not_kenway | PSL: For Hermann

"I am frustrated enough when I have injuries from combat and I know those will heal to perfect functionality."

The world was not fair. Achilles had driven that into him from the first day he had approached him. But he still disliked that fact.

"Well, then I suppose you can understand why I -- given the day and the pain - tend to hate the entire world and everyone in it, especially if it is not operating to full logical capacity." Hermann smirked as he patted together the pancakes, and got the sausages started.

"Yes. I can imagine, but I doubt I could understand without having been so grievously injured. All my life, I have been very athletic, agile, strong." Big for his age. It often came with slurs these days, savage, brute, half breed vigour.

"I think that would be irony. You become increasingly less logical as the world fails to be as logical as you desire at the time."

"A tragedy, I am sure." Was Hermann's tart response to that, before he looked thoughtful. "I think I can never be not logical, honestly. It's how I ... function."

Connor paused briefly. The tone, the coolness... He'd managed to befriend someone chillingly similar to his father.

Well. That possibly spoke of some issues he'd rather not delve into.

"Haytham tells me all the time I am illogical, driven by emotions and passions and frustratingly 'soft'." It was also possibly a bit odd that he still called the man by his first name. "Though that might be because I keep insisting I will kill one of his closest associates."

"Mmmmm ... that might have something to do with it. Just out of curiosity -- why do you want to kill your father's closest associates?" Because that seems like a rather important thing to know about the other man.

"For many reasons, but most importantly, because he burned down my village and killed my mother." That simple. It had started, in that first interaction, as revenge for what the man did to him. But from the moment that he had been dragged from his mother's side, he had sworn Lee would die for what he did to his home, to his mother.

He closed his eyes and swallowed against the pervasive feeling of a massive hand curled around his neck.

"He beats and torments children. He fights to replace the voice of the people with the voice of his friends alone. He has been involved in trying to kill Washington several times. He is a monster and he needs to be dead."

All right, now Hermann is confused. "Is he the man who trained you - or is he a different man? I am afraid I am getting a little confused. And ... dear God, why did he kill your mother?"

Connor stifled his initial reaction to get angry. Hermann was innocently confused, which was fair enough.

"Achilles Davenport trained me. He is an Assassin. Charles Lee is a Templar, serving under my father, Haytham Kenway, who is the Grandmaster of the New England rite.

"I don't think he cared who he killed. Her death was... incidental to him."

"Aaaaaaah .... " Three different men, who had three very different influences on the man in front of him. He cleared his throat, looking back at the pan.

"I am sorry, Connor. No one should have to go through such loss, and at the hands of his father's own man." He thought about it, before stating simply, "Would you like a hug?"

"I was five. I think." The memory should have been faded from the beating he had taken before hand, but everything about that day was blazed crystal clear in his memory.

"No. Thank you. I find being held threatening." He was only held because he was being dragged, pinned, hurt. He had no idea how to let someone touch him if he didn't control the interaction.

"... Dear God." Hermann stopped altogether, his eyes widening in horror at all of that. He tried to imagine Henrik in that position, and the acid and the anger that filled his veins made him turn away from his friend.

"If that was done to my son - if they did that sort of thing to my boy ... I would have killed every last one of them with my bare hands. Which would have been exceedingly difficult."

Then he frowned, turning towards the other man. "... then how can you stand to touch me at all?"

Connor's tribe weren't the most physical tactile people to begin with, but he did take it to new levels and it had almost undoubtedly started with that assault when he was a child.

"I have no doubt my mother would have, had she ever known. Had she lived. Lee and Hickey beat me unconscious, when I awoke, the village was aflame and within minutes, I was dragged from the longhouse and my mother before the roof collapsed on us."

He rubbed his arm, looking elsewhere. "Because you allow me to control the encounter. You don't try and touch me, or grab me."

Hermann looked down at the floor, frowning, before he looked up at the other man soberly. "And I never will."

A faint snort. "Not that it would do me any bit of good anyways. You can probably bench press me twice over."

"I know. You respect my need for space. I am grateful for that."

He gave a small smile at the addendum. "I could easily carry you, yes, but that doesn't mean you couldn't be a danger, if you chose. And my... reactions do not seem to be entirely rational."

It was not just training, in other words. Connor had hefty amounts of what, in modern days, would be called PTSD.

Hermann smiled a little, before he went back to cooking, but it was clear he was disturbed by all he had heard. He frowned down at the frying pan.

"I am usually not one for therapy, my dear Connor ... but have you considered it?"

Therapy, a word meaning treatment for a condition. He thought about that and tried to give it context, but he couldn't piece it into the conversation.

"I do not understand."

"Well ... you have odd reactions to people trying to touch you. In many cases, that would mean that you have deeper issues that you wish to speak to someone about." Hermann explained, as he continued making their dinner.

"Most people find my reactions... strange. I simply assumed it was a result of my training." Most people didn't start assassin's training at thirteen. Mind you, when he thought about it, he hated being touched back then as well. Kanen was all right, but he also knew Kanen would never hurt him and couldn't take him.

In fact, now he thought about it, he had controlled all those interactions as well. He hummed slightly, frowning. "You... may be right that I am unusual. I do not know what to do about it, though."

Therapy wasn't really a thing in the 1770's.

"Well, here in the modern age ... we have people called psychologists." He wasn't sending the man to a psychiatrist, they'd try to put him on some sort of modern drugs that he wasn't quite sure Connor could handle. "You go to them, and they listen to you while you talk. They're able to help you deal with your past issues."

He paused, and sighed. Heavily. "I .. went to one after I lost my legs. Mandatory. It didn't do me a lot of good - I am ten times smarter than they are, after all. However, it might not do you any harm even though you are at least five times smarter than them on a good day."

"And that helps? Talking to them about..." He wasn't sure what. Past issues. Whatever that was. Maybe things like 'my mother was burning to death until the longhouse fell on her'. "You believe it would help me with my extreme aversion to contact?"

Many people overlooked that Connor was clever. Very clever. He spoke multiple languages, he managed an entire town and a spy network on his own and still managed to research his assassinations while helping to fight a way. "Does being smarter matter if all they have to do is listen?"

"Well, it always helps to have an unbiased opinion - and a sounding board. If nothing else ... you will be able to realize when they are leading you someplace, to work on a deeper issue. It is up to you, my friend, if you want to work on that issue." Yes, he is gesturing with a spatula.

Connor is quiet for a while as he thinks about it. He doesn't know if talking will help. He knows that here, at least, it won't hurt him. At home, being vulnerable was being dead. But this is not home. Haytham and Lee are not watching and waiting to slip the blade between his ribs.

"Do you know someone who does this talk treatment?"

"I do not, but I can ask around. I know a great deal of people." He gave the other man a long, considering look. "We'll make sure that you find someone good to go with."

Connor didn't know if he'd be able to open up to a stranger, but just as he sought to alleviate Hermann's pain, he recognised that Hermann was trying to alleviate his.

He reached to his necklace, stroking one of the bear claws with his fingers, thumb pressing over the tip. "I taught myself to not flinch at a hand on my shoulder or a hand shake. Those are both common from the men of the liberty army. Especially Washington. He is very tactile with me."

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