering her head came to his mind in a flash.

"Mmm? What?" Haytham asked sleepily.

"I think Aphrodite is still wearin' my pants for a shawl." Shay complained

"And my hat."

"Aye, and your hat." They made awkward eye contact for a moment and burst into helpless laughter. Shay threw on Haytham's pants, and ventured into the hallway hoping to snatch their lost articles without being caught. Only, he nearly tripped on his pants that were neatly folded on the floor next his door with Haytham's hat on top of them. Somewhat shamefully, he shuffled back into the room and tossed Haytham's hat to him. As he did, a slip of parchment fell out. Haytham read it silently while Shay shook his head and ventured into the washroom to clean up properly. If the others knew what they were up to, fine, but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of him walking into the dining room looking like he'd been dragged through a trench and smelling like sex.

"Well, what's it say?" Shay finally called when Haytham still had made no comment.

"Dear Masters Kenway and Cormac... Congratulations." Haytham said flatly. "I'm relatively certain it's Charles' handwriting."

"O' course it is. Gist would've left it there so he could watch the walk o' shame and have a good laugh about it." Shay replied as he walked back into the room, struggling to tie back his hair that was an unholy mess. Haytham looked irritated just watching him, and didn't even ask permission before he grabbed Shay's hairbrush off the dresser and swatted his hands out of the way. Shay bit back a hundred and one different insults and just let Haytham brush his hair out. If he felt like a little girl when Haytham tied it back, looping his strip of red ribbon into a neat little bow instead of the simple knot he normally used, he didn't say a word.

"I'm goin' downstairs." Shay said as he pulled on his heavy leather overcoat. Haytham leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs that Shay realized Haytham had used the kiss as a means to distract him from the fact that he'd straightened his collar and lapels to perfection. The manipulative bastard. It didn't give Shay any cause for concern, though. Admittedly, he kind of liked it. He just sincerely hoped Haytham didn't decide to have a go at his wardrobe and dress him up like some kind of doll. Somehow, it wasn't something he would put past him. Lost in his thoughts, Shay wandered into the dining room where he could hear Gist and Charles talking quietly. He hoped to God they wouldn't notice the slight limp in his step, or how carefully he sat in one of the vacant chairs beside Gist. To say he was bit sore after Haytham's rough handling would be an understatement – not that he was complaining. He do it again – as many times as fate would allow.

"Mornin'," Shay said stiffly and poured himself a cup of tea.

"Good morning." Charles and Gist said in unison, followed a rather awkward silence. Shay ignored them long enough to help himself to an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table, and stir a bit of honey into his tea.

"All right. Quit starin' at me like that and just ask." He snapped, giving them both a pointed glare.

"Did you fuck him yet?" Gist asked, somehow managing to keep a completely straight face just as Haytham walked in with the morning's newspaper in hand. Charles' cheeks turned ten shades of red and he stared hard at the oaken surface of the table. Haytham looked up from the paper and gave Gist a sideways glance; the Morrigan's first mate couldn't see him from where he was sitting.

"I daresay it was the other way around." Haytham finally said, and dropped the paper on the table in front of Gist. He made an odd sort of choking noise, and it was all Shay could do to stifle the mindless mirth at the face Gist made.

"Thank you for the clarification, Grand Master." Charles replied sarcastically, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Oh! This is..." Gist had a worried look on his face as he skimmed over the front page of the newspaper. "...Damn it."

"What?" Shay asked, leaning over to get a look at the offending article.

"Local businessman John King found dead," Charles read with a frown and skimmed over most of the article. "...Believed to be the work of a band of criminals based in Manhattan, however the authorities are investigating for further motives... I thought you ran the gangs out of the area, Shay. Why would this man be targeted, anyway? It says here that he was just a merchant sailor."

"I thought I got rid o' them, too." Shay replied glumly. "King was one o' the captains in the fleet; he just used the tobacco trade to cover up his real business. I suppose I'd best see what became o' his ship. The Sussex handled most o' our private correspondences with the men back in Boston – safer than usin' a courier service."

"So basically the Assassins just happened upon a trove of sensitive information." Charles clarified, shaking his head.

Shay glared daggers at him, but kept his mouth shut. "Aye, probably."

"Shay, take care of this." Haytham said wearily. "I will get in contact with the authorities and see if they have found anything of use to us."

"By your orders, Sir." Shay replied and slunk out of the room, looking back over his shoulder just long enough to see Haytham barely manage to stifle some manner of obscene swearing. It was a small thing, but knowing how Haytham reacted to being called 'Sir' by him amused Shay to no end. He'd pay for it later, he knew that, oh but it was worth it.

Slipping past the guards on the docks had been no mean feat. They had the area on lock-down as they went about their investigation. King hadn't been the only victim; almost the entire crew of the Sussex had been slaughtered. Shay slunk along the lower dock, just out of sight of a passing group of redcoats. There were two bodies near him, deckhands by the look of it.

"The cold cook'll busy today..." He mumbled to himself, slipping past a pair of guards fighting over a bottle of ale. Getting up on deck of the schooner unseen was impossible. He needed a proper plan. Just as he thought it, he saw a single redcoat leave the area and enter a small alley. Silently, Shay followed. Just as the guardsman was about to relieve himself into a haystack, Shay knocked him out cold with the butt of his rifle. Next, he stripped the poor sod of his clothes before tying him up and gagging him. Shay quickly dressed himself in the British uniform and stowed his own clothes behind a pile of crates at the entrance to the alley. He tried not to fuss with the coat that didn't quite fit his broad shoulders. Haytham would probably have a canary over how untidy it looked, but Shay only needed to slip on board the Sussex long enough to either retrieve the Templars' documents, or confirm that they had indeed been taken.

The guards paid him no mind as passed by them, carrying the unconscious man's musket fitted with a bayonet over his shoulder. One of them near the Sussex gave him an odd look, so Shay quickly fell into step with three other redcoats that were patrolling the area. Out of sight of the others, he casually strode to the docks and up onto the deck of the schooner. Looking over his shoulder to make certain he wasn't being watched, Shay slipped into the captain's cabin. It was in disarray. There were all manner of objects strewn about the room as they were obviously cast aside during a search for the true prize. It had definitely been the gangs; the Assassins wouldn't be this sloppy. He knelt behind the desk that had been pushed slightly out of position and lifted what he knew was a false set of floorboards that hid a secret compartment where the Templar correspondences were kept. It was empty.

"Damn it," Shay swore and replaced the covering. Irritably, he left the cabin and wondered where to begin his search. Reclaiming the letters was a priority, not an option. Hunting down the criminals could be troublesome, though. ...However, not as troublesome as the three guards waiting outside of the cabin for him with their guns aimed for the door.

"Halt!" One of them commanded, and Shay obediently threw his hands up in the air. "You are disturbing a crime scene, Sir!"

"I was just lookin' for the captain o' the guard." Shay replied disarmingly. Two of the soldiers shared a glance and nodded.

"You are under arrest!" The one who was obviously in charge demanded.

"I don't have time for this anymore, Can't nothin' ever be easy?" Shay growled, and tackled two of them to the ground before they had the chance to fire. The one to his left, though, was obviously made of sterner stuff as he managed to react faster than Shay, and fired a shot right into his shoulder. Shay would probably look back on that moment and be more than a little proud of himself for not even staggering as he rounded on the man and kicked him in the gut, using the momentum as leverage to dive over the side of the Sussex. ...Which may or may not have been a novel idea in itself as swimming proved to be quite a struggle with a wounded shoulder. Panting for breath, Shay hauled himself up on the docks a little further down and took off at a run. A group of guards was pursuing him, and he had to make himself scarce.

It took the better part of an hour to shake the guards of his tail, somewhere smack in the middle of Manhattan. Miserably, Shay tore a strip of fabric from the stolen red coat he was still wearing and wrapped it tightly around his forearm to slow the bleeding. It would have to wait. The wound wasn't serious, even if it did hurt like hell. He was just lucky the man who shot him hadn't had proper time to aim for something a little more vital. Still, it was deep and would take some time to heal. ...After he managed to find someone to dig the bullet out without asking too many questions.

With the sun nearly setting on the horizon, Shay finally tracked down one of the criminals responsible for the massacre on board the Sussex. He knew him, though not by name. He'd worked for Hope, one of her primary contacts if memory served. Shay followed from the shadows, staying close at heels as the man made his way through the neighborhood. He had a strong Spanish accent when he spoke, and his skin was tanned from spending time outdoors. He had the look of a sailor about him, and Shay wondered if he'd actually been undercover as a member of the Sussex's crew. It was possible that they'd found a way on board, after all. Shay only oversaw the appointing of Captains for the fleet; he didn't really care much who they saw fit to hire as a crew. Perhaps he should have.

He followed Hope's man to where he finally disappeared through a hatch leading into the network of maintenance tunnels that ran beneath almost the entire city. Shay swore under his breath and waited a few minutes before he too dropped through the small opening. The man's trail was easy to keep; his footprints were fresh in the thick mud. Shay wrinkled his nose in disgust against the stink of mildew and waste as he made his way through the dank tunnel. After what felt like miles of wandering in the dark, he came upon a large open area. Quickly, he flattened himself against the damp wall and peered around the corner.

The criminals seemed to be using the tunnels as a new base of operations. There were ten men, give or take, crowded around the dimly lit room that had everything from makeshift beds to a fire pit in the center for cooking and heat. It was genius really, steam rose from the vents most days, so passersby on the surface would hardly notice the scent of smoke coming from the iron grate above the chamber. Shay considered his options. A relatively large group of men, completely unaware of his presence. Only four of them were actually armed, though the others probably had weapons nearby. Shay was also injured, so the odds weren't exactly in his favor. Still, he'd survived worse odds and close quarters had certain... Advantages. Shay grabbed a berserk grenade from his pack and took aim, not bothering to use the launcher. He tossed it right into the middle of the room where six criminals got caught in the cloud of poisonous gas that erupted. It went off before the men had the slightest chance to react, and the chaos that followed was utterly indescribable. Shay just watched as the gang members did his work for him and tore each other to pieces, quite literally in one case.

When it was over, Shay stepped across the then blood-soaked muddy floor and rifled through the few crates and a large desk in the chamber. In the bottom drawer of the desk that was starting to rot, he found the stolen papers. Heaving a sigh of relief, he tucked them under his coat and went back the way he'd come. If the gang still had them, it was unlikely that the Assassins had gotten any news of their contents yet. Maybe. It was driving Shay to madness, though. Who was leading these operations? Achilles was out of the picture as far as he knew, and the others were dead. Obviously there was some fresh blood on the battlefield... But who? And what were they after? The manuscript perhaps? Shay shook his head and shoved a heavy metal grate out of his way to climb up from a different entrance closer to the waterfront. He greedily took a breath of fresh air and went to retrieve his coat and spare weapons from where he'd hidden them earlier.

Cold cook – the undertaker