Notes: Bring tissues. All the angst. And don't worry, Connor's reason for leaving his village and all will be explained in due time. (because obviously it's a little different from canon)

Warning: There's some mentions of suicidal thoughts/depression in this chapter. Because Shay is just a hot, steaming mess of angst.

Chapter 21: Trust

Shay made it back to Boston in record time. When they finally arrived, he was relatively sure the Morrigan's crew was at least a tiny bit mutinous for how hard he'd pushed them to get there as fast as physically possible. Poor Gist had the look of a rabid animal about him, and Liam obviously was anything but appreciative of Shay's foul attitude. It was panic, mostly. Sheer, mindless panic. He'd never admit it, even though Gist probably knew his behavior well enough by now to recognize the signs. Liam did too, Shay assumed – considering their history which they had avoided discussing like the plague. He had no idea how to broach the subject of his relationship with Haytham, either. Somehow, Gist had kept his mouth shut. It was Shay's problem, and he was utterly ashamed of the fact that he didn't have the stones to tell Liam that was seeing someone new after all that happened. Maybe it was just that it was Haytham. He nearly rammed the Morrigan's bow into the docks and was sprinting across the warped wooden boards before Gist even thought to call out the order to drop anchor.

"Bloody idiot," Liam muttered under his breath and grabbed the wheel just in time to avoid Shay having to pay the authorities to rebuild the docks. He caught up effortlessly and grabbed Shay by the back of his coat, causing him to stumble and swear vehemently.

"So who is it, Shay? The only time I ever saw you lose your marbles like this was when we were together, and that lout from the Tavern was threatenin' to have me sent to boardin' school for savin' your arse from his buddies." Liam asked, giving Shay a knowing glance.

'When we were together.' It felt strange to hear those words. Past tense, yes. It was over, what they'd shared. With some compromise maybe they could rebuild their friendship, but never that. Shay knew that. And yet... At least Liam had agreed to help for the time being, as their interests were aligned. Shay sighed in frustration and kicked the wall of a fisherman's stand near them. He could feel Liam's eyes on him. "Haytham." He said flatly.

"...The Grand Master? Kenway? Christ, Shay. Of all the stupid things you've done... At least the man has a nice arse." Liam groaned and rolled his eyes. "Though, now I know why you're havin' such a fit. I said he's one of their targets, aye. He's not a priority, well he wasn't but I reckon he's stuck his nose in their affairs by now and they'll want rid o' him. Right, where do we find your sweetheart?"

"Damn it, Liam. Don't call him my-"

"...Shay?"

Both men instinctively grabbed their pistols and whirled around in a movement far too synchronized to be entirely random. Shay sighed in relief and shoved his back in holster upon seeing Haytham with Charles at his side. Charles had his arms full of a stack of boxes and had that sour look of a man dragged along on a shopping trip with his wife plastered across his face. The thing that got Shay's attention, however, was the native child at Haytham's other side that kept shooting Charles murderous glares and was obviously struggling not to grab the stone dagger that he had shoved into his boot. Well, whoever he was, at least they already agreed on something.

"Thank God. I was sure you were walking into a trap. You will have to fill us on the details." Haytham said, giving him a small nod and shooing Charles away like he was some kind of scullery maid. Liam was obviously struggling not to smirk too obviously at Charles' retreating form.

"Never mind me, you're in for it. It en't the Assassins. It don't even have to do with that battle. It's all politics." Shay explained, suddenly tired beyond all reason. He didn't care about anything else right now. Haytham was alive and well. Nothing else mattered.

"Politics?" He asked curiously.

"They're smugglers." Liam explained, giving Shay a glare that was equal parts exasperation and well-guarded fondness. "Opium, mostly. They see the colonies as a rich opportunity t'get their fingers in the Crown's pie as far the export business here goes. They're well funded and ruthless. They've been offin' everyone who gets in their way, and you Templars just happen t'be on their shite list on account o' you lot bein' allies with the British. Bein' neck deep in politics en't helping neither."

"Aye. Remember a couple o' months back when Charles tracked that group o' smugglers thinkin' they were Assassins?" Shay explained sheepishly. "If I had o' taken it seriously, well, we wouldn't be havin' this conversation since their leaders were all in that soddin' tavern that day."

"Bollocks," Haytham grumbled. "Any way I should..." He looked down at the native boy that was still standing beside him. He looked bored, but somewhat less like a surly, wild beast now that Charles had left his vicinity. Shay could hardly fault him for that.

"What?" Shay asked, cocking his head to the side in a questioning gesture.

"You remember Ziio; you met her once." Haytham said cryptically.

"More than once, Aye. What about her?"

"We... Shay, we need to have a talk. Also, who is your new associate?" Haytham explained, changing the subject in an instant.

"Really? Is he serious? Shay, is he?" Liam cried, and shook his head. Granted, he was wearing simple traveling clothes instead of his Assassin robes in order to maintain a low profile, but still.

"Oh. You're... You. You bloody shot me!" Haytham snapped, and Shay laughed so hard at the scandalized look on both of their faces that he nearly fell over. He'd almost forgotten that he hadn't been the only one who'd left that god forsaken spit of ice with a few bullet holes. Liam had only managed to sink one shot in Haytham, though, in his thigh. Enough to slow him down, but not to do any real damage.

"You deserved it. And you shot Achilles, who deserves a hell o' a lot more punishment than a bad leg and a ruined ego." Liam retorted. "Regardless, our interests are aligned for the time bein'. Those bastards killed a lot o' innocent people to try and drive my men out o' Anticosti because they wanted it for a base. We slaughtered most o' them, but they're not t'be underestimated. We're the better killers, aye, but they've got money, friends in high places and it'll be too late by the time you see them comin'. No matter what, I'm always two steps behind them."

"And after this is dealt with?" Haytham demanded, giving Liam that patent icy glare which he didn't wither under in the slightest.

"We go our separate ways, and never speak unless the need arises. No offense t'you, but you're the last people I have any reason to get drunk and whine about old times with – The Grand Master o' the Templars and the traitor and who's managed to kill everyone I've ever given a shite about. This is business, let's not get sentimental." Liam replied in a flat, authoritative tone. Shay somehow managed to keep his expression blank, but on the inside he felt like he was dying. They'd already had this conversation, he and Liam. He'd hoped they could be allies, but Liam was (understandably) bitter about their blood-soaked past. He'd agreed with Shay in the end, about the pieces of Eden and Achilles' lack of caution, but he'd never work with the Templars. He'd stay out of their business, since he was more concerned with the political mess in France, but he would never work with the Templars otherwise. He'd made that painfully clear.

"Good enough." Haytham agreed. "Speak with Catherine at the inn; tell her I sent you. She will get you a room." Without another word, Liam went on his way leaving Shay alone with Haytham and the child that hadn't said a single word the entire time.

"What's your name, kid?" Shay asked, kneeling down to eye level. He was a slip of a thing, but something in his eyes told Shay that he knew damn well how to fight – just like he had even at that age.

" Ratonhnhaké:ton." He answered, studying Shay like he was some kind of wild beast. He liked kids, honestly. They were curious, passionate and most of them still believed there was some damned good left in the world. This one though... It was like looking in a mirror back to his own childhood. There was uncertainty, violence, and years far beyond his age in Ratonhnhaké:ton's eyes.

"Well, Ratonhnhaké:ton, it's nice t'meet you. Though, I'm willin' to bet this one can't say your name to save his life. Or, well, most anyone around here. ...How about we call you Connor?" Shay suggested and ruffled his hair. Connor? Why had that been the first name to come to mind? He thought of the rainy afternoon when they'd buried little Connor Davenport and the weight of his past threatened to crush him.

"I like him." Ratonhnhaké:ton said and gave Haytham a faint smile.

"Good. You'll be seeing a lot of him." Haytham said and steered 'Connor' back in the direction of the Green Dragon. Shay followed, lost in his thoughts and wanting for nothing more than to be snuggled up to Haytham in bed. ...Which was unlikely to happen because Catherine would ask questions and Haytham wouldn't want to contend with Church's disapproval. Irritably he balled his hands into fists and resigned himself to however many lonely, sleepless nights it would take to put an end to the smugglers.

Shay lay awake in his his bed some time later. He could still hear the others talking on the other side of the door, their voices muffled but still discernible. Connor was sitting on the chair in the corner, reading a book upside down. Or, at least he thought he was. It turned out that he really liked Shay, and stuck to him like tar. Shay didn't mind. He was good company, even if he still had no idea why Haytham had apparently adopted a little Native boy that apparently had something to do with Ziio. Shay sat up and looked over at him. He'd slumped over and fallen fast asleep with his cheek resting on the side of the small table next to him. He imagined Haytham dragging him into his lap and teaching him how to read properly, which brought a smile to his face in spite of his mental anguish. Shay never was one for books, but Haytham would probably have an ulcer if he'd seen the way Connor handled them. Quietly, he left the room, careful not to wake the sleeping child.

The others had long since gone off to bed. Only Thomas was still awake, with his hands halfway up Catherine's skirt as she giggled and handed him another tankard of ale. Shay rolled his eyes and paused outside of Haytham's room on his way to the stairs. He reached up to knock, but stopped himself. Somehow, he found the willpower to descend the stairs. Catherine's brother, whose name Shay couldn't remember to save his own life, was cleaning up behind the bar.

"Want one for the road? You look like you need it, Shay." He asked and grabbed a bottle of ale from under the counter. Shay wordlessly caught it when he tossed it his way and thanked him.

He felt pathetic, drinking alone on a rooftop near the docks and wondering what way was up. Finding Liam alive had thrown him for a loop. Knowing that trying to fix things between them was impossible was smothering the life out of him. Nights like this, he knew, he should be with Haytham. In fact, the Grand Master would probably be furious that he'd run off in the night to sulk instead of seeking him out. It was working, having Haytham for some sort of moral support. Little by little, he was learning to live again. Not now, though. Now he half hoped the scaffolding behind him would fall and put an end to it all. Sometimes he wished he had the courage, or stupidity to do it himself. No, thoughts like that wouldn't do him a lick of good. He hurled the empty ale bottle in the ocean and curled up on himself, resting his head on his knees.

"Why is it that I always find you sulking on random rooftops when you run off? You are like a cat. Sometimes I wonder if you are actually stuck, but would rather starve to death up here than admit it." Shay bit back a groan and tried his damnedest to hide the state of utter misery he was in as Haytham settled down beside him.

"So, Liam is alive." Haytham pressed when Shay ignored him, and he continued to do so. Haytham sighed irritably and leaned over to press a soft kiss to Shay's cheek. Like some kind of sad broken child, he rested his head on Haytham's shoulder. "Shay? ...Are you drunk?"

Finally, he gave in. "No. Just... I can't." He shook his head, wondering if maybe he was a little drunk. "Sometimes I just want to die. It seems like the only way to make all the pain stop."

"I know it's rather pointless to tell you not to think such things. It's not that simple. Nothing is with the lives we lead." Haytham said and took Shay's hand in his. "But, this is a good thing. You're actually talking about it now."

"I don't see what difference it makes." Shay mumbled half-heartedly.

"It makes all the difference." Haytham explained gently. "Truth be told, my not finishing off Braddock wasn't really the reason Ziio left me. It was because she was fed up with the fact that I was a paranoid, arrogant princock who wouldn't even trust the woman I claimed to love. The last thing she said to me, was that she hoped I would learn the value of such trust one day. Or, frankly, I will die miserable and alone."

"And you think we have that?" Shay asked skeptically.

"I think we're getting there." Haytham replied, chuckling. "...Slowly."

"Says the man who won't have any part o' lettin' me take the reigns in the bedroom." Shay snapped a little more tartly than he meant to. The brief flash of uncertainty bordering on fear that passed over Haytham's usually unreadable expression did not escape Shay's notice.

"Trust works both ways, y'know." Shay said when Haytham didn't answer.

"I trust you, but I do not really want to do that." Haytham said, but without any conviction.

"No, that isn't it. You're afraid I'll hurt you, but you'll let it happen just to spite yourself because you're more prideful than a fuckin' peacock." Shay retorted.

"Fine. Next time, you can -"

"See? What did I just get done sayin'? No, because that isn't trust, it's you being afraid to admit that somethin' scares you." Shay argued pointedly. Haytham made a quiet sound of annoyance and shifted uncomfortably. "You want me to pour my heart out whenever somethin' upsets me, but God forbid I ask the same o' you."

The silence that followed was anything but pleasant. After what felt like an eternity, Haytham finally let out a sigh of utter defeat. "Correct, on all accounts." He admitted, shamefully. "Don't forget, the last person I truly trusted turned out to be the man who murdered my father and sold my sister into slavery."

"True, so what exactly are you afraid of?" Shay inquired.

"Can we not talk about this?"

"No, but we can save it for another day if you want." Shay suggested and hopped down from the rooftop without waiting for a reply. He could feel Haytham watching him as he made his way through the streets, and silently cursed the ignorant fools back at the Inn. If it weren't for the very high likelihood that their involvement wouldn't sit well with the others, Shay would be sharing a bed with Haytham rather than little Connor. ...Little Connor who'd already witnessed at least one nightmare that evening - and the inevitable meltdown that had followed before Shay decided that he needed some air.

Boarding school – I already used this, but it's slang for prison. ...Which was not a nice place to be in the 18th century.

Princock – A guy who thinks with his dick, mostly.