Chapter Text
“Go to hell!”
Slamming the phone down, Connor resisted the urge to let out a scream of frustration. He was beginning to think he kept a landline in his apartment for the sole purpose of angrily hanging up on his father. Turning off a cell phone simply didn’t have the same impact.
“Well, that sounded pleasant,” said Edward, strolling in from the kitchen, a cup of coffee probably mixed with Cuban rum in his hand.
Carding his fingers through his long hair, Connor replied, “Father’s again insisting I should give up my work with the reservation and run for office.” Putting on a stuffy English accent, he did his best imitation of Haytham, “‘Protecting native land is a lost cause, Connor. The only way you could possibly make an impact now is to run for office. I could help you with that. Your charitable work will look good to the voters, and your minority status will be a real asset.’”
“Bloody hell, did he actually say that?” his grandfather asked incredulously.
“Yes! How did mother ever tolerate that son of a—” he cut himself off, realizing he probably shouldn’t insult his grandmother in front of Edward. Stiffly sitting on the couch, Connor sighed. “I’ve told him, over and over, I don’t want to run for office. Politics are not for me. Why can’t he just accept that?”
Rolling his eyes, Edward took a seat beside him. “You an’ me, we’re not men meant to govern. He of all people should know being in the spotlight limits what you can do. It’s why he sticks to campaign managing, not running himself. But that’s not your only grievance.” The Welshman peered at him critically. “My idiot son didn’t even wish you a happy birthday, did he?”
Looking away, Connor tried to hide his shame. “It doesn’t matter.” After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been let down by his father. The others all insisted that he didn’t need Haytham Kenway’s approval, that he was a remarkable, excellent young man whom they all adored, but deep inside a part of him remained that shy, broken little boy hungry for a parent’s love. So every Christmas, birthday, and Thanksgiving, whenever he saw Haytham’s number, his heart strained with the hope that this year, his father might offer just a scrap of the familial recognition he secretly craved.
“It matters to you, so it matters to me,” Edward snapped, slamming his coffee mug down on the end table. “He knows you care, so he gets yer hopes up, tryin’ to manipulate you into abandoning your chosen path and followin’ his!” With a sigh, he collapsed against the cushions. “I’m a failure as a father.”
“No, you’re not.” The words were out of mouth before his brain even registered thinking them, yet he found no reason to take them back.
Edward merely rolled his eyes. “You know damn well I am. He was a good boy. If I’d been there more for him, been a better example of what a dad should be, maybe he wouldn’t have turned into such a shit man.”
Shaking his head, Connor disagreed. “You aren’t perfect, but you were always there for me. Even after the divorce, you always called to check up on us. Mother said you were one of the only white men she felt she could trust, despite your…lackadaisical regard for the law.” He swallowed down a lump in his throat at the memory of his mother. “And you were there for me after…”
Edward refused to let them linger on the memory of the fire. “Someone had to be. She was a good woman, yer mum. Probably her DNA that ensured you became a decent man. Haytham’s lucky you never acted out against him, besides getting a mohawk when you went to college.”
A tiny smirk came to his tan lips. “What about the time I dumped his best tea in the bathtub?”
Laughter echoed through the living room as Edward nearly tumbled off the couch. “Bloody hell, I’d forgotten about that! Aye, that was beautiful! I’d never seen Haytham so angry over something so stupid.”
Connor blushed, though the memory did still conjure up a touch of nerves. Destroying his father’s tea collection had seemed like the perfect way to act out and get his father’s attention. But once he’d seen the absolute rage on Haytham’s face, suddenly it seemed like it was the end of his ten-year-old life. “I honestly thought he might strangle me.”
“Nah. He was just mad because he knew anything more than groundin’ you would have been overkill. That an’ Jenny and Achilles would have killed ‘im if he’d laid a hand on you. To say nothing of what I would have done.”
“I suppose I did have a few people to fill in the parental holes in my life.”
Taking a sip of his coffee and rum, Edward said, “I’m glad you had yer Aunt Jenny and Achilles around. Someone needed to ensure you didn’t turn into a rapscallion like me.”
Despite himself, Connor chuckled. “You may not be what most would consider a good influence, but don’t sell yourself short, Grandfather. Through you I learned what it meant to earn respect, to not hold yourself above others, and that sometimes rules are meant to be broken.”
“Aye. Suppose you did get that ‘fight the man’ mentality from me, even if my form of protest isn’t as peaceful as yours.” Clapping him on the back, Edward cracked a warm, heartfelt grin. “I’m proud of you, Connor, even if I always fuck up your real name.”
He shrugged, though a small blush dusted his cheeks at the praise. He wasn’t his father, but Edward’s words meant almost as much. “I’ve gotten used to it. Mother said Father could never get her name right.”
“He did, once,” Edward corrected. When Connor looked at him, confused, he clarified, “On their wedding day. He wanted a traditional white wedding with all the trimmings. She didn’t give a shit, so she let him have his way, even though she told me she hated the spectacle. Was completely stone-faced at the altar. But the second he said her real name, she got all dewy-eyed and spent the rest of the reception beaming.”
He was shocked. It was such a small thing, but somehow, it rekindled a little bit of faith in his father, even if, logically, he knew it was hopeless.
With a small smile, Edward ruffled his grandson’s dark hair, so unlike his own. “He can make an effort when he knows it matters. Regardless, I’m proud of you, lad. And whether he admits it or not, so is Haytham, in his own way. Now, we can’t just sit around like a couple of lazy land-lubbers; your guests will be here soon, and we’ve got a party to decorate for.”
XXX
A few hours later, Connor had just blown out the candles on his cake, smiling as his friends cheered. It was a small gathering, consisting of Edward, Achilles, Desmond, Ezio, Claudia, Adewale, Mary, Aunt Jenny, and Aveline. They all knew he wasn’t one for large crowds when he could avoid them, and knew it was a great honor to be asked to attend the small party. Though not in attendance, the others had also made sure to send him gifts and well-wishes.
Aveline gave him a peck on the cheek. “What did you wish for, mon nounours?”
He pressed his lips to her hair, giving a rueful smile. “The same thing I wish for every year,” he replied, though he mentally added even though I know it’s a waste.
“And what is that?” she teased, wagging her eyebrows suggestively.
A faint blush rose to his tanned cheeks. “Not that.”
“Hmm, I suppose there’s no point in wishing for what I’m happy to give you anytime,” she whispered. “So why don’t you tell me?”
“Because if I told you, it won’t come true,” he said evasively.
Luckily Aunt Jenny came to his defense. “If he’s been wishing for something this long, it’s best not to risk it just to sate our curiosity,” she said, giving him a sympathetic look. She was well aware of the rocky relationship between him and Haytham and was more than prepared to give her brother an earful the next time she saw him. “Aveline, dear, why don’t you help me serve the cake? I’m not as good at handling a knife as you.”
Giving him a look that Connor knew meant trouble later, usually in the best way, Aveline followed his aunt over to the table.
Mary quickly took her place, pressing her own kiss to his other cheek. “If it’s for your grandfather to develop a sense of shame, I wish for the same thing. Sadly, it seems we’d be better off asking for something more attainable, like world peace or chocolate that makes you lose weight.”
“He’s not that bad,” Connor defended, even if he couldn’t quite keep the humor out of his eyes.
“That so? Then where is he now?”
Glancing around, his eyebrows furrowed when he realized his grandfather had disappeared somewhere. His other guests were happily tucking into slices of cake, the low hum of friendly chatter filling the room. Tuning his senses onto Edward’s distinctive Welsh accent, he followed it into the kitchen, where the blonde was speaking sternly into the phone.
“I don’t care if you’re having tea with the Queen herself, you’re going to talk to him!” There was a moment of silence as Edward listened to the reply before scolding, “Five minutes won’t kill you. But I can guarantee if you hang up on me I’ll come over there and turn you over my knee like I clearly should have forty years ago.”
Connor gave a slight cough to get his grandfather’s attention, and Edward responded with a smirk. “Here’s the lad now!” Not giving either Connor or the person on the phone a chance to respond, Edward shoved the receiver in his hands and walked back into the living room, calling for Adewale to pour him another drink.
Confused, Connor held the device to his ear. “Hello?”
“Connor?”
His throat closed at his father’s voice, and dread dropped like a stone in his stomach. Mary was right; his grandfather had no shame. What the hell was he even thinking, meddling like this?
Unwilling to let the tense silence linger any longer, Haytham cleared his throat. “It’s come to my attention that in the heat of our…disagreement, I never wished you a happy birthday.”
Connor swallowed heavily, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking too much. “No, you didn’t.”
“I apologize for that. Even if I don’t approve of your life choices, it’s no excuse not to give you the basic courtesy of wishing you well. So, happy birthday, son.”
“I—thank you.”
There was a moment of silence, neither quite knowing what to say, before Haytham chuckled dryly. “It figures. For all I complained about my father not being around when I was a child, he at least always acknowledged my birthday. I couldn’t even do that much.”
“You’re a busy man,” Connor replied awkwardly.
“That’s no excuse,” he said dismissively, British accent crisp and no-nonsense. “We may never see eye-to-eye, but I must admit, I can appreciate you leading your own life. I do think you should put your talents to better use—”
“Father…” Connor growled.
“Still, I am proud of you in a way. You have shown great conviction. Strength. Courage. All noble qualities.”
A tiny, cautious smile came to his lips. “Thank you, Father.”
“You’re welcome Rato…Rantho…Connor.”
The Native man couldn’t suppress the chuckle at his father butchering his name. It appeared not everything had changed.
The sound of Haytham clearing his throat again came through the phone. “Well, I have to go now. Much to do. Enjoy your party.”
“I will. It was…nice speaking with you, Father.”
“Likewise.”
Connor gently hung up the phone, as if fearing too much noise might shatter the dream that he’d had a pleasant conversation with father and force him back into harsh reality. Heading back to the living room, Aveline greeted him with a teasing smile.
“There you are. We were afraid you’d run off before opening your presents.” Leaning close, she murmured in his ear, “Though, if you wanted to slip off, I’d be happy to give you mine in private.”
Giving her a slow, loving kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I can wait until tonight. If it’s any consolation, my wish finally came true.”
“Does that mean you can tell me what it is?” she replied, eyes twinkling.
Connor’s naturally stern face remained neutral, but Aveline could see the happy light that shined in his warm brown irises as he glanced at Edward, who was looking entirely too smug. “Maybe later. Right now, I’d like to continue celebrating with my family.”