The Assassin Bureau: Imagines and Preferences

The Journal: Haytham Kenway x Reader

You smirked, tucking your hands behind your back and tossing your attention towards the tense and furious Achilles. You weren't afraid of the old man but you were a bit cautious about Connor. He was a trained Assassin albeit he was younger than you. You had more experience which might put you at an advantage if things didn't go well.

You finally returned your attention to the youth. "He doesn't know I'm here. I wanted to..." You released a soft sigh, swaying your weight between your feet. "He's a good man, Connor. Whatever you think you know..."

"I know enough," growled Connor, the calmness of a swelling storm before the rain.

You squeezed your hands together, wishing you had gotten to Connor before Achilles could manipulate him. Your brows caved beneath grief. Haytham would have been a good father if he had been given the opportunity. "The journal will prove it to you. I beg you. Read it."

Achilles shuffled to the side, motioning towards the foyer. "I think we have heard enough. Return to your Templars with whatever knowledge you sought."

You peered over at him and shook your head in dismay. "As ignorant as ever, Achilles. I came here for this reason alone. I'm not spying."

Achilles scoffed. "Says the traitor."

"You should talk to him about Shay. You should tell him what really happened to your leg." You stepped past him, fully intent on leaving, but you reached the doorway and looked over at Connor. "His birthday is in a few days. It would mean a great deal if you showed up."

Connor made no reply but your trained eye saw the change in him clearly. His hardened defences were somewhat softened by that comment. He even looked a tad bit wounded about it but he said nothing as you left the manor and returned to your horse.

~:~

"I simply do not understand how I managed to misplace it." Haytham was hunched over at his desk, rifling through drawers and gathered books. He even went so far as scattering stacks of paper as if the thick journal could be found beneath them. He gave a sigh and paced away from the desk towards the bookshelves along the wall.

"Haytham." You watched him run his fingers over each book in search for the familiar leather. You said it more firmly when he hadn't responded, "Haytham. I stole it."

Haytham was too caught up in his own thoughts, muttering irritably, "Surely, I did not leave it in New York when last we were there. I could have sworn I just wrote it in last week."

You groaned, marching across the den towards the bookshelf. You squeezed your body between it and him, your hands snagging firmly onto the lapels of his jacket. "Haytham, listen to me."

"My dear," he whispered softly, eyes glazing over as he leaned closer. "Please, let me find it before you seduce me into going upstairs."

You chuckled, a light hearted sound that Haytham always drew out of you. "I stole it. It's gone."

"You what?" He jolted at that bit of knowledge. "Gone? Is this some ploy to get me to stop working for the day? I've only been in here for a little over an hour and I still--"

"Haytham." You pressed the tips of your fingers against his soft, thin lips. "I'm sorry but I..." You tightened the grips your fingers held on his jacket. You pressed yourself against his frame, sighing when you could rest your chin on his shoulder.

His arm slipped around you and squeezed. "What is it, darling?"

"I wanted him to know you." Your voice was so soft you weren't even sure he heard you. "I wanted him to know the real you and the only time you're ever honest is when..."

A shiver ran through him, a tremble that tightened his hold. "Who? Who did you give it to?"

"Connor." You sank your teeth into your lip.

Haytham sucked down a breath of air that sounded like a mix between a gasp and a painful sob. His breathing was shallow, chest rising quickly with your own. His hold on you all but vanished as he moved back towards his desk. He tapped his fingers onto its surface as he was trying to organize his thoughts.

"You need to get to know him." You wrapped your arms around yourself against the cold and the loss of his touch. "I need you to know him. He's your son."

"An Assassin," he retorted.

"Don't you dare," you hissed. "I know you're true feelings. You need this. And he doesn't know the whole story. He's only getting half of what's happening."

He pressed a hand against his face before dropping down into his chair.

You trailed over, each step slow and gentle until you reached him. You carefully sat down in his lap, curling into his chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'm sorry for not getting permission. I knew you would be against it."

"Ah, so you chose to do it all the same." He scoffed but his arms embraced you tenderly. "I suppose this isn't the worse news I've received on my birthday."

You pressed your smile into his neck. "Can we have dinner now?"

He gave a moan of approval. "Yes, my dear. Lead the way."

You took a moment to enjoy his warmth, the peppery aroma that clung to his skin, the subtle sweetness of vanilla beneath it all. You got to your feet before you pressing a soft and chaste kiss against his lips.

The corners of his mouth curled. "You are too good to me."

You gave a crooked smile before sauntering towards the doorway. "I know."

He huffed at that just as a muffled knock rattled against the front door. His brows pinched as he got to his feet, leisurely making his way over as you opened the door. He stilled in the den's doorway, eyes locked on the features of his son. His breath even caught in his throat as he peered over at you.

"Connor," you smiled sweetly, motioning him inside. "We were just about to have dinner. Would you like to join us?"

He lifted the leather bound journal into view. "I read it as you asked."

Your words were softer, a nervousness that churned inside of your stomach. "And your thoughts on it?"

His grip tightened on the journal but not out of anger. There was no anger in him. It was the tightening hold of a man who held a memento of his father. "I am... uncertain."

Haytham cleared his throat, hands tucked neatly behind him as he swaggered forward. "You should join us. There will be far more than the two of us can eat on our own. It would be... a waste, otherwise."

You rolled your eyes. "What Haytham is poorly trying to say is... Please, stay."

Connor glanced at the journal in his grasp before giving a minor nod.

Your heart raced as you motioned him inside, leading the way to the dining room. "Haytham has been working most of the day and I only just got the food on the table. It's still warm, I hope."

"Thank you. It has been some time since I've enjoyed a warm meal." Connor followed at your heels impatiently, the instincts of an Assassin itching to life. You held those same instincts most of the time. He finally stepped ahead of you and examined the space with sharp alertness.

Haytham stopped you before you could follow him. His large hands cupped each side of your face and pressed your lips against his. He pulled away and muttered weakly, "What have you done?"

You whispered quite proudly, "What you could not do yourself."

Connor cleared his throat, not at all pleased at the shows of affection. He was already sitting down at the table with a glower that looked all too much like Haytham's. "Should I begin without you? Because... I already have."

You laughed and walked towards the table. Very much like Haytham's sass, as well.

"Well," Haytham sighed as he took his seat. "Let us eat then."