It seems to take forever for the light to fade, but night does finally come. Ratonhnhaké:ton is restless by this point, itching to be up in the air again, or at least doing something. More than once he stands to start pacing, and Connor has to pull him back. "Don't," he says sternly. "You'll only draw attention to us, and we cannot afford that right now."

"I just need to be moving," Ratonhnhaké:ton says. "It's not my fault that father and I are the only ones visible in this world. You can move around as much as you want."

"And yet you'll notice that I can manage to sit down and stay down for more than five minutes at a time," Connor says. "Come here."

"But Connor—"

"Sit."

Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn't want to sit, but he also doesn't much like the way everyone else is staring at him. Grudgingly, he crouches down at Connor's side. Their father is distracted by some conversation with Desmond, giving Ratonhnhaké:ton some privacy with his double. And for the first time, Ratonhnhaké:ton realizes he is not the only one uncomfortable with this. "What's bothering you?" he asks.

By the look of it, Connor is fighting down the urge to argue. But everything is obviously not fine, and to his credit, he doesn't actually try to claim that it is. "The Aquila is my ship," he says.

"You have a ship?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asks.

Connor nods. "I helped to rebuild her when I was a teenager. I learned to sail on her. I… The way you feel, when you fly?" Ratonhnhaké:ton nods. "I have never flown, but I imagine it's close to how it feels to sail. The Aquila was my freedom, and now someone else captains her."

Ratonhnhaké:ton tries to imagine what this must feel like, to have that kind of freedom taken away. Or worse, to have it just handed to someone else. His imagination utterly fails him. "I'm sorry," he says, and Connor makes a soft noise in his throat.

"I do not like this world," he says quietly.

The two of them sit in silence for a few minutes, and then Ratonhnhaké:ton hears footsteps coming toward them. He and Connor look up in unison, and see their father standing a foot or two away. The older man looks down at them, frowning. "It's past dark," he says. "I need to speak with my contacts to make sure we all move at the same time."

"You'll be seen," Connor protests.

"(Is your opinion of me really so low?)" Connor flushes red, the way he always does when that particular tone drifts into their father's voice.

"You've been in a cell for decades," he says. "That's all I meant. Just that you must be out of practice."

"It doesn't matter anyway," their father says. "I have another way of moving unseen."

"Will you fly?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asks.

"An eagle is still a little more visible than I would like to be just now," Haytham says briskly. "But… I have taken the tea more than once."

Ratonhnhaké:ton looks at him, curious despite himself. And Connor is staring as well, and Desmond. Haytham flushes a little, and his whole posture seems to shift into something a little defensive. "You have to remember," he says. "I didn't get to choose what animals I met when I drank the tea."

"Of course not," Ratonhnhaké:ton says. "They just… come."

"What did you meet that's so horrible?" Connor asks.

"I don't know that 'horrible' is exactly the right word," their father says. "More… I suppose embarrassing might be closer to the truth."

"Well now you have to show us," Desmond laughs. "Please?"

"You said yourself that you need to get going," Connor says, and Ratonhnhaké:ton could almost swear his double sounds like he's teasing their father, the same way Desmond is. He wants to tell them to stop, but he doesn't think Haytham would appreciate his help.

Anyway… he sort of wants to see himself.

"Alright," Haytham says at last. "Fine."

And then he seems to simply vanish. Ratonhnhaké:ton is left blinking numbly at the space where his father had been a moment before. "What—"

Desmond gets it first, and starts laughing. He moves forward, sharp and sure, and scoops something into his hands. "Normally I can't stand squirrels," he says. "But…" he trails off, grinning with more genuine good cheer than Ratonhnhaké:ton has seen from him so far, and cradling the little bundle of fur in the crook of one arm. "This one I like."

"Father?" Ratonhnhaké:ton demands, staring at the… well, Desmond's got it right. It is, in fact, a squirrel. Connor actually laughs at the sight, not with any particular humor, but still. "You met a squirrel as your spirit animal one of the times when you took the tea? Really?"

"Well, why not?" Desmond asks. "The king uses the tea to enhance his army in my time, and I've seen people with worse forms than squirrel."

"What could be worse than squirrel?" Connor asks, and Ratonhnhaké:ton (still looking at his father) thinks the squirrel actually manages to look offended at this. It's an impressive expression for such a small and… well, fluffy, animal. Ratonhnhaké:ton can't keep himself from smiling, just a little, and he reaches out a finger to rub up against the squirrel's tiny head. His father responds by puffing up his tail, but doesn't try to move away.

"Well, there's cat," Desmond says. "I hate cats, the smell just…" he makes a face that leaves Ratonhnhaké:ton in absolutely no doubt about his descendant's feeling on cats. Not that this surprises him much, from a man that's spent his entire life as part wolf. "I saw a butterfly once, and that was pretty useless. And a worm. Oh, and this one time I saw a trout, which sucks because we were miles away from any kind of water. And—"

"Alright, Desmond," Ratonhnhaké:ton interrupts. "We get it—squirrel isn't the worst choice."

His father is starting to stir restlessly in Desmond's hand, and so he lets him go. The squirrel bolts, and vanishes quickly. Ratonhnhaké:ton breathes in, deeply, trying to remember the scent for later (just in case). He catches Desmond doing the same thing out of the corner of his eye, and the two of them share a sheepish expression.

Well. Tonight certainly seems to be turning out as strangely as all the days before it.

Haytham has never been extraordinarily proud of his ability to turn into a small, furry rodent. Ziio had laughed herself silly when she saw the effects of the tea for the first time, laughed until she couldn't breathe. It had been the first spirit animal Haytham met after drinking the tea, and at the time her laughter had seemed like an insult. It had driven him to drink the tea again (and again) until she finally told him she did not care what form he wore, as long as he was with her, and with Ratonhnhaké:ton.

By this time, Washington had already declared himself king. He had cut a bloody path through both the assassins and the templars, destroying both orders in the Americas. Haytham had been one of the few on either side to survive, and for a while he had considered revenge. Many of his closest friends, the people he trusted had been mown down by that madman.

The one thing that stopped him was Ziio. She had struggled, giving birth to their son, and the effort had almost killed her. In the aftermath of the loss of the men he was supposed to have been able to protect, Haytham couldn't stand to lose the woman he loved as well. It was a few years of calm, before… well, before everything went wrong, and Haytham had been captured by the king's men.

Until that one, disastrous day, Haytham had almost believed everything would be alright. He could stay with his family, watch his son grow up, teach him the kinds of things Haytham's own father had never had time to tell him. And in the meantime, while Ratonhnhaké:ton was still a child, Haytham had planned to enjoy every moment they had together.

Ratonhnhaké:ton had even managed to change Haytham's opinion on being part squirrel. He'd loved being able to curl up at Ratonhnhaké:ton's side when his son was in infant, and he'd loved even more the feel of Ratonhnhaké:ton's pudgy, childish hands wrapped around him when he'd gotten a little older, petting and playing with him. Haytham hadn't ever figured out how to be a good father, but at least with this one form, he'd been able to make his son happy.

And it's useful for one or two more things, besides amusing Ratonhnhaké:ton (and, apparently, Desmond). Even with the streets warming with soldiers, he passes entirely unseen through them all. He darts away from the place where he'd left the other three, trying to ignore the obnoxious, foreign part of his mind that still insists being a squirrel is (unnatural, embarrassing, and strange). Because it isn't, really, it's just the way he is now, and—

(If being a glorified rat is so incredibly helpful, why didn't you use it in all the years you were in prison? You could have slipped between the bars and been gone in a day.)

The question is so unexpected and so utterly unwanted, coming as it does from himself, that Haytham momentarily loses control of his own limbs. His legs (it's been a while since he's tried running on all fours like this) stutter and freeze underneath him, and Haytham goes tumbling head over heels for several feet, landing in a puddle of foul smelling water.

He has his reasons for not trying to escape all those years. He doesn't need to go back over them in his own mind, (although it's funny, you know, that I can see everything else in your mind but I can't get anywhere near that). All that matters is that he had deserved it. Haytham would have been content to stay in that pit underground for whatever he had left of his life, if Ratonhnhaké:ton (and Connor) had not come for him.

Haytham eventually reaches his destination, and remembers to shift back to human before coming into sight of the man he's come to meet. This part of town is nearly deserted, so that Haytham spots his contact at once. In the darkness, and at this distance, he's nothing but a dark shadow leaning against a fence. Haytham has to get awfully close before he is able to make out any additional details.

The man is incredibly thin, almost gaunt (but then, times have been hard, in this world. No one here looks quite as healthy as they should). His hair is tied back from his face in a neat, almost severe fashion, and when he looks at Haytham his face is lined from worry. Still, he straightens as Haytham comes closer, so that Haytham gets a better look at his oddly mismatched clothing. In any other place, and in any other time, a man dressed in this mix of assassin and templar robes would have been shunned by both sides. Here, and now, with a bigger enemy facing them, he's more of a helpful link between those few on both sides that remain.

"Shay," Haytham says tiredly, and the man nods back at him.

"Sir," he says. "We're ready to move, just as soon as you are."

Haytham smiles, without any real cheer. "I believe my son is going to attempt to take the ship himself if we don't move quickly."

"Ah!" Shay manages a smile of his own, and his looks a little brighter than Haytham's. "Then I suppose we should start as soon as possible. And anyway, I want my ship back."

"(It's not your ship!)" Haytham says, far too loudly. Shay stares at him, but as Haytham hasn't (and doesn't plan to) explain that there are two of him in his head, he has no explanation to offer. "I apologize," he says stiffly.

"Sir," Shay says again, somewhat stiffly. Then he sighs. "Never mind. I imagine you're still recovering from the king's prisons."

Haytham nods, grateful for the excuse, then jerks his head back the way he had come. "Do you need to get your people together before we head back?"

Shay points at the rooftops around them, and when Haytham squints, he can just see half a dozen shadowy forms waiting there. "They'll follow," Shay says. "And I've a crew arranged and waiting by the docks. I told them to wait until we take the Aquila back. No reason for them to put themselves in danger while we fight."

"Good," Haytham says, and they start walking, sticking to the side streets and accompanied every step of the way by their silent, rooftop escort. After a few blocks, Haytham says, "Shay?"

"Yes?"

"Before I was taken by the king's men, you were well on your way to joining the Templars. Now I find you caught between our side and the assassins. And I'm not implying it isn't useful, because it is." Combining forces like this is an admirable idea, the only way Haytham can think of to effectively fight the king. "I just have to wonder."

Shay shrugs uncomfortably. "I suppose I saw that we had a larger threat than each other," he says. "And I had been on both sides of the fight. No one else stepped up to bring us all together, so… I did." He laughs shortly. "Not that either side really likes me much."

"And… The Morrigan?"

An expression of true pain and loss crosses Shay's face. "Lost," he says. "The King burned her, five years back now. She was docked, and I was elsewhere in the city. By the time I found out..." He takes a breath. "Anyway. I captain the Aquila now as there's no one else left that know how, and she's a fine ship. But she's not truly mine."

Haytham nods understandingly.

(Of course she's not yours,) a part of him thinks, smugly. (Connor is by no means a perfect son, but he certainly can sail, and this is his ship.)

-/-

The initial distraction of the battle keeps Connor from worrying too much about who it is that's taken his ship in this world. He and Desmond are useless in this, given that they can't even be seen by most of the combatants, but it's important that they get on the ship before the fight is over, to prevent it from setting sail and leaving them behind. He isn't sure exactly what would happen then, since neither of them can get far from Ratonhnhaké:ton, but he assumes it won't be enjoyable.

So they help themselves onto the ship, and Connor allows himself a few moments of peace to look around. The Aquila looks unbelievably familiar, it looks—it feels—like home, it even smells exactly the same. Connor breathes deeply, taking in the smell of the wood, of the sea around them, and that scent does what nothing else has managed to do since he's arrived here.

It makes him afraid. Suddenly, Connor is terrified that he will never get home. It's alright for his father, mixed up so closely with the version of himself from this world there barely seems to be a distinction between the two of them. And Desmond can leave his animus thing whenever he likes, he can go home. Connor is the only one facing the possibility of spending the rest of his life as a ghost.

"Connor?" Desmond says, and Connor jumps a little. He hadn't been expecting to be interrupted just then.

"What?"

"Are you okay?" Desmond asks. "You look kind of out of it."

Connor almost waves Desmond off. He has gotten by just fine for the entirety of his life without letting people in. But then again… he's never quite faced anything like this world. Connor looks at Desmond, and frowns deeply. "I want to go home," he admits, quietly. "It's not much, my world. I've made so many mistakes that sometimes I don't think I'll ever make them right again. But it's home. I miss it. And I miss my ship."

Desmond is quiet, which Connor is grateful for. He doesn't imagine that there's anything anyone can say to make him feel better, and platitudes will certainly only make him feel worse. So he and Desmond just stand at the rail in silence, watching the fight back on the docks as the crew Haytham's people have managed to gather swim out toward them. Connor watches them intently, trying to figure out which one is the ship's captain in this world.

Connor picks him out eventually, a stranger dressed in a very unusual combination of assassin and templar gear. He's a good fighter, Connor has to admit, not quite as good as Haytham but better than Ratonhnhaké:ton. And human, which Connor can appreciate. Haytham stays mostly human throughout, but he does occasionally take advantage of his eagle form to reposition himself and get above the brawl. Connor doesn't see him use the squirrel even once, though. And he knows his father has taken the tea three times, but he doesn't see a hint of whatever the third form is, either. He wonders absently if it's something even worse than squirrel.

"Do you know…" Desmond hesitates, and Connor looks over at him. The younger man is staring at Ratonhnhaké:ton. "In my time, the king controls the tea. He gives it to his soldiers, to make them stronger, and no one else is allowed to drink it. They last a few months or a few years, and then they have to be replaced."

"Why?" Connor asks.

"They go crazy," Desmond says, still watching Ratonhnhaké:ton as he switches seamlessly from wolf to eagle and back and (only occasionally) to his own shape. "They forget that they're human."

Connor has no idea what to say to that, and no time to say it anyway. Just then, the last soldiers fall, and then everyone is rushing on board. The stranger Connor has (apparently correctly) identified as the captain dashes to the wheel, tersely ordering that the ship be untethered. It's all chaos for a while, and Connor stands on the dock, as much out of the way as he can, feeling out of place and useless as someone else as the sails are let out and the ship is carried away from the docks.

Desmond slips away from his side, and crouches at Ratonhnhaké:ton's side to try and coax him out of his wolf form, back to being human. It takes far longer than it should, and at the end of it, Connor is left with unhappy thoughts of madness and the tea piled on top of his homesickness.

They're well underway, and Connor's just starting to think that this day couldn't possibly get any worse, when the lookout shouts that the king's ships are following behind them. And that they are gaining.