((This was going to be my story with my OC Arya, but I decided to make an actual person, historically at least. So I introduce to you, my new real oc? I don't know lol. But I hope you enjoy, Reviews are welcomed. Follow me on tumblr FalloutRebellion for updates. Sorry if Connor is... off. He's a troublesome character. Also, I suggest listening to this: watch?v=ZUwu_mMeCp0 for the feels.))

HURT

Connor was a wanted man. He was infamous, or famous, depends on who you asked, for killing Major Pitcairn at Bunker Hill. The redcoats wanted his head. Each victory had led him to a new problem, and this revolution only seemed to get heavier and heavier.

He ran through the streets and on the roof tops, running from the shots of rifles. Eventually he managed to get out of their sight, and ducked through an open window into a dark house.

Landing with a thud, he stood still. When he was greeted with utter silence, he took a deep breath. He straightened, and looked around. The walls of the room were bare, only decorated with blue peeling paint. It smelt like lavender and molding wood.

There was suddenly the slam of a door from right below him. There were footsteps dancing along the wooden floors, threatening to come upstairs to where he was. He looked around seeing only one other window, but it was closed. There was only one person, and the footsteps were too light and paced to be a soldier.

It might be someone who lives here…

He decides to stay where he was, if they were a threat, than he could take them. Drawing attention is the last thing he wanted to do. So he stood facing the door, breathing quietly. As the collected footsteps gradually came closer, his hand lingered over his tomahawk. The footsteps seem to die down, so he lets out a breath.

Then the door flies open, almost slamming into him. He moves quickly to dodge it, then looks back at the person in the door way.

It was a woman.

A very angry woman by the looks of it. She was glaring at him, with two swords donned in her small hands.

She quickly collects herself, and puts one sword against his neck as he pulls out his tomahawk. He breathes calmly, looking down at the small lady.

She definitely didn't live here. She had on a sailors dress. It was a cream-ish color with a tight brown corset. It went down her mid thighs, and was longer in the back. Her stockings were white and went above her knee. Her brown boots went to mid-calf, and had a slight heel. She wore a burgundy sailor's hat, with her long blonde hair flowing from underneath it. It was almost too dark to see her face, but he could make out her pink lips, and round yet pointed face shape. Her eyes had thin dark rings around them, it being either makeup or her lashes, he couldn't tell.

She moved a step closer, yet he didn't move back.

"It seems I've found the murderer." She states simply, her lips curling into an angry smile.

He looked at her through his hood, evaluating his options.

"Who are you?" he manages to ask despite the blade against her throat.

"Me? You want to know who I am? I'm flattered, really." She moves closer again. "Guess."

He squints his eyes, and grips harder on his tomahawk. "If it's a game you want to play," he pulls his weapon from its sheath and slams it against her blade. She moves back, and he does the same. She recovers quickly and swings at him again, but he blocks it. Advancing on him, she swings at his torso with both swords as he jumps back to avoid the blow. His back hits a wall, and he curses himself as he feels the blade against his neck once again.

"My name is Annie Pitcairn."

He takes a deep breath. Daughter. She was John Pitcairn's daughter. He can't see a resemblance, but then again he never looked too closely at the Major.

"Have the bells gone off yet? You must know what I'm here for." Her voice was lower, more threatening.

"Revenge," he says for her, and she nods.

She looks up at him, and swallows thickly. "You…" she moves closer, her eyes still glaring daggers right into his. "You have taken away the last thing I had. Did you ever think that the man you killed selfishly, had a family, a life?"

Connor, being a gentleman, let her finish before speaking. "Do you think he ever thought of the peoples families that he was killing? So manly slaughtered-"

"It's not his fault! My father followed duties! Everything was calm until you- you and those arrogant rebels decided to cause a riot! You just couldn't leave well enough alone. And now my father's dead. The last thing I had, gone, taken by someone who didn't even care!" Her eyes were red, her face riddled with emotion.

"You think your father never committed evil? You must not know of what he does, who he works for." He speaks calmly and collected.

She pushes the blades harder against him.

"You think I do not know who my father was? Sure my father wasn't the most innocent man out there, but he had a purpose! He didn't do it for the money; no, it was never about the money. My mother was murdered in front of us. Cut down by heartless soldiers!"

She was choking on held back sobs, but continued as her eyes watered.

"No one cared. There was no trial, just senseless murder. My father swore on that day to change how things were. And he did!" She screamed, moving her sword away to swing it at him. Her moves were clumsy, and he easily got the upper hand. She blocked a couple of his swings until he knocked the blades from her shaky hands. She ran at him, and he grabbed her arms, and pushed her into the wall. His chest was against her back, holding her there firmly.

He could hear her sobs now.

There was a wave of sympathy in his chest, and he let go of her. She was no longer a threat, rather a sad woman whose emotions had over encumbered her.

She slid down the wall, and turned. Covering her eyes with her hands, and pulling her knees to her chest. "Just… go. No one knows I'm here anyways… Might as well leave… while you can…" she murmurs between cries.

He doesn't move, staying there watching her cry. He crouches beside her, knowing how it felt to be in her place.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

She doesn't look at him, "No you're not."

"I'm not sorry I killed your father. I had a reason, and a right. But I am sorry for taking away your family." He sat down beside her, looking at the wall across from him. "My mother was murdered too, right in front of me. Her and my tribe were killed by your father and his friends. Including my own father. I'll never forget the look on her face as she told me to run."

Connor pulled down his hood, and looked over to see her looking at him now. Her face was wet and blotchy, but her blue eyes softened.

"I… never knew. I never would have thought…" she said shakily.

"That's why I killed your father. Not for this revolution. But for revenge, like you want from me. Except I will kill the Templars. Everyone single one of them."

Tears flowed slowly from her eyes now. Her breath was uneven, "I..." she wanted to say she was sorry until he cut her off.

"I don't want your pity, but know I did not kill your father for nothing. But… I am sorry for hurting you this way." He placed a hand on her back, trying to offer simple condolence.

She nodded, closing her eyes. "You father? Who is he?"

"Haytham, Haytham Kenway."

She looked at him with shock in her eyes. "Haytham? I… I never knew he had son."

"I never expected him to acknowledge me. He killed my mother, with knowledge. I don't consider him my father." It was his turn to look away.

"I've met your father," she wipes her face, "He isn't the type to murder a lover in cold blood. It must have been a mistake."

He couldn't tell if she was just trying to comfort him, or if she really thought this way about his father.

"You don't have and brothers or sisters?" He asks, trying to slow her weeping.

"Both, but all are married. Some living in Scotland, others down in North Carolina. They probably don't even remember my name." She reconciles harshly.

He looked at her with comforting eyes, and she wiped her face on her upper arm.

"What's your name?"

He decided against telling her his real name, "Connor."

She bit her lip, "Connor. You look like your father."

"But I am not him."

"No, you are not. You know, he taught me how to fight. He and my father were close. It's hard to believe that he has a son no one knows about…" she drifts off, looking down at the floor between her legs.

"Do not worry yourself about my past, but it's getting late. It would be rude of me to leave a lady here crying." He stood, and offered her his hand.

She looked at him, and took it.

He helped her up, and walked with her down the steps, their hands still entwined.

"I think it is ironic how I came here to kill you, yet I leave here with a different change of heart, holding hands with you." She says as the reach the last step.

"I do not blame you for attacking me, nor do I hold it against you. For I would do the same thing."

He opened the door for her, and walked with her outside.

He wiped a stray tear from her cheek, and pulled up his hood. "It is time for us to part ways, but I hope on seeing you again one day." He kissed her hand, and parted, walking into the alley and falling in sync with the shadows.

She let out a breath, and stared off to where he disappeared from.

Then she went inside and gathered her swords, and slowly walked home, contemplating everything.