Notes: Sorry for the lack of updates. Life's been throwing me a curve ball. Oh, and hello there plot, I knew you were in here somewhere...

Chapter 19: If it Looks Like a Trap, it Probably is

Shay shivered and curled up under the blankets in his cabin on board the Morrigan. Being the middle of winter, it didn't feel any warmer than the North Sea. He'd never really minded chilly nights before, but it felt strangely cold to be sleeping alone. Had he really grown that accustomed to Haytham's presence in such a short time? It seemed unlikely, but apparently it was true. Shay knew he shouldn't worry so much about Haytham, that he was more than capable of looking out for himself and honestly a wee bit better a better at handling a sword than he was. ...Shay would admit that over his dead body. Still, he didn't like being separated from him. It wasn't the journey to Boston that he was fretting over – Mills and Martin would make it there in one piece, no doubt. But if the criminals had a decent base there... Shay shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind.

Irritably, he rolled over so he could see out the window behind his desk. There wasn't much to look at. He could just make out the moon hanging low on the horizon. He should be more worried about himself, if anything. Anticosti was nothing but a well-baited trap, but he and Gist had made it out of tighter scrapes before. He had a plan, anyway. The last time he'd been there, the place had been nothing but a bunch of french troops and criminals working for the Assassins. In other words, it wouldn't exactly be a huge loss if he leveled the place with the Morrigan's mortars. He'd be helping his own cause, and King George's in one go. ...He'd still never get used to having the Royal Navy at his back, though.

Restlessly, Shay heaved himself out of bed and settled into the chair near his desk. He lit the whale oil lamp there for some decent light and dug through the bottom drawer. There was a small, but well made leather bound journal stashed there – under a pile of folded up maps. Haytham had given it to him a few day before they'd set sail to take down the Aquila. He'd told Shay that maybe if he wrote about some of things that troubled him, he might be able to sort his thoughts out a bit. Shay had completely forgotten about it, which had worked out for the better as he had no desire to put words to his utter misery. Uncertainly, he stared at the cover that was embossed with the Templar cross. ...Maybe now he could. What would he even write? Shaking his head, he put the journal back into it's place.

They could see Anticosti on the horizon now, its shoreline cutting a jagged line into the early morning sky. Shay went over the plan in his head one last time. It would be the easiest route to just level the place, but he had to be sure it was really just a nest of criminals first – that meant going onshore. The French troupes had finally pulled out a couple months ago, leaving the place relatively abandoned. ...Or so the rumors told.

Shay docked the Morrigan on the back side of the island, the cliffs hopefully would conceal her position. He told the others to wait and found his way over the rugged terrain into the fort that was in a terrible state of disrepair. There were hardly any signs of life. If it weren't a few recently snuffed fires that he stumbled upon and footprints in the icy mud, Shay might have believed the place was abandoned. After an hour or so of scouring the area, he came upon the makeshift town center that was full of men milling about. They were a motley bunch, wearing worn clothes and armed to the teeth. All them seemed to be of mixed nationalities, and some of them were even women. They had one thing in common, though; all of them wore a white hood and a sash with the Assassin emblem at their waist. Shay swore under his breath. He'd never be able to take them all. There was sure to be more of them inside the buildings as well, taking shelter from the cold. He had counted five ships in their harbor, all of them well-equipped brigs. If he fired the Morrigan's mortars at the fort, they'd be on her like flies on a corpse. ...If they were seaworthy. They were all in desperate need of repair, but it was a risk Shay would rather not take with Gist at the helm.

Just as he was about to return to the Morrigan and come up with a proper plan, he stepped on a twig that snapped loudly under his boot.

"Shite." He mumbled, as the men and women in the town center turned in his direction. They couldn't see him, but they'd heard him. They knew he was there. ...Or so he thought. He only narrowly avoided a woman who dove off a ledge above him, her hidden blade sinking into the dirt instead of his back. Then, chaos erupted and Shay set off at a run – dodging bullets and throwing knives alike. He didn't even feel the sting of the poisoned dart that pierced the side of his neck until his legs gave way under him and he fell into an awkward heap. Desperately, he fought the sedative as his vision turned cloudy. He still had the will to run, but his body wouldn't co-operate. The last thing Shay saw before he blacked out was a familiar face looking down at him.

Shay hovered somewhere between lucidity and unconsciousness for some time. There were moments where he was aware of his surroundings (a sparsely furnished interrogation chamber of some sort), and other times all of his usual slew of nightmares flashed through his subconscious. At one point he was running through the smoldering ruins of Lisbon with Liam hot on his heels. Then there was snow, and the sound of shattering glass as he fell through the homestead window. Achilles had a gun to his head and -

"Shay." His head was spinning. He tried to lash out, but found that his hands were bound behind him. Maybe. Maybe he was just in coma. He couldn't really feel his body at all. "Stop strugglin', totty-head. You're makin' it worse. The antidote will start workin ' soon." Shay shook his head. Now he was really losing his mind. That was Liam's voice. But how? He was dead. ...He was hallucinating. Obviously. Shay's breaths came in strained gasps. He had to escape, but how?

"I bloody told you it was a trap." He could hear Haytham say somewhere in the back of his mind. Haytham. He had to escape. He had to make it back to Haytham...

Feeling returned to limbs slowly, and his whole body tingled painfully. Now able to string together a sentient thought, he recognized the poison. It was one of Hope's. It caused hallucinations and an accelerated heart rate. Usually it took about ten minutes for the heart to give out while the victim was running from imaginary demons conjured by his own mind. ...Nothing like dying in utter terror.

"Easy now, Shay. Deep breaths." Once again, he tried to strike against the hazy shape of the man standing in front of him that had Liam's voice. This time he, had some control of his muscles – not enough to do any damage, though. He managed to tip himself out of the chair he was propped up in and would have landed in a heap on the floor if a strong pair of hands didn't grab him by the shoulders and force him back into it. His heart fluttered like the wing beats of a butterfly in his chest. His head lolled forward against the shoulder of the man holding him in place and he passed out.

The first thing Shay was consciously aware of was the cold, closely followed crippling pain in the form of an epic headache that ignited the moment his nose registered the scent of strong tea in the air. He was laying in a bed, or on some kind of soft surface with a blanket draped over him. He opened his eyes slowly, and stared vacantly at the rough stone ceiling. Inside the fort, he assumed. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like lead.

He didn't seem to be in a prison, which he was sure the fort had. Rather, it was a small room with a single bedside table and a single window. He could easily fit out of the window, or kick down the door once he'd regained his strength. He wasn't even restrained. He thanked mercy that he'd given Gist explicit instructions not to come looking for him unless he didn't return for a full five days. He didn't want the men to risk their lives. The sound of the lock on the door opening with a metallic click brought Shay's thoughts to a halt. Immediately, he feigned sleep. It wasn't like he could move anyway.

"Idiot." Liam. ...But it just couldn't be. Uncertainly, Shay opened his eyes and looked up at the man standing above him.

"...How..?" Shay choked on his words and coughed. His throat felt dry and he struggled to remain conscious.

"Shut up and don't try to move. There's still some o' the poison in your body." Liam said, pressing a cool, damp cloth to his forehead. "The fever should pass, but it'll take some time." Shay shivered and tried to pull away, but didn't have the strength.

"Kill me." Shay wheezed.

"No. I... I can't. I just can't. If I could have, you would be dead already. I told these louts you're just an agent workin' uncover for us. They all feel right foolish for tryin' to kill you. They damn near did, too. You're lucky I'm the only one here who knows you." Liam heaved a sigh and tucked Shay's blankets in a little tighter. Shay managed to bite back an incoherent comment about making his own luck.

"I survived the fall in the arctic." He said after a few moments spent in tense silence. "Achilles' men found me, and carried both o' us back to the ship. It took months, but I was on my feet again. But after what happened there... We went our separate ways. I still believe in the Assassins, but I think Achilles lost sight o' what that really meant years ago. So I left, and decided to rebuild the brotherhood on my own. I don't care what the Templars do for the most part. We can accomplish more if we actually focus on fixin' what's wrong with society instead o' wastin' time and resources chasin' you lot around the world. From what I've seen, maybe you were right... I don't necessarily agree with your methods, but you're not the lot o' bastards Achilles would've had us believe."

"Shay, I'm sorry... After Lisbon, I shouldn't have..."

"No. Don't." Shay mumbled.

"Listen, when you're back on your feet in a couple o' hours... I'll let you leave. Leave us in peace here. If you stay out of our affairs, we'll stay out of yours. I have no idea what led you here, but my men haven't been to the colonies in over a year." Liam explained. Shay looked up at him balefully, a million and one questions demanding to be asked. Who was it then? Did he have a traitor among his recruits? Why did he even care if one of Liam's men was a traitor to his cause? ...And why did he want so badly for the man to scoop him up in his arms and hold him close? He had let go. He had Haytham now. There was no turning back. Dashing these thoughts from his mind, Shay realized that Liam was actually still speaking to him.

"I can point you in the right direction, though. I don't know if it's the same group that led you here, but I know who was responsible for the attack on Fort Baie Rouge. It's actually a group o' smugglers. They used to work for Le Chasseur. From what intelligence I've been able to gather, they have their sights set on control o' Boston's harbor. We ran them out o' their base here a few months ago, but they're well-funded and I have no idea where they're operatin' from now. Anyway, get some rest. If you want to know more about the smugglers, come find me when you're on your feet. If not... No one will stand in your way when you leave." Liam stood stiffly and left. Shay watched him go, and considered his options.

Perhaps they could be allies. Haytham had entertained that very idea, but the Assassins preferred skulking around in the shadows killing off the Order one by one rather than talking it out like men. Liam once had scoffed at Shay for mentioning it, reminding him that the Templars desired control over all mankind. Maybe back in Europe they did, but Haytham and the others were just trying to survive. ...And what was Haytham's end game, really? Shay didn't know. He never really thought about it. But, ultimate power? That was unlikely. He wasn't ruthless enough; he wasn't Reginald Birch. Haytham was efficient to a fault, and rarely let anything get in his way, but he'd never slaughter a man's family just to get a dusty old book. He'd find what he needed another way, or just steal the damned thing with only as much bloodshed as was absolutely necessary. Haytham wouldn't kill innocents. Shay knew that much, given the way he'd reacted when he told them what the gangs in Manhattan had done to the families that refused to aid them and didn't have the money to pay them off.

Either way, he'd have to have a coherent discussion with Liam. He knew he shouldn't trust him, but by God he wished he could...

Totty-head - idiot