Work Text:
“Master Kenway!” Gist was out of breath as he leaned on the frame of Haytham’s doorway.
“Gist.” Haytham carefully put his quill aside before turning to look at the dishevelled man who had barged into his room. “Is anything the matter?”
“It’s Shay, sir.” Gist fidgeted and Haytham felt a twinge of worry inside his chest. Whilst he couldn’t claim to know Gist all that well, he had rarely seen the man this worried. “One of the gangs has taken him. I received this on the Morrigan just a few minutes ago…”
He held out something wrapped in bloody cloth. Haytham managed to hide the shaking in his hands as he took it from Gist. What he couldn’t hold back was the curse leaving his mouth when he unwrapped it.
It was Shay’s belt buckle, embossed with the Tree of Life. It had been a personal gift of Haytham’s to him on the first anniversary of the day of his initiation. What truly made Haytham’s insides turn ice cold, however, was the blood that was smeared all over it. He had no way of knowing for sure, but he would have betted a substantial sum that the blood was Shay’s. Haytham’s hand was clenched so tightly around the buckle that he could feel the edge digging into his palm. It was the only thing that cut through the spreading numbness of fear in his chest.
“Was there any other message?”
Gist nodded and handed him a small piece of paper. Haytham read it and, without a further word, walked over to where the embers were still glowing in the fireplace. He watched as they set the paper alight, flames curling the edges and eating the poisonous words.
“Master Kenway?” Gist sounded hesitant when Haytham didn’t move and simply stared at the fireplace instead until the paper had finished burning.
“Yes, Gist.”
“Are you….” Gist swallowed and tried again. Usually Haytham would have spared at least a small ounce of sympathy for the obvious anxiety of the usually so boisterous man, but right now he had little to give. “What are your plans, sir?”
Haytham was already busy reaching for his cloak and filling his pockets with as much extra ammunition and hidden weapons as he could.
“Fight, naturally,” he told Gist. “I doubt these bandits are quite prepared for what is coming at them.”
“You’re…going alone, sir? Would you like me to fetch Lee or Johnson?”
“Quite right, Mister Gist. I am going alone. I assume you read the note as well as I did.” Haytham made sure that the hidden blade was strapped securely to his arm, testing the mechanism twice before he was satisfied. The numbness inside him was slowly giving way to a rage that burned colder than even the midnight sun that Shay was so fond of.
“Yes, Grand Master. Sir. Uh. Would you at least allow me to fetch backup in case there is any…trouble?” Gist seemed to be more than a little flustered by Haytham’s quick deeds and decisiveness.
“If you insist. Do take care that none of them are going to be discovered, however. I will not risk Shay’s life to save my own.”
“Sir.” Gist still appeared petrified when Haytham brushed past him and stepped out of the building. The sun seemed unbearably bright for a moment and Haytham blinked at the sudden light. The words from the note kept buzzing around his mind like angry bees - he would be dammed if he would let even a single one of the gang members get away with this. To abduct someone for the purpose of revenge was one thing; to kidnap a man to get to another was quite something else.
Haytham barely noticed the people jumping of his way as he walked down the street. Had he asked, they would have told him that his gaze was promising one thing and one thing only: a swift death to anyone who would dare stand in his way. Haytham wasn’t quite sure whether he should be thankful or appalled at the gang’s audacity to have chosen a meeting place so close to the inn he was residing at.
We have Cormac. If you want him back alive, Grand Master, come alone.
He didn’t know whether they knew of the exact nature of his relationship with Shay. They had taken the utmost care of keeping it secret, but perhaps they hadn’t been as careful as they’d thought. No matter whether their enemies did or didn’t know, however – they would all die either way.
Despite the white-knuckled anger broiling inside him, Haytham approached the building carefully. He would be of no use to Shay if he was assassinated before he even entered; and despite occasional evidence to the contrary, as Shay so delicately called it, he did indeed want to hang on to his life for just a while longer. Staying in the shadows, he chose one of the nearby rooftops to advance, taking out the first of the gang’s guards from behind a chimney. He choked the second one unconscious just as he heard a noise from inside the building. It was Shay, screaming, and the sound of it set something inside him on fire.
Haytham advanced on another guard, killing him with his hidden blade by jumping down from above, hoping that no one else had heard the man’s cut-off shout. Unfortunately, he had no idea how many were waiting for him inside the warehouse; even his special sight could only show him so much. And there was always the risk that, instead of attacking him, they would threaten or kill Shay as soon as he showed himself as anything but meek and willing to comply. And knowing Shay, ‘meek’ was as far from his personality as ‘forgiving’.
Taking a deep breath, Haytham sheathed his weapons, made sure that his hidden blade was invisible and fully functionable and walked inside.
*
Shay groaned.
This day had certainly not turned out as expected. Instead of being on his way back to Haytham’s temporary quarters for what had promised to be a very nice evening, he instead found himself bound hands and feet to a rather unstable chair with a mighty headache and a throbbing elbow. He’d been passing in and out of consciousness for quite some time since the earlier scuffle that had led to him being in such a predicament in the first place, probably helped greatly by the repeated application of a dagger’s pommel to his temple. It was a miracle that he was still alive and hadn’t bled out through his ears at this point.
Great. Just what he needed today.
The fact that he seemed to be inside a disused brewery wasn’t exactly helping; the stench of half-fermented ale remnants and rotting grain only compounded his headache and almost had him gagging. There was also the smell of blood in the air, and after carefully moving his limbs he determined that it had to be coming from the cut above his aching elbow. Not too dangerous, but certainly deep enough to require stitching and make him lose more than a little blood. Yes, he’d definitely have preferred an evening in bed with Haytham to whatever mess it was that he found himself in now.
“He’s awake.” The voice came from somewhere to his side and Shay turned his head to catch a look at the invisible speaker, regretting the movement immediately when the pain in his skull intensified.
“Indeed, I am,” he gritted out. All his quick glance to the side had shown him was a blur of orange cloth and a non-descript face. It could have been any of the gangs he’d fought with in the past; there certainly wasn’t any shortage of them.
“Good.” The figure on his side finally stepped into view. There was little to his features that was memorable save perhaps the long scar on one cheek. “Do you know who I am?”
“No?” Shay said honestly. He’d gotten into fights with so many assassins and assassin-allied gangs that it was hard to keep count and his memory for faces had never been the best. The man in front of him scowled, looking, of all things, slightly hurt.
“We fought two years ago when you and your despicable Grand Master took our headquarters. You’re the reason I lost everything, the reason for this-“ he indicated his scar and their less-than-glamorous surroundings. “The reason for everything that has gone wrong since then. And you say you don’t remember me?”
“Uh.” Shay wasn’t quite sure whether he was supposed to apologise, but he truly had no memory of this specific encounter. Somehow, however, it seemed unwise to mention as much. “Perhaps, I-“
“Your arrogance is boundless, Shay Cormac.” The man in front of him seemed visibly upset now, even as Shay was still trying to process the situation. “Carelessly destroying people’s lives and not even remembering them. Well, I am glad that you will bear witness to your Grand Master’s demise. No doubt he’s on his way here already, given the message we sent him.”
“I- what? Hay- Master Kenway is coming?” Shay resisted the urge to shake his head again in order to clear his thoughts. He should really, really not be as delighted about this fact as he was. And slightly ashamed that the Grand Master of his Order, that Haytham would have to come liberate him from a rather embarrassing situation. Perhaps he should make some leeway towards freeing himself. It would be unfair to leave all the fun to Haytham, after all. Especially since he was quite sure that he wasn’t responsible for everything he was being accused of. Taking down the gang headquarters? Yes. But the rest? Certainly not. Whilst killing those he hunted still filled him with the tiniest sliver of guilt, he had little remorse left when he was the one being attacked and, in this case, kidnapped first.
“He is, and alone at that. At least if he values your life at all.” The gang leader gave a dark laugh.
“You…used me as a pawn to force him to deliver himself into your hands? You purposely angered Haytham Kenway?” It was all that Shay could do to stop himself from gaping at their stupidity. Had they truly thought that this was their best shot at defeating the Templars? “My condolences.”
The slap came within a second, connecting with his head and sending both Shay and the chair he had been tied to crashing backwards. Shay was fairly sure that he blacked out again for a few moments as a sharp arrow of pain shot through him. Well. Haytham had always told him to mind his tongue.
He wriggled his hand experimentally even as a boot connected with his ribs. Shay groaned, spat out the blood that had accumulated in his mouth, and kept on working on the rope that bound his hands. The chair had begun to splinter from the impact, the sharp edges of wood more than suitable for the purpose of freeing him.
Whoever had kicked him in the ribs seemed to have a penchant for putting boots to chests, adding several cracked and broken ribs to the slowly growing repertoire of Shay’s injuries. If they didn’t stop soon he was going to get truly angry. Or pass out. Chances for either occurring first were about equal now, he estimated. At least his hands should be free in a moment.
“Not so witty now, hm?” The leader asked, planting one of his boots on Shay’s chest and applying pressure ever so lightly. Shay ground his teeth to keep from crying out.
“No, not witty,” he agreed when he could breathe again. “But very, very angry instead.” And with that he rammed one of the broken chairs’ wooden shards into the man’s leg. He buckled and went down with a scream at the same moment that Shay snatched a sword, cut his legs loose from the chair ‘s legs and dragged himself upright. Every inch of his body protested, but he’d had worse and the gang leader didn’t exactly prove much of a challenge. He stepped forwards for a slash, then aside as his opponent parried and into his range, grabbing the man’s sword with one gloved hand and pulling him forwards, directly onto the tip of his own weapon.
As his victim fell sideways his legs tangled with Shay’s own, pulling him down as well. Shay felt a scream rip from his lungs as his already battered ribs collided with the floor, fighting the unconsciousness attempting to pull him down.
He rolled onto his back – and narrowly escaped another sword aimed directly at his face. Shay cursed, wishing for a moment that his kidnappers hadn’t taken away his hidden blades in a moment of unusual intelligence. At least one of his hands was still clutching the weapon he had picked up earlier, something that his opponent apparently hadn’t noticed. He buried the blade deep in the man’s side and cursed his ill-fated luck when his victim collapsed right on top of him and his damaged chest. It took considerable effort to roll the corpse off him and once he did, he was greeted by the sight of Haytham standing in the warehouse’s entrance hall, flanked by two guards and, well, gaping.
“Where are your weapons?” Shay yelled, just as two other gang members decided to attack. By the sound of it the rest of their small group wasn’t far behind. At least Haytham was wise enough not to say anything, but simply use his hidden blade instead and utilise the guards’ confusion. They fell to his blade far more quickly than Shay’s opponents did. As soon as they died, the rest of the gang decided that one last effort to try and kill them was evidently preferable to fleeing.
“I was under the impression that I had to rescue you,” Haytham told him, just as he dispatched the woman who had been about to stab Shay in the side.
“Rescue seemed to be going great, judging from the way you came in weaponless and accompanied by two guards,” Shay panted, begging his ribcage to hold his chest together just for a few more moments. He winced when he had to turn again, cutting off another assailant’s attempt to stick a sword through Haytham’s back. Haytham turned and sliced the man’s throat with his hidden blade before continuing.
“Well. I did have a plan,” he sighed. Shay groaned, stepping out of the way to let Haytham face the last two of the guards, lamenting the loss of his pistols and rifle. They would have made things much easier. Then, however, it was always a joy to watch a true blade master at his work. He didn’t even attempt to hide the admiration in his gaze as he watched Haytham deal a swift death to his opponents. Haytham only raised his eyebrows when he looked over at him.
“My thanks for your help,” he said flatly.
“You did say that you were going to rescue me,” Shay pointed out. “So I thought I’d let myself be rescued instead of doing it all on my own. Let you salvage some of your pride.”
“I appreciate it.” His voice dripping with sarcasm, Haytham bent down to clean his sword on the dead guards’ clothes. Shay was about to continue teasing him, but at this exact moment the high of the fight finally ran out. He had to hold on to a couple of crates to keep from falling over as the wave of exhaustion and pain rolled over him.
“Shay?” Haytham’s voice seemed miles away. The man himself was close to him within seconds, offering a steadying arm and guiding him to sit down on one of the crates. “Are you injured?”
“Ngh.” Shay took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. He made vague fluttering hand movements towards his head and torso. “Ouch,” he said.
Haytham stared at him blankly for a moment, before he sighed.
“Stay, and rest for a moment. I’ll retrieve our things before we leave.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Shay murmured, leaning back against the crates and trying to ignore both the throbbing of his head and the various spots of pain blossoming on his body. His gaze followed Haytham as he rummaged around the room, collecting his own weapons and all of Shay’s possessions that he was able to find. There was still something tightly drawn about his movements, like he was barely holding back a shout. One of the men they had fought earlier groaned when Haytham stepped past him, fingers scrabbling for a weapon.
Haytham whirled around, his hidden blade finding its aim between the man’s ribs, right in his heart.
“Thank you for giving me a reason,” he hissed as he leaned over to watch the life drain from the man’s eyes. Shay didn’t have to be close to know what it looked like. He had seen it more than once before. When Haytham moved again, part of the tension had drained from his body. It didn’t take him long to collect the last of their things, before returning to Shay. It only took a few moments to return most of his possessions to their rightful place. Shay noticed that his belt buckle was still missing but it couldn’t be helped – he was glad to have almost everything else back in one piece.
“We should leave,” Haytham said, slinging Shay’s arm over his shoulders without prompting. “Come on.”
If Shay leaned a little more heavily into him than was strictly necessary, Haytham didn’t comment on it.
An hour later they had safely taken care of all his bruises and scraps, and after Haytham had sent message to Gist that Shay was safe and his reinforcements not needed, he had insisted that Shay spent the night in his room.
“Would’ve done that either way,” Shay pointed out with a suggestive smile. Haytham rolled his eyes.
“Yes. But in a rather different manner, I suspect. And without forcing me to stay awake all night to check whether there aren’t any after effects of all those hits to the head you received.”
“You shouldn’t worry that much about me, sir. I’ll be fine.” Shay yawned. Haytham only expelled a long-suffering sigh in response before he rummaged around on his desk. He returned to Shay’s bedside moments later, dropping something in his lap.
“I almost forgot to give this back,” he said with false levity. “I thought it would be prudent to wash off the blood first before returning it.”
“Ah.” Shay fingered the belt buckle with the tree of life on it before he looked up at Haytham again. It didn’t take much to piece together what had happened.
“Do you think they knew?” he asked, very quietly. “About us?”
Haytham looked at him for a moment, expression indecipherable and lips pressed together tightly.
“It does not matter,” he finally said. “They are all dead now.” He reached out, his fingers ghosting over Shay’s chest where bruises where already starting to show. “And if I could, I would bring them back to life and kill them all again for what they did to you.”
Shay grasped his hand and brought it up to his lips with a smile. He kissed the knuckles gently, his lips lingering over Haytham’s skin.
“Ever the romantic, sir.”
Haytham’s fingers twitched, but he looked away from Shay’s gaze.
“You realise that this would not have happened if you weren’t so…close to me.” His voice was filled with repressed anger (at the attackers, Shay had no doubt), worry, and a lingering sense of shame that Shay had heard only very rarely. He frowned.
“Don’t,” he said. He lowered Haytham’s hand away from his lips but didn’t let go and squeezed tightly when Haytham opened his mouth to say something in response. “Don’t, Haytham. I won’t hear it. Did you think I wasn’t aware of what would happen when I decided to carry things further between you and I? Do you truly think me so weak that I am unable to defend myself against those who would use me to bring you harm? You are many things, Haytham Kenway, but I didn’t take you for a stupid man.”
“And what was it that happened today then? Every single one of your injuries you sustained because of me.” Haytham’s anger was still there in his voice, a tightly coiled snake ready to strike out at any moment. It was then that Shay understood that it wasn’t so much anger at his kidnappers, or at least not only; much of it seemed directed at Haytham himself.
“In the same vein I could point out that they were sustained because I wasn’t good enough at defending myself or because I made the decision to keep jumping into bed with you,” Shay pointed out. “Haytham, I am mature enough to make my own choices. Allow me the agency to do so.”
The tension in Haytham’s body lessened a little, but didn’t disappear completely.
“If you were to die because of me, I would never forgive myself.” The words were spoken softly, an acknowledgement of everything that Shay had said and Haytham’s own fears lying hidden deep within.
“If I die because of you, I promise to come back and haunt you until the end of your days,” Shay smiled. There was an answer evidently about to leave Haytham’s lips, but he swallowed the words, forcing a small smile in return instead.
“Then let us hope that this will never be the case. I'm not sure I could stand your continued presence with no chance to leave,” he said lightly, making Shay laugh.
“And here I thought my presence was always a delight to you,” he teased back.
“Hardly,” Haytham deadpanned. Shay grinned and would’ve thrown a pillow at his face hadn’t it been too much work to wriggle away from the ones stuffed behind his back.
“So I take it there is no chance of…more pleasant things happening tonight?” he asked. Haytham shook his head.
“None. You should try and sleep; I have some writing to finish either way, since I was so rudely interrupted by news of your abduction earlier.”
“Apologies for interrupting your undoubtedly extremely important Templar business,” Shay yawned. “Trust me, I would’ve avoided it if I could.”
“I have no doubts about that.” Haytham’s fingers curled around Shay’s for a moment before he withdrew his hand from his grasp and made his way to his desk. Shay pulled out some of the pillows from behind his back until he was able to lie down comfortably and watch Haytham work. The scribbling of Haytham’s quill, the soft rustling of the pages he was working with and occasional sigh that escaped his lips made Shay smile and slowly lulled him into sleep. The last conscious thought he had was a single word, standing stark and warm in his mind, enveloping him like a lover’s embrace.
Safe.