Title: History
Summery: An AU version about how Teatime's parents were really killed
Rating: Pg-13 for violence

Notes: Set in Night watch, assuming that Teatime and Carcer knew each other before hand. Please don't flame, this was just an idea that came into my head u. Comments and constructive crit welcome.

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History

Knock. Knock Knock.

“Open up this door in the name of the patrician!” A loud, if slightly boyish voice boomed through the woodwork.

Two of the rooms occupants looked at each other, the third just continued sleeping in his mothers arms.
“Put him into bed, I’ll see what they want,” The man muttered to his wife, who nodded and left. There are times when you know something bad is going to happen. We normally call these ‘mornings’. Here it was different, the hairs on the back of the man’s neck stood up, like little soldiers to attention.

He walked quickly up to the door and looked through the hole. Or at least intended to, however by the time he reached it the door was slammed open and onto his face, throwing him backwards onto the floor. Moaning, he was dragged to his feet by the captain.

“You think it’s funny to keep us waiting out there? Well sonny we have information that you are harbouring renegade watch officers!”

“Wha? No we, we’re not! Besides wasn’t there an amnesty?” The man stuttered, blood already trailing from his nose to his lips. The captain brought him up to eye level. What the man saw terrified him far more then the captain’s sword or back – up. He saw two twinkling demons.
“Please, I don’t know what your talking about,” He pleaded.

“Really? Well, why don’t I try and refresh your memory,” As he said this he slammed his fist into the mans gut.
“Remember now? You see we heard that some watch officers were seen in this street a few minutes ago, coming into this house. Search the place men!” He ordered.
“Now, lets see I think I know a way I can remind you…” Grabbing the man’s blond hair he dragged him through the door, and into a bedroom in which his wife was already held down by two officers. Inside the crib in the corner the toddler had awoken and stood silently, arms holding onto the bars. He watched through pin-hole pupils.

“A pretty little family you’ve got here,” the captain spat at the whimpering man on the floor.

“Please, please don’t hurt them!” The captain laughed, a bouncy, jovial laugh that echoed around the walls with the reverb of a death march. Dropping the man, he grabbed the women and held his sword to her throat.
“Now, I don’t want anything bad to happen here and you don’t want anything bad to happen here, so you’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know understand? Where are they? Where is Keel?” The demons flared, dancing like fire within his eye.
“Please I don’t know, honestly!”
“Well that’s a shame isn’t it?” The captain sighed and stretched out his arms, apparently finished. The man breathed a sigh of relief. The blade moved so fast it was almost a blur. The women fell, a scream leaving her lips. The officers within the room stirred, after all stabbing an apparently innocent bystander wasn’t exactly common practice. But they said nothing. Nobody argued with the captain.
“Sir, we’ve searched the house, and well sir there’s no one here. There clean,” The captains expression didn’t even so much as flicker.

“Well, even if there isn’t anyone here, it would appear that we have a case of wife – slaughter,” The man looked up from his, now deceased, wife’s body.
“What? But I, I never, he…” realisation dawned upon him, overtaking his body like cold water being poured down his spin.
“No, that was you, you can’t!”
“Me sir? But I am captain of the day watch. I am a highly respectful man, while you clearly went insane and murdered your wife. Isn’t that right men?” The officers around him nodded nervously. Uncertain glances split out across the room. If the captain noticed he didn’t care.

“I believe the sentence is a hanging, is it not? And you know that with all this rebellion I don’t think we want to waste precious space on the gallows. Far better if I just,” The sword blurred “Finished the job myself.” He stepped over the body and went to leave, when a voice said.
“Erm Captain Carcer, what about the kid sir?” A nervous corpral pipped up. Carcer turned to him.
“What kid?”
“The one over, over there in the crib… I just thought maybe we should, well you know…” Pushing him aside Carcer walked towards the child, sword drawn. He stopped. He looked. Those eyes, that hair. He grinned. Picking up the child he glanced and the name in the clothing. He laughed. This time it wasn’t just a laugh, it was a statement. Suddenly he understood why he was at that house. Why he was holding this child. History really was unstoppable.
“Erm, sir is everything alright?”
“Alright? It’s better, much better! Now boys you continue checking this street, I have a stop to make.”

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He placed the child in a basket. The child never cried, once. Just watched through yellow-white eyes. Carcer stopped and looked up at the building.

‘The guild of Assassins'

He held the child carefully, and whispered into his ear.
“someday you’ll thank me for this kid,” Placing him back in the basket he turned to go. When he realised something. Grabbing a scrap of paper and a pencil from his pocket he scrawled a note and placed it with the child. He knocked on the door and left.

A few seconds later a head looked out of the door, carefully picked up the child, examined it and went to take it, when the note feel out. It read:

‘My name is Jonathan Teatime (pronounced teh – ah – tim – eh)’