Connor My Dear Boy (FINISHED)

1

Connor's forehead pressed against the car window as he watched the land roll past him in a blur. The neighborhood looked nice enough, he supposed, but Connor didn't particularly care. His mind was drifting, his thoughts elsewhere. Even the sound of the social worker, Miss something-or-another Stillman, telling him how lucky he was simply white noise in the background.

So much had changed in the last month. Ever since the fire, and the death of his mom, he had been in the custody of social services who had been shuffling him around looking for any relatives to take him in. Three days ago they had told them that they had at last managed to find his father, and that he was willing to take him in.

His father. A man whom Connor had never even met. Of course, when Connor had inquired about the man to his mother, she had said, simply, that they had an argument while she was pregnant, and that they hadn't spoken since. Other than that, Connor knew nothing about him until Miss Stillman told him his name; Haytham Kenway.

"We're here." Stillman said brightly from the front seat.

She parked the car and clambered out the side. Connor peered at the house skeptically. It looked nice, he supposed. It was painted white with a black roof and there was a column on either side of a red door. There were a couple of red and orange maple trees, their shadows dappling the neatly trimmed lawn.

From outside, his social worker looked at him expectantly, until he sighed and climbed out of the car himself. He slung his small backpack over his shoulder, inside the meager possessions that had been salvaged from the fire along with a couple of different changes of clothes.

Connor followed the social worker glumly down the leaf-strewn path to the front door. She pounded on the door, turning back slightly to smile at Connor. They only had to wait a moment or so before the door swung inwards, and Connor could see his father for the first time.

Connor didn't know what he was expecting, but he found himself surprised nonetheless. The man before them had pale skin and high cheekbones. His brown hair, which seemed to have small streaks of gray in it, was pulled back neatly into a ponytail. His steely blue eyes surveyed Connor and the social worker carefully, and a small, weary smile appeared hesitantly on his face.

"Hello, Mr. Kenway." Miss Stillman said with forced brightness, "Thank you so much for doing this."

"Hello." he said nervously, his accent distinctly British, "You must be Connor." he added, looking at the boy, who subconsciously flinched backwards. Haytham frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.

The social worker clapped one perfect, manicured hand on Connor's shoulder, pushing him forward slightly.

"Be good." she said, "We will send someone to check up on the both of you in about three weeks."

With that, she turned, somewhat abruptly in Connor's opinion, and went back to her car, left. Connor watched the car until it had turned a corner and was out of sight before turning back towards the man who was supposedly his father, his hands fidgeting nervously in front of his chest.

Haytham stood aside, his back pressing against the door. "Do you, ah, wish to come in? I can show you your room and we can..." he paused, hesitating, as he searched for the right word. "Talk?"

Connor nodded wearily, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes in a sort of grimace before stepping over the threshold of his new home.