A/N: So here I am again after a few weeks. My mental health has really declined but I have tried my absolute best to finish this nevertheless. Now, I kinda got annoyed with the whole (Y/N) thing. Surely I'm not the only one who reads it as 'whyen' instead of inserting your name, right? Anyway, in place of it, I've just put an underlined space to put your name and I'll edit the other ones as I go. Because why not? I was going to make this chapter way better but I ran out of inspiration, ugh. I want to add the Frye twins now that I've finished Syndicate as well, so there's that to look forward to. Stay alert, I'll return eventually xx
"What are we doing this weekend?" Or, "what's the plan?" Or, "whose turn is it to choose?" By 'whose turn', he referred to the roster you had organised as a group. Taking the time with Arno many weeks ago, you both had made the poster that you currently had rolled up in your bag, decorated with a variety of glittery stickers, coloured markers and fluorescent highlighters, all purely for the hell of it. Since you all forgot whose turn it was this week, you unsheathed the poster from its resting place to give everyone some clarity. Scanning every face in the gang-like circle, you unveiled the truth, flattening out the paper and grinning slyly.
"Guess who's up this week?" Winking, you request for a drum roll, your companions complying without hesitation. "Connor!" Aveline clapped, enthused. Ezio scrunched his face up, displeased when it wasn't his name being called. Altaïr's features hadn't faltered, Desmond shrugged carelessly and most importantly, Connor's reaction. His warm toned skin had paled tremendously, like he'd witnessed a ghost travel past him. If you stared at him long enough, you were sure you could count every freckle across his complexion. He swallowed, uneasy eyes meeting your gaze. For a reason unexplainable to you, he didn't like that he was being nominated for the honour. Connor hummed a few anxiety filled notes, but he found no words worth speaking.
"Looks like 'baby bear' doesn't want his turn, I'll gladly take his!" Ezio mocked, his arm launching into the air and waving like a child seeking the attention of his tutor. "Please, ____?" The Italian pouted profusely, keen to act on whatever plan it was that he had formed in that peculiar brain of his. Frowning, you focused your view back onto the blanched skin of your best friend, who had busied himself with gnawing away at his bottom lip rather than the sandwich that was misshapen by his giant hand.
"Con'?" At the inflection of the calling, you lightly nestled your hand on his broad shoulder, attempting to pull him away from the unknown threat that had been presented before him. "Hey, cub, you still in there?" Your thumb traced the muscles beneath his plain white t-shirt, again trying to snap him out of his trance. A third time, you called for him. "Ratonhnhakè:ton?" This he turned for. You rarely used his birth name during school hours, so this sent the message that you were worried for him. The colour in his cheeks reverted back to their initial tanned tones and the fire you always saw burning in his brown eyes flared, informing you that he was still there. Somewhere.
"I was hoping you would have chosen Ezio, ____." At this, Ezio cheered, seeing this as a point on a non-existent scoreboard. So far, the roster was proving everyone otherwise. "We could do Ezio's activity first, mine would not benefit anyone here." Connor's head lowered to redirect the stares of anyone who dared look his way. Arno's eyes narrowed shamelessly, scowling at Connor's boycott manoeuvre.
"Merde, don't go ruining the schedule. Ezio was last week, remember?" Arno folded his arms tightly, closing himself off, irritated by the memory of the past and the potential barrier of the future.
"But wasn't that fun?" Aveline intervened with some positive comments on the matter. This only made Arno's glare intensify, elaborating,
"Desmond spilled his drink all over my pants, Ezio harassed me the entire night and ____ stole my hoodie and ran away with it. If you think that was fun —" he sank half of his water bottle there and then, evidently replaying the scenes in his head.
"Oh, come on!" You piped up, hinting at Arno. "Admit it, you like me in your hoodie~" you purred, running your fingers through your hair, teasing him for a laugh. Altaïr threw you golden daggers from across the room, that look couldn't be more clear.
"I'm only glad that Ezio didn't break my toes when he dropped the bowling ball." Altaïr's monotone voice cut through, wedging his opinion in the mix. To one side, you heard Ezio crack up, a little too loud to your taste. He apologised hastily in Italian, while doubling over in laughter, thinking of the event.
"If you think Ezio's idea was better than yours Con', you got another thing coming. What did you have planned?" Without a second of delay, Connor blatantly answered you,
"It was not planned." That's when every head turned, staring expectantly at Connor, who had turned the situation on its head. "Father said he'd got a call last night unexpectedly." Your breath hitched and Desmond asked what everyone was thinking simultaneously.
"And?"
"And," Connor carried on, "it was my grandfather, announcing that he would drive down to stay with us for some time. I was hoping to avoid them this weekend because grandfather offered to take me out on his yacht to spend time with him. Please ____, can you choose Ezio's idea? I do not want to socialise with a man I barely know." The boy went back to nibbling on his sandwich, that same look of alarm wouldn't leave his features. At that moment, it felt like the room was empty, no one moved a muscle or even breathed. It wasn't like Connor to mention anyone outside of his household, namely his extended family, so this was out-of-the-blue. Connor's house was your second home and Haytham and Ziio weren't that bad, so why was Connor so highly-strung? You wanted to believe it was just the nerves of meeting a long-lost family member, but something nagging at the back of your mind wanted to say it was something else.
Ignoring your conscience, you hugged Connor side on. Instead of receiving a comforted response, he sat there rigid. You had a tendency to forget Connor wasn't overly keen on physical touch.
"How bad could it be? We'll go with you this weekend and if it's really as awful as you think it is, I promise I won't enjoy any of it. Deal?" Both reluctant and apprehensive, Connor nodded to accept your proposal.
"Same goes for me," Desmond added, raising his arm at a right angle. He supported his claim with an encouraging grin, letting Connor know that he had another player on his team. The words:
"Me too!" from Aveline was all that was needed.
"Same here," Arno and Ezio chimed in perfect unison, leaving a second before making eye contact, both boys a little freaked out. In your peripheral vision, you targeted Altaïr who had his head in his phone. Getting out of your seat, you acted quickly to snatch the device off him to tear his focus back to the original subject. The tactic failed immediately, his fingers glued to the brick. Your eyes were trying to drive home the signal that he was meant to give feedback like everyone else. He averted his gaze, murmuring under his breath,
"I — I am busy this weekend. Sorry." The glare you shot his way was irreplaceable and relentless. Releasing Altaïr's phone, you returned to your seat, surrendering as you reached an impasse in your mind. You wanted proof, but didn't ask for it. You would get the excuse soon enough, even if it took you weeks to do so. Altaïr had a track record of being avoidant of group activities. Not just for a certain period of time, it was a recurring thing and a little tiring having to give him an encouraging nudge to emerge from his hovel for a few hours.
"Well, that settles it then." You forced a light tone of voice, though slightly bothered by Altaïr's behaviour. "Saturday, is it?" You aimed that at Connor, who again responded with a bow of his head. "We'll be there." Making the confirmation, the date was cemented. The only thing you had to tend to now was the weather for the day ahead and easing your best friend's conscience.
***
Leaning back in the comfort of a leather seat, a huff left your lips. You and all the others were piled in the sweltering heat of Haytham Kenway's car. Swiping a bead of sweat from your brow, you groaned, exhausted by the midday heat. Arno's head was cradled by your shoulder, in some attempt to avoid the blazing sunlight streaming through, tinting his features with various honey hues. Ezio was impatiently fanning himself using his hand, the sass he had while performing the action was at its highest level, unable to stop squinting from the light glaring down on him. Aveline sat as tolerant as ever, doing what appeared to be meditating in the very back of the vehicle. Desmond was beside her, on his phone and more bored out of his mind than the rest. Connor was up the front, next to his father, who was frustrated more than anyone that you were all cooped up in the same place for longer than two minutes.
"I should have known, when he says midday, he really means he'll arrive whenever he sees fit. He thinks because he's retired —" your driver growled, rolling down the window, praying a gust of cool wind would announce itself and relieve everyone from overheating. Haytham's gesture was in vain, only allowing more heat to pass through the gaping frame. He heaved an agitated sigh, refraining himself from completing the sentence. Ezio, selecting that he was sick of sitting idle, unclipped his seatbelt and threw open the car door.
"Basta (enough), I'm done waiting. It's hot. If I stay here any longer I'll turn into a puddle. I need a swim." The boy said no more, shifting his body to escape the confinements of the vehicle. Desmond overheard this and wasted no time in following Ezio out into the sparse, sandy beach. The duo got less than a metre away from the car before they had to hold their position. Inquisitive to know what stopped them in their tracks, you peered out the window to locate what caught them unawares.
A scarred, silver ute was pulling up adjacent to Haytham's hatchback, a pristine white sailing yacht being towed behind it. The driver's window was already wound down, bizarre music blasting through its speakers. At the wheel was a weathered man that wore a permanent smile, dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes, greying hair hung loosely around his glowing face. A woman — perhaps two decades his junior — was in the passenger seat, a scowl upon her lips, unamused at the driver and his choice of music. As soon as the vehicle's engine ceased to grumble, she stepped out, along with the beaming man who had this admirable and approachable aura.
"Son!" The older male called out to the driver of the other set of wheels, apparently more thrilled than he was a mere moment ago. Haytham gave a meagre,
"Father," in return, a thin smile forming. It was one that didn't appear genuine, but was one of a faint resurfacing respect. "Jenny," he addressed the woman with a tone that sounded as if he was shining an artificial light on her. There wasn't much warmth, either way, that dispassion was very much reciprocated between the two.
"You guys have fun today. I'll meet you back at Haytham's lodgings Father," the woman, Jenny, dismissed herself as briefly as possible, allowing for the children to scramble out of the car so she could seat herself with her sibling (half-sibling, as you would later discover).
"I'll see you later, my sweet. Look after yourselves," was the reply from her father, frantically and unnecessarily waving, then turning to regard the mob surrounding him. He registered every adolescent's face, then embraced his grandson, tight enough to strangulate the boy. Connor's expression could only spell out one powerful emotion: discomfort. His head turned to search for help, but his last hope for escape was reversing out onto the road, en route back to base. In the process of smothering his estranged grandson, the man blabbered about not seeing Connor since he was an infant and in the midst of that, introducing himself as Edward Kenway. Finally releasing the teenager from his hold, the eldest Kenway vaulted back into his truck, retreating the sailboat into the aqua of the ocean beyond. Ezio wasn't too far away, his exposed thighs engulfed in seawater, arms crossed in dissatisfaction. He had his bottom lip jutting out, giving you the impression that the water wasn't tending to his needs very well. Desmond spent the time dunking his head under the water, relieving himself from perspiring, not caring how transparent his now skin-tight shirt was becoming. Edward was busy setting things up, Connor reluctantly trailing along. Aveline, prepared for rain or shine, rummaged through her bag to pull out a wide-brimmed, flax sun hat that adorned her head in a flash. Arno was joint at the hip with you, cross legged on the searing concrete path, unsettled by the stranger and the unfamiliar occurrences. It appeared that Arno was living up to his oath by not enjoying the outing. But it wasn't how you expected him to not take pleasure in the day — it wasn't fake. He genuinely loathed being around someone he's never met before. Pursing your lips, you hoped this would end soon. So Arno could cheer up, so Connor could relax, so Desmond's boredom would be cured, so Ezio and Aveline wouldn't become crisps in the sun, so you could ensure everyone was content again.
***
"And that's how Blackbeard met his end," Edward wrapped up about his thirtieth story of the afternoon, knocking back the last of his beer, lounging near one edge of the boat, wisps of silver locks fluttering in the breeze. His beige shorts crumpled in the wind and the eldest Kenway had removed his sunglasses to uncover steel-blue irises that were staring intently at you as much as you were at them. You would deny all allegations when Connor asked, but you were sincerely intrigued by Edward's tales from the Golden Age of Piracy. He had told countless narratives on the likes of Mary Read, Anne Bonny, Blackbeard, Jack Rackham and various other pirates he could name from that time. And frankly, you were captivated by every single one of them. Connor's grandfather struck you as quite the storyteller, whether it be from his lifetime or not, and no doubt loved to gossip about others.
"Father warned me this might happen," Connor hissed so only you could detect his voice.
"What do you mean, Cub?"
"He told me that Grandfather has this... unhealthy obsession with pirates. Best not to encourage it, he says."
"Well, you're doing great at the moment," you drawled sarcastically and he scowled the second you finished speaking. You only said that to deter any suspicion away from you; in truth you loved how Edward could passionately rant on for hours whilst he ordered Ezio or Arno — whoever was closer — to pull various ropes to shift the sails to catch the wind better. Arno followed the orders, though eventually got snapped at for pulling the wrong rope once or twice. Ezio on the other hand, didn't feel the need to get up and move, he was perfectly content with lazing about, the cool wind dusting his nose a cute pink colour. Aveline dropped her act altogether and was standing at the bow of the vessel called the Jackdaw, arms spread out wide, clearly re-enacting a scene from Titanic in her imagination. Desmond, thinking it was funny, came up from behind and played the role of Jack for Aveline's Rose. They chuckled about it, awkwardly and comfortably simultaneously. Both you and Connor let the hubbub fade into the background, as it turned out that Edward had heard the final parts of your conversation and was defending his honour with rowdiness.
"It was my job, lad. And I got to travel the world because of it. Ever been to the West Indies? Didn't think so. Ever oversaw excavations and discovered bones of pirates, lad? Nay, you didn't." Connor's lips had morphed into a fine line, while you sat unsettled, tempted to say 'ooh, damn' or 'roasted', or something along those lines. Instead, you kept your mouth shut. Both you and Edward had a silent mutual respect for each other that was forged in the past hours, so you didn't push your luck. It was a rare talent you had, keeping the Kenways from biting one another's heads off. They were a bunch of strong-willed fighters, one way or another. But they did have something they could all agree on: you.
Ziio welcomed you in as an extra member of the family, you were at their house as much as you were at your own after all. You honoured their traditions, loved her cooking and most importantly took the time to learn some Native American to be able to greet and have a brief conversation with her in a language other than English. Connor had known you since you both started high school, and you've stuck by him ever since. His trust for you was immense and he told you everything, knowing his secrets were safe with you. Haytham had taken you in like the daughter he never had, always had something new to teach you and not once forgot your birthday, even when he was stuck at work. There was now Edward, who didn't treat you so much as a child, but as an equal. Undoubtedly because you were the single person actually listening to his stories attentively. Maybe this was what Desmond meant by 'human glue', you kind of had a stick for it.
Upon realising these facts, you were about to open your mouth to prevent any conflict that might occur. Until that is, you were held back from making a stand when Edward's chortle rang out.
"Ah, your father says a lot of things lad, not all of them are true. Nothing is true, remember that," he intoned — a mantra that sounded programmed into him. "Besides, I haven't been around long enough to bore him with old man's tales yet, so I won't be going to a rest home anytime soon." Connor's grandfather flashed a mischievous grin, one you couldn't stifle a giggle from.
Did it matter that you lied to Connor? Lied that you actually were delighted to be on the Jackdaw, with your favourite humans in existence? Well, at least you hoped not. You pitied him, really. The fact he didn't want to be there in the first instance and you forced him to come along. You threw him in the depths. Did you feel any remorse? If so, was it caused by the brown of Connor's eyes that resembled dying embers? He was drained of all energy, you could tell, he had been like this once or twice before, after spending more than enough hours with the rest of the group. You cast your eyes over to Arno to dismiss the faults you caused. He provided no solace either, shooting you a pleading look, like he'd prefer to throw himself into the water than stay a second longer on the Jackdaw. Ezio wasn't very encouraging on his end, now on his phone, the high possibility he was wasting all his mobile data to message Cristina out of restlessness. Thankfully, the last ones with any form of promise attached was Desmond and Aveline, now belting out My Heart Will Go On without bothering to harmonise or even trying to sound whole-hearted about it. Your lips upturned at them, grateful that they were making the most of this unique experience. Edward, now inspired by Desmond and Aveline's karaoke session, slices through the performance with his voice, suggesting for everyone to rejoin and learn new songs as a collective. New songs, he meant sea shanties, ones he'd memorised on his travels. For the first definite time that day, you were doing something that everyone was keen to participate in. How long it would last, was the real question...
***
"LOWLANDS AWAY!" The crew concluded on a high note, screeching out of the wide-open windows, varied pitched sounds all making an input. Albeit, not the most cheery song to be chanting out of car windows. On the road to drop your comrades back home, Connor's father made a low, unimpressed hum. Edward had made his own way to the Kenway residence, leaving you with an abundance of sea shanties to sing as you travelled. Haytham had made an extra special effort to get everyone home as soon as possible, once every youth began screaming the lyrics to the songs. He was already parking on Ezio's extensive driveway, more than willing to let the young Italian out of his mode of transportation. And Ezio was more than thrilled to escape the constraints the car gave. Soon enough, you were upon Desmond's porch in record time, at Aveline's front door even faster and at the curb of the de la Serre's place to drop Arno off without a moment to spare. Only then did Haytham relax, letting his shoulders sag at the wheel of his car. You and Connor were harmonising still, though much quieter now, but singing Fish in the Sea with enough enthusiasm to make up for the fewer members of your chorus. Your singing voices had blended quite well, but you lacked Aveline's sweet melodies, Ezio's vehemence, Arno's give-it-a-crack attitude and Desmond's uplifting aura he seemed to have more than enough of.
You would have a lot to tell Altaïr when you got back to school, that was for sure. Like why everyone else would be shouting lyrics to sea shanties in the abandoned classroom you congregated in day by day at break. You would catch him up to speed eventually. On that speculation, what was Altaïr doing that day that was so important? You knew better than to ask and invade Altaïr's classified home life, but he missed out on a golden opportunity and for what? You were definitely going to have him up on that later, and won't rest until you discover what it was keeping him from sailing on the Jackdaw with the others. Phone in hand, you were a tap away from sending him a text, when the car jolted and remained stationary. Locking your phone, you realised you had made it to your destination: the Kenway's house. A few clicks resonated in the space, the unclipping of seatbelts, though not a single soul had moved otherwise. A barely audible exhale took Silence's place, one that could only have originated from Haytham.
"So, Connor," he began, eyes trained on the beaten-up silver ute in the forefront. "What exactly will I have to watch out for this time?" In that very question, you determined how it was that Haytham viewed his father. He saw Edward like he would a minefield. A minefield consisting of shrapnel-hurling explosives and party poppers, both disguised the same so you were unable to distinguish which you were going to get before you were hit. From experience, you had only trodden on the non-lethal mines. Your friends had gotten blasted with a couple of incapacitating ones too. But, still no reason to treat Edward as an alien of the family, as estranged as he was to them. Connor made the attempt to answer, mustering a few 'uh's and 'um's, prior to abandoning ship.
"What he's trying to say, Mister Kenway," you covered for Connor, "is that you're in for one helluva surprise." You made it sound like you had knowledge on your side. Winking, you knew all too well: it was going to be a hectic night ahead.