There's no gunpowder to spare on a battle just now, and the men Shay has found to crew the Aquila are less experienced than they could be. Haytham is sure they will do their best—it is, after all, their own lives on the line—but he has a frankly low opinion of their chances in a full out battle.
"Shay," he calls, striding toward the ship's wheel, next to where Connor stands, invisibly, watching Shay's work with eyes like a hawk's. "What are our chances here?"
The younger man's face is tense and worried, and gives Haytham his answer even before Shay says a word. "We're sailing with less crew than we should," he says. "And most of them are out of practice and underfed. The Aquila hasn't been sailed in a while, and she's not in perfect shape. And the ships coming after us are larger and faster, and presumably better manned." He gestures hopelessly at the cliffs ahead of them. "We can try to lose them in shallow waters, but frankly…"
"No," Haytham says. "If our chances are that poor, we won't take the risk."
Connor shakes his head. "He's right," he admits. "It's not a good option, but it's the only option."
"Sail toward deeper waters," Haytham tells Shay.
"They'll catch us," Shay protests.
"That's what I'm counting on," Haytham says. "I can't stop them unless they get close."
Shay looks at him, sizing him up and… and yes, there it is. His expression, which until now has been polite and even respectful, slips suddenly into a kind of guarded fear. Clearly, he has heard the rumors. Haytham had heard them too, in the confused, fearful days before he was captured by the king's men and shoved so deeply underground he'd thought they were trying to carry him straight to hell.
The rumors had been bad enough back then, decades ago. Haytham can only imagine how much farther they've spun out of control in the years since. He'd half hoped that what he'd done would have been forgotten, out of sight out of mind, but apparently he's not that lucky. Going by the reaction Shay had had (and is in fact still having, as he hasn't relaxed an inch), they have only gotten worse in the past two decades.
"You really shouldn't," Shay says quietly. "You really, really shouldn't."
"(And the world shouldn't be like this)," Haytham says, firmly. "(It should be better." Any sacrifice is worth making things better, getting this world back to somewhere worth living. No matter what that sacrifice might be.) But this sacrifice might end up being too big, bigger than that foreign part of his mind is capable of realizing.
"But what about the danger you'll be putting us in?" Shay asks. "It's no good escaping the other ships if—"
"I'll be careful," Haytham promises.
"You haven't done this in a while," Shay points out. "And the one time you did, it was… well forgive me, but it was rather a disaster."
Haytham looks at him. "Then run," he says. "The moment you see our pursuers are too close to turn, order full sails and get away from here as quickly as you can." He doesn't allow Shay another chance to protest. Instead, he turns and looks over the ship's side. (He can almost feel Connor bursting to question him, and after the time they have spent together, in both worlds, He brushes Connor aside, feeling the boy bristle at the careless dismissal, and waits to find out what secret is so big that he cannot even think of it, cannot even find these memories within his own mind. The tea, perhaps? Or-) The tea, yes. But… well. Soon enough, everyone will see.
Haytham takes a deep breath. Holds it. Jumps into the water off the side of the ship.
He thinks—or imagines, maybe—that he hears Connor shout "No!" as he falls, but then he is sinking, down deep, deep, deep, until he feels his lungs will burst, until the sunlight overhead darkens to absolute blackness, until the part of him that (doesn't understand anything, doesn't know) begins to panic.
His lungs strain for oxygen but this is the ocean, and there is none. None a human can take advantage of, anyway. Every piece of Haytham's body is screaming at him to breathe, his own mind is fighting him for (air, please!) but he doesn't give in. Not quite yet. Just a few moments more. To give the ship a chance to flee. To savor his last few moments as a (drowning, DYING) human.
His vision starts to go black, a deep, cold blackness that has nothing to do with the sunless ocean and everything to do with his brain gradually giving up. He finally, reluctantly, gives in. Opens his mouth. Breathes.
Water rushes into his mouth, and for a moment there is nothing but the choking panic of drowning hopelessness. And then, like a miracle, or a curse, he changes. And although this is, in some ways, no different from becoming a squirrel or an eagle, in other ways it is something entirely, horrifyingly different. Haytham can feel himself growing, stretching, pushing outward, becoming something else, and he hates it. This, whatever it is (and truly, he still has no idea—he has never seen or even heard of an animal quite like this one. Then again, a beast like this belongs to the bottommost depths of the sea, in the dark places where the monsters live, well out of sight of humans).
His mind is fading, instinct taking over. There is no room for petty human concerns in a head that was made for thoughts as wild and deep as the ocean, and Haytham is losing the fight to keep control over himself. His last thought is to hope that somehow, he will be able to find his way out of this monster again.
-/-
A tentacle the approximate size of the Aquila bursts out of the surface of the water with the force of an explosion, and Ratonhnhaké:ton gasps audibly. "What is that?" he demands.
Shay looks over him, frustration and pity mixing uncomfortably on his face. "Your father," he says.
Ratonhnhaké:ton looks at him, just looks, and Shay pulls enough of his attention from steering the ship to raise an eyebrow at him. "What," he says. "No reaction at all?"
"I'm just—trying to process this." Ratonhnhaké:ton stares at the pursuing ships, less now than they had been. Giant tentacles burst from the water, and Ratonhnhaké:ton counts six, seven, eight of them, each as big as a ship. A beast, a… a monster like this shouldn't be possible. Ratonhnhaké:ton hadn't known the tea could do something like this. This is a horror, and Ratonhnhaké:ton tries to imagine what it must feel like to turn into something like that. His imagination utterly fails him—becoming a wolf is strange enough, but this… this is…
"Wow," Connor says, and Ratonhnhaké:ton looks over his shoulder, surprised by his double's sudden appearance. He hadn't even heard Connor come up to him. Connor's face is drawn and sad as he stares at the tentacles, and he looks maybe… worried. "I never thought I would say this, but I… I feel sorry for him."
Ratonhnhaké:ton nods. Just a fraction. Then he turns to Shay. "You don't seem surprised," he says.
"I'm not," Shay tells him. "This isn't the first time he's done this." They're far enough away from the reaching sea monster now that they seem to be out of danger, and Shay seems to be relaxing a little. He doesn't slow the ship down, though.
"I've never heard of anything like this," Ratonhnhaké:ton says.
"Well, you would have been a child then," Shay allows. "It was many years ago, back when we were just starting to realize how dangerous the king can be. There were more of us fighting him back then. Assassins, templars, soldiers from England and boys from here that had never even held a gun before.
"We weren't winning, of course. The king was more powerful than us from the beginning, but we didn't know that. We fought him on every battle front, including here. On the sea. I was to captain the Morrigan—that was my ship, before the king burned her, a few years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Ratonhnhaké:ton says, politely.
"Doesn't give him the right to take other peoples' ships," Connor mutters.
Shay nods in acknowledgment. "The thing is, Haytham contacted me out of the blue the day before the battle. He said he'd heard we were gearing up for a big fight, and he thought he might be able to help. And well—I was surprised, of course. He'd disappeared off the face of the Earth a few years ago, and most of us assumed he'd been killed. And he'd never much liked the sea. But he said he could help, and help was exactly what we needed." He heaves a sigh, and looks over his shoulder. One of the ships has caught fire, and another is being torn in two just at that moment.
"I'm sure you can imagine what happened," Shay says quietly. "This, in a nutshell. Except we didn't know what we were dealing with at the time. We didn't know that there was no defense against that thing except to run. I think there were three ships left at the end of the battle, out of the fifteen that started. I don't know what happened to Haytham after the fight. Captured, I assume. A few months after that, I heard Washington had him in a cell."
"And you never considered helping him escape?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asks.
Shay isn't looking at him. He's looking back at Haytham in the water. "No," he says.
Something in Ratonhnhaké:ton's stomach twists unhappily. It's not that he can't understand why Shay would abandon his father to the king's mercies, but he doesn't like it. So maybe his father is also a terrible, destructive sea monster, uncontrollable as a force of nature. He's still his father.
"Ratonhnhaké:ton," Connor says, jolting Ratonhnhaké:ton out of his thoughts. His face is a good imitation of sympathy, but his eyes seem to say see I told you, he's dangerous and you'd be better off without him. Except no, Ratonhnhaké:ton knows he wouldn't. Ratonhnhaké:ton is not going to lose his father, not to the king, not to death, not even to whatever the tea has made him. Connor had made the choice to push his father away, and the result of that anger is obvious in the anger every time that version of Haytham leaks into his voice.
"What?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asks.
"Ask Shay if we're still going to New York," Connor says. "It might not be the best idea, if Washington sent men after us from Boston. He might know where we're going."
This is patently good advice, regardless of whatever is happening to Haytham, so Ratonhnhaké:ton opens his mouth and repeats the question so Shay can hear.
"No," Shay says. "We—Haytham got rid of these ships, but there could be more lying in wait near New York. We'll dock somewhere else and wait a while, let them think we were sunk in the battle. When they let their guard down, we'll go back and hope to take them by surprise."
"Where, though?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asks. "Is there anywhere safe?"
"There's an old homestead off the coast," Shay says. "It used to be an assassin stronghold, but since the king took over, it's sort of become a place for anyone willing to fight the king. Assassin, templar, anyone else that hears about it."
"Davenport," Connor breathes, and he walks off before Ratonhnhaké:ton can get a good look at his face.
He mumbles an excuse and walks away from Shay. Connor has climbed up a mast (and Ratonhnhaké:ton has no intention of following him. Desmond is nowhere to be seen, pulled out of the animus maybe, and so Ratonhnhaké:ton finds himself a quiet place on the side of the ship, and settles down to think.
-/-
"Did you see that?" Desmond demands, when he sits up from the animus. "Did you see?"
"It must have been a glitch," Shaun says, but his expression when he looks at Rebecca is uncertain. "Right?"
"I don't know," Rebecca says. "That's an awfully extensive glitch, the way everyone's reacting to it."
"It's real," Desmond insists. "You weren't there, you didn't see. Or… smell, I guess. The way everyone was afraid. Why would the smell be a part of the glitch?"
"So—so that was real," Shaun says. "Great. The tea can make monsters like that, and the king is the only one with access to the tea. We're screwed."
"We can't be!" All three of them turn to look at Lucy. She's been silent since Desmond got up from the animus, but the words burst from her in an uncontrolled frenzy, and she stands up from her desk so abruptly that she sends her chair tumbling and her papers flying.
"Lucy," Rebecca says, starting toward her. "Calm down, we'll think of something. And Desmond still has more memories to go through—"
"I have been through too much already," Lucy snaps. Her voice is angry, but she smells terrified. "I can't—after all this—there has to be a way!"
"Lucy!" Shaun calls, but she gives a little sob and bolts from the room.
"What just happened?" Rebecca asks.
"Stress, maybe?" Shaun asks. "That time of the month? I don't know. Honestly I'm surprised we haven't all cracked under the pressure already."
Rebecca says something after that, but Desmond doesn't hear it. Or he's not listening, anyway. It always takes a while for the weird, surreal feelings of the animus to fade, but as soon as he gets the feeling back in his legs Desmond goes after Lucy.
She's actually left the building, but it's easy for Desmond to follow her scent down the block and into an alley. Desmond hesitates a little in the mouth of the alley, because he can't think of a good reason for Lucy to be here. It looks… sketchy, for lack of a better word. Exactly the kind of place Desmond would have gone out of his way to avoid a few months ago. He almost doesn't follow Lucy any farther, but no sooner has he considered turning around than a little tingle of shame runs through him.
Is this who he is? So afraid and used to hiding that he can't walk down a dimly lit alley? It's certainly not who he wants to be—he can almost hear Haytham scoffing at Desmond's reaction. He can see Connor patiently explaining that there's nothing to be afraid of as long as he's careful and aware of his surroundings. He can smell Ratonhnhaké:ton's confusion ("It's just a little dark, Desmond,"), and he feels ridiculous.
His ancestors are fighting the King for their freedom, and Desmond is supposed to be doing the same thing. He's not going to do very well if he can't follow Lucy into an alley.
So that's what he does, and he finds her sitting on an overturned garbage can, staring glumly at nothing with her chin resting in the palm of her hand. Desmond hesitates a moment, then sits down next to her. "Hey," he says. "Lucy, um… Lucy, are you alright?"
"No," she mutters. She's not looking at him.
"You know—you do know Shaun can be wrong, right? We can still beat the King, even if he does have giant sea monster things on his side." He gives her a hopeful look. "We never thought this was going to be easy, right?"
"Right," Lucy agrees, after a second. "I know, it's just that… Desmond, you have no idea what I've had to give up to be here. I can't give up anything else, I don't have anything left."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Desmond asks.
"Not really." But she reaches hesitantly over, rubbing at the soft fur around the back of Desmond's ears. It's not exactly a surprise. Desmond has noticed that there's something about petting him that seems to calm people down when they're upset, the same way that dogs can cheer people up. Normally Desmond doesn't like it, but there's something about Lucy that makes everything different. She looks nice. She smells better. She almost seems to genuinely like him, for reasons that are utterly beyond comprehension. Desmond wants her to be happy, so he lets her keep going far longer than he would have let anyone else.
And somehow, along the way, he ends up liking it. Lucy's fingers are gentle and she presses against his ears in all the right places. He can't help leaning closer against her, and then all of a sudden—
Well, he's not sure who kisses whom first, but then there they are. Sitting on an upturned garbage can in a dark, dirty alley, Lucy's fingers on Desmond's ears and his in her hair, pressing themselves as close together as possible. To Desmond, it's like something light has suddenly broken through the dark place his life has been going through lately.
"Desmond," she whispers into his ear when the kiss finally ends. "I—this is—"
"Why don't you tell me what's worrying you?" he asks. "What did you have to give up that's got you so upset?"
"Me," Lucy says, after a short pause. "I used to know who I was and what I was doing. But somewhere along the way, all that got lost. My own life isn't about me anymore, it can't be. The only thing that matters is getting rid of the King, and if that happens—well, if that happens, I'll have to face what I've done."
"And what exactly have you done?" Desmond asks.
Lucy hesitates. They are still so close together that he can feel her breath against his face. "I'm a templar now," she whispers at last.