"Just for the record, you are aware that this is entirely your fault, aren't you?"

"Oh well that did not take very long, now did it?"

"Well it's true! You were the one who tripped the alarm, we were doing quite well until you ran head first into that soldier."

"Until I-" Connor's head snapped up and he swiveled around as best he could, trying to get a good look at the man behind him. "Correct me if I am wrong, but I don't recall 'running into' any soldiers. I seem to remember someone shoving me from my hiding spot because they could not hear what was being said!"

"I did not shove you," Haytham huffed, adjusting himself where he sat. "I was just trying to get a little closer."

"Maybe you are getting too old for this sort of thing."

"I'm not too old to smack you upside the head for that sort of remark. Besides, I have gotten the drop on you a great number of times-"

"Do you think you can stop preening for a few minutes while we find a way to get out of here?" Connor snapped, squirming as he did.

"By all means, if you think of any master escape plans you be sure and let me know, son."

Connor sighed heavily at his father's sarcasm and began to scan his surroundings-

"And may I just compliment you on the impeccable resistance you put up to being captured. I don't think I've ever seen anyone get clocked over the head so quickly."

Another exhale escaped Connor's lips as he grit his teeth through the headache that could have been from either the aforementioned head wound or from his father's incessant chatter. He closed his eyes briefly before attempting once again to take in the environment that he found himself in-

"How is your head by the way? Has the bleeding stopped?"

Connor opted to, instead of sighing, groan as loudly as he could and let his head fall back against his shoulders. "Will you just shut up!?"

"Oh far be it from me to express some concern," Haytham scoffed sarcastically. "As you were, then."

Finally in what passed for relative quiet in the small enclosure the two wayward family members found themselves in, Connor was able to observe. The two of them were sitting on the floor of a small room, back to back with their hands and forearms thoroughly bound together; their legs had been left free, for all the good that did them. The room they were in was almost certainly a basement of some sort, given the damp moss that grew between the cracks of the masonry that made up the walls, and the lack of natural light that permeated their prison. It should have been a relatively simple mission. Get into the fort undetected, steal some of the plans found in the commander's tent, and leave, also undetected.

In truth, Connor wasn't entirely sure why he had sought out his father's help with this. He had done this sort of thing a thousand times, and usually one did not invite their worst enemy on a mission to steal battle plans that could just as easily benefit him and injure oneself. Then again, he wasn't quite certain why his father had agreed, without hardly any thought given to the scenario. Maybe that was suspicious. Maybe Connor should have found that odd. But at the time he had been… what had he been? Happy?

Connor shook his head, letting his head hang as he did. He couldn't think straight with this headache. He groaned and let his chin touch his chest, before squeezing his eyes shut to try and block out the pain, along with any thoughts he might be giving towards his tumultuous relationship with his father.

"Are you alright back there, son?"

"I am fine, father," he grimaced. "Have you got anything?"

"Oh I was planning on waiting until these fine soldiers' commanding officer arrived."

"What?"

"I'm sure he plans on interrogating us. Maybe torturing us for information."

"Information?"

"Yes. To see what we know. You are aware you have something of a reputation among the red coats, aren't you?"

Connor blinked, lifting his head up. "A reputation? I do?" He looked back.

"Oh don't be daft, Connor," Haytham snorted. "Most any loyalist knows about George Washington's shadowy, mysterious, infamously deadly errand boy."

Connor scowled at this, turning his head to look back at the man bound to him. "I am no errand boy."

"You are a bit," Connor could tell that Haytham was looking around the room, maybe examining for some sort of weak point; but beyond the wrought iron door, Connor had yet to see any alternative for leaving their cell. Haytham continued talking, however, much to his son's dismay. "I do recall you playing messenger on more than one occasion, and been used as a soldier even more than that. It wasn't a poor job you did at Lexington and Concord, I'll give you that. However once upon a time, long ago, Assassins tried not to so openly involve themselves in others affairs. Historically they are a secretive group, you know. That's what the hood is for."

Connor could only stare blankly at the wall opposite him, as he was vaguely aware of Haytham twisting and turning in his binds. It hadn't quite dawned on him until now, just how much his father knew of his life and as such his exploits. He realized he hadn't exactly been hiding anything, but he suddenly found himself wondering just how big the knowledge gap was. He had only been alive for a small portion of his father's life, and of that time he knew extraordinarily little of what it was Haytham Kenway did when he wasn't with him. Conversely Haytham had been alive for the entirety of Connor's life and apparently knew a great deal more than Connor found he was terribly comfortable with.

"Can you move your fingers at all? These knots are going to be our biggest obstacle, if I'm-"

"So have you been spying on me?"

Haytham stopped, almost as if frozen by Connor's words. It took a few beats of the heart before Haytham sighed, letting his shoulders slump. "Really, son? Really? You want to do this now?" He felt his father turn his head, as if trying to look at him. "In the heart of enemy territory, bound and awaiting torture and interrogation you want to ask if I've been spying on you?"

Connor felt his cheeks color, and was suddenly glad that Haytham couldn't see his face. He straightened himself out and rolled his shoulders. "I can move my fingers, but only a little. Not enough to reach anything."

"I haven't been actively watching you, if that's what you want to know. But I have informants," his father suddenly sounded oddly huffy. "I used to have a great deal more than I do now."

"I am not going to apologize."

"Oh no, of course not. Your path is blameless and victimless, you are truly righteous."

"You know, you meet everything you do not approve of with sarcasm," Connor leaned his head back, feeling the tips of his hair brush up against his neck. "You could try listening, for once."

"I've heard the Assassin rhetoric before, thank you."

"Then don't listen to me as an Assassin," Connor shuffled back, trying to reposition his arms. "You could maybe, hear me as your son."

There was silence now, as Haytham moved his arms in tandem with Connor, trying to reach the knot that kept them bound together. "You know the same could be said for you," his father finally returned. "I am your father, you could try listening to me, for a change."

"It seems we are both too stubborn for our own good."

"Yes it would seem we are."

Connor exhaled a short laugh, letting his head droop. "I can not move enough to get free," he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Haytham's head turned around, his shoulders moving against him. "Don't be, I can't move either."

"Not for that," Connor mumbled. "I am sorry for asking you to come along."

There was a long moment of silence after that. Haytham remained twisted around, trying to get a look at his son's face but said nothing for quite a few moments. "What are you talking about?"

"We would not be in this situation if I had not asked you along. Or at least you would not," Connor raised his head again, and let out a long exhale. "It wasn't my intention. So I am sorry."

Slowly Haytham turned back around, taking the strain off the binds. "Yes well… I'm sorry too."

Connor tilted his head slightly, looking back. "For what?"

"Shoving you."

Despite himself, Connor couldn't help but smile.

"Well I suppose we're back to waiting," Haytham adjusted himself, as if trying to get more comfortable.

"For torture?"

"Or starvation, whichever comes first," he could almost hear the smile in his father's voice with the next words. "Anything else you'd like to get off your chest? Now seems as good a time as any, since clearly we're not going anywhere."

The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of Connor's lips. "You're mocking me."

"We've known each other long enough that that should not surprise you, my boy."

Before any more words could pass between father and son, there was an unmistakable sound of a key being slid into a wrought iron lock. They both looked over at the door as it slowly swung open, allowing a small group of three soldiers all in red to saunter in. The man in the front, walked around them slowly, and Connor took careful mental tallies of any useful information. The man circling had a clean uniform, clean boots and his arms folded carefully behind his back. He had a slight limp in his step, probably an old injury on his left thigh, judging by how he walked. An experienced soldier then, no doubt the commander.

The two behind him were less so. One stepped off to the left, his feet dragging and his posture slumped. His grip on his bayonet was lax; his face was sweaty and his breath was ever so slightly labored. The stains around his collar and down the front of his shirt gave him away, even if the rest of the evidence had not stacked against him; a drinker then, not much used to combat. The third man stayed by the door, older with graying hairs and a grip so tight on the hilt of his gun his nails were leaving scratch marks against the the wood. His eyes were darting around the room and his foot tapped nervously. New recruit maybe, very inexperienced.

The first man stopped in front of Haytham, or so Connor assumed as the footsteps stopped and he heard talking behind him.

"So. A Native and an Englishman working together to steal secrets from the British Empire. What an odd pair," the voice was crisp and concise, with a touch of condescension. Definitely in charge.

"Oh, it's not so odd," Haytham quipped, good-naturedly. "My boy and I grow so weary of traditional bonding activities, so we're forced to branch out, as it were."

The drunk sneered, flexing his fingers against the barrel of his bayonet. "His boy," he mocked. "This pratt thinks 'es funny." The man's voice was slurred as he took a step forward.

Connor heard the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheathe and tensed careful not to move, lest he accidentally push Haytham into the steel. The first man spoke again. "Who do you work for?"

"Oh is it not obvious? We're clearly in service to the King himself."

There was a swiping noise and Connor felt Haytham tense his shoulders. Connor kept his eyes on the drunkard, who was circling towards him. The first man sounded more amused now.

"Don't waste my time, you aren't in any position to try being clever. Now if you please, who you work for?"Connor could feel the very tip of the sword against his shoulder, the man clearly had Haytham at a lethal disadvantage.

"Father," Connor interrupted. "Do you actually have a plan, or are you just stalling?"

The shock in the man's voice was extremely gratifying. "I beg your pardon-?"

"A little of both, actually. If you think you have something, please be my guest," Haytham sounded as indifferent as ever.

"Good," Connor wasted no time. As soon as the word left his mouth, he sprang into action leaning back as much as he could without putting Haytham in any more peril, and lifted his foot directly between the drunken guard's legs. He cried out in pain, stumbling backwards and relinquishing his already loose grip on the bayonet in favor of keeling over. The rifle landed directly on top of Connor's shin, and he kicked it up angling it better against his foot and then with a swift upwards kick launched the pointed metal end directly into the other guard's exposed stomach.

The guard gasped, his hand tightening reflexively on the trigger of his gun, firing a shot uselessly into the air before he stumbled backwards, sliding down the wall. The whole thing had caused enough of a distraction, that when Connor felt Haytham tugging him down to the side, he quelled his instincts to press back and allowed his father to get clear of the blade long enough for him to go for their leaders weaker left leg, knocking him to the ground. Connor felt himself being pulled backwards and heard the gagging sound of a man deprived of air, which gave him plenty of time to turn his attention to the drunken guard who seemed to be getting his bearings. As he looked up, wild eyed and angry Connor found himself wondering if he hadn't miscalculated this slightly.

The guard lunged at him and Connor, immobilized as he was, had nowhere to go. His hands, surprisingly sturdy and strong caught Connor around the neck and tightened, and he gasped for air struggling all the while to get free.

"Connor?" Haytham turned his head and pulled back, though it did little good.

Connor squirmed twisting his head trying desperately to get free as his vision started to darken. He knew if he didn't do something soon, they were both going to die. He rallied his senses one final time, looking down for some sort of solution to this predicament and after what felt like a lifetime of gasping for breath, he saw one. The man rose entirely to his feet, and was hunched at an awkward angle over him, his center of balance was off, and that was something Connor could use. He acted quickly while he still had some level of consciousness left, and hooked his foot around the back of the guard's knee. He pulled it toward him and it buckled entirely, putting him just off kilter enough to loosen his grip. Connor removed his foot quickly and planted it firmly into the man's chest and with one solid kick pushed him back onto the ground. His head collided with the stone, and before he could register what had happened, one last kick to his jaw snapped his neck upwards, and he was dead.

With the pressure off his airway, Connor was left gasping for air. His vision slowly cleared and the oxygen flowing through him brought him stumbling back to reality where he realized his father had been speaking to him.

"Connor? Connor? Son, can you hear me?"

He shook his head and coughed. "Yes, I can hear you," he rasped.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

Haytham sighed and Connor heard the sound of metal against stone. "Alright, this is going to be difficult but I need you to help me cut us loose."

Connor nodded and knelt, carefully feeling for the steel of the sword. Haytham helped, lifting it as best he could and angling it between the ropes. It took a great deal of effort and sawing but eventually, the binds gave way. Connor pulled his arms away, shrugging out of the restraints as he did, and rubbed his wrists, leaning forward and coughing. Haytham dragged himself forwards and up into a standing position before circling around and kneeling by his son. He extended his hand, lightly touching it to the broken skin along Connor's temple, and then paused to give him a thorough look over. He noted that Haytham's face was not entirely devoid of injuries either, and some of the blood was still freshly spilling from a thin cut down his jawline. The two of them must have been quite a sight.

"Well, it doesn't look too bad, but you can never be too careful with a head injury. We should get you to a doctor."

"I'll be alright," Connor protested with a shake of his head.

"Famous last words," his father clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Come on, I could stand to have a few stitches myself." Haytham stood up and extended a hand to his son. "Getting out of here is still going to be a bit of a challenge. Think you can manage?"

Connor smiled and reached out and took his hand, pulling himself up. "Provided no one shoves me."

"Keep talking like that, and I just may yet."

(Every year or so my Assassins Creed inspiration crawls out of a hole and pesters me until I write one of these. Hopefully I can get more done!)