"I'm going," Evie announces as she steps into the train car where her brother is lounging on the sofa.
"Why?" Jacob quickly snaps. "Because Aleck asked you to?"
"Yes, because he asked me to! Because he needs me to. Because it needs to be done."
"Why does it need to be done by you, Evie?"
Slightly slack-jawed, Evie stares at her brother.
"Jacob. Stop it," is all she can manage. Faced with his brooding silence, she adds, "You're not Father."
"Neither are you!"
"Don't you dare raise your voice to me, Jacob! We're not teenagers anymore. You owe me respect."
"I owe you nothing."
The anger in his voice is startling. So much so that it is now Evie's turn to go silent. But this lasts only a brief moment before she turns and leaves the train car and moves to exit the train, which is currently parked at the station.
Whether Jacob likes it or not, it's time.
First, as Evie steps off the train, she pulls her hood up over her head to reduce her risk of being identified. She takes slow steps out of the station, then grapples up to the roof. Her mind is distracted, though, and she nearly slips as she makes her otherwise graceful reach for the edge of the roof.
Why can't he just support me for once? Evie wonders, sighing as she dusts herself off and steadies herself. But the thought fades as she makes her move toward the next building.
The mission begins slowly enough. All she has to do is sneak into Blighter territory near the docks to loot some cable. A dangerous mission, considering how heavily guarded the area is. But it's for the greater good. Then, she can continue her search for the Piece of Eden. But first… the mission for Aleck.
Evie glides with little effort from rooftop to rooftop until she reaches the area near the docks. It takes some time, as the train station where they'd stopped was on the other side of London, but she reaches the restricted area just as the sun begins to set. She has planned it this way. Dark enough to help her fade into the background, but light enough for her to see and fight as necessary. Still, she's hoping this won't be necessary. Get in, get out, return the cable to Aleck. Simple enough.
Uncharacteristically, Evie is startled by the sound of a Blighter rounding the corner in front of where she's taken cover. She is well cast in shadow, but the noise catches her off guard, and she quickly realizes that her distraction has been caused, once again, by thoughts of Jacob.
Silently cursing herself for her sentimental weakness, she extends her arm, firing a hallucinogenic dart at the fire pit a few meters away. Shortly, three guards are in combat. Evie holds her breath until they each drop to the ground. Approaching cautiously, she loots the bodies and finds – thankfully – a set of keys in one of their pockets.
Perfect, she thanks the gods. Just what I need.
But there are no chests in sight, and as she slips back into the shadows, she sees two more guards approaching.
Shit, Evie thinks, cursing the turn of her luck.
Again, she fires a dart at the fire close by. The guards aren't close enough, though, and by the time they discover the bodies Evie has left behind, the effect has worn off. She's out of darts now, leaving her with only her cane sword for protection and combat. Then, she waits.
But the guards separate, spreading out in different directions, calling out expletives and warning the assassin of her impending punishment. In that moment, just as a guard rounds the corner and spots her in the dim light of his lamp, Evie sees the chest at the very edge of the river, right on the dock. Just out of reach.
The guard shouts as soon as he sees her, summoning his partners in crime, who surround her quickly. She's backed into a corner, but thankfully, she has enough time to draw her weapon and use it to attack the original guard, full-force.
Jacob would be so ashamed, she thinks. He wouldn't have gotten caught.
This third moment of distraction costs her the advantage of having the larger weapon, as the second guard jumps in and knocks it from her hands with his own shorter blade. She can tell he's stronger than her, but normally, she is more nimble and capable of taking on four or five opponents at once. The break in her focus, however, has taken away that advantage as well.
Still, she's grateful to at least be left with the brass knuckles given to her by her brother that past Christmas. They'd been gifted to Jacob by their father on his eighteenth birthday. At twenty-five, he passed them along to Evie. At first, she'd tried to refuse them, arguing that their father gave them to him for a reason. She wasn't meant to have them. But of course, as stubborn as he was, he argued back.
"You need to protect yourself," Jacob had said, in a rare gesture of tenderness. "I don't want you to get hurt."
The softness in his voice had caught her off guard and lowered her defenses, dissolving her will to bicker with him as she normally would have. He meant these words. She could tell by his tone of voice, but also by the subtle excess of fluid in his eyes that pooled near the corners, threatening to drop onto his cheek. The tears never fell, though, which didn't surprise Evie in the least. Jacob would never cry. Not even when her father died. He'd only sworn to avenge him.
As Evie swings her arm back to assault the first guard, who had moved in close to her, she once again thinks of her brother and the invaluable gift he had given her. She gets one good, strong hit in, right on the Blighter's jaw, knocking him to the ground, before everything goes black.
"Evie!" she finally hears Jacob scream, shocking her awake.
What she doesn't know is that he's been screaming for minutes now, trying desperately to wake her. The sting on her cheek tells her that he'd needed to slap her to stir her into consciousness.
"Fuck," Evie curses, trying to sit up.
But Jacob pushes down on her shoulder, holding her to the ground, as he stares at her with his brow furrowed.
"Don't move," he orders, pressing harder as she squirms.
"Get off me!" she shouts, flailing to shove him away, but unable to make solid contact with anything but his stone, muscular forearms. He says nothing, eyes all cold steel and seriousness, until she calms, asking him at last, "Did they get the cable?"
"Damn his cable!" Jacob shouts loudly, releasing the pressure on his sister's shoulders.
"Jacob!" she screams back. "Did. They. Get. The. Cable?" Again, he says nothing, and again, Evie cries, "Jacob, did they get it?!"
"Bloody Hell, Evie Frye! No, they didn't get the bloody cable!"
"Where is it?"
"It's probably still in the chest on the dock."
"Probably?!" Evie snaps, sitting up at last, despite how dizzy this makes her.
"Well, all the guards in the area are dead. Does that relieve your concerns, dear sister?"
At last, Jacob's sister sighs and falls onto her back, her eyes dropping closed as the world spins around her.
Suddenly, Jacob's hands are somewhere strange, sending a tingle up Evie's spine. The pressure on her hips makes her body jolt. Then, she feels the pain, shooting through her gut and radiating outward. When she finally looks down, she finds blood soaking her front, seeping all the way through the front of her coat.
That can't be good, she thinks, staring in disbelief.
The pain continues to scream through her, but she doesn't make a sound, even as it freezes her in place.
"We need to get you back to the train," Jacob says, quickly realizing that the shock is wearing off for his sister to feel the agony rushing through her body.
She has no energy left to argue, stunned by the pain, so all she says is, "Get the cable," before blacking out again.
Evie wakes on the train, and as soon as her eyes are opened, she sees her brother flying towards her like a hawk going in for its prey. But the look in his eyes is not that of a predator. The look is that of a broken man, wounded deeply.
"Evie," he breathes, hands shaking as he clenches them into anxious fists and leans over her.
"Jacob?" she croaks, her throat dry from a lack of hydration in the hours she's been unconscious. "The cable?"
"I swear on my life, Evie Frye, if you say 'cable' one more bloody time, I'll—"
"It's safe," says a voice coming from a few meters away.
It's Henry, and Evie is instantly calmed. She closes her eyes, and Jacob's fury dissolves quite suddenly as he sees the concern fade from the radiant features of his sister's face. Despite his anguish regarding her obsession with Aleck's seemingly reckless and suicidal missions, the peace that she's found makes Jacob's anger soften into relief.
As he sees Jacob lean in slightly, unconsciously longing to savor his sister's calmed expression, Henry says softly, "I'll take my leave. Please, if you need anything, call for me."
And then, the man is gone, leaving the twins alone in the train car, but Jacob barely notes his words anyway, mostly ignoring him. He doesn't need help to take care of his sister. He's always done it alone, and he will continue to do so.
Evie's eyes are still closed as her brother's hands unconsciously find her hips again, but she is startled enough by the tenderness and intimacy of his touch that her eyes snap open. The young man jumps back slightly, equally startled by Evie's reaction.
"S-Sorry," he stammers, dropping his gaze away from her eyes.
First, Evie stares at his face, finding shame and embarrassment there, but somehow, Jacob's hands are frozen in place. Then, she finds herself warmed, her temperature seeming to rise by several degrees as she realizes she is only in a fresh, loosely fitting undershirt. When she looks down at her hands, she sees that this garment, though it has recently clothed her, is also soaked with her blood. The large, angry red splotch spreads across her entire abdomen, and her brother's hands are covering some of it. But where his hands are resting, there is no pain. The blood may have spread there, but the wound is near her navel, and he has been careful not to touch it, for fear of adding to her agony.
But the sensations of pain are greatly overshadowed by the tingling sensation that has spread through Evie's stomach.
After soaking in the unusual sight of her brother's intimate physical contact, Evie gains the courage to speak.
"Jacob… Look at me."
He lifts his gaze slowly, afraid, and when his eyes meet hers, she feels his hands begin to shake.
"Jacob…" she says gently, trying to get him to speak.
Tears – the first real tears she's ever seen him shed – dribble, hot and terrified, onto Jacob's cheeks before he manages to choke out, "I thought you were going to die."
Evie swallows hard, a wave of conflicting emotions flooding her. How dare he cry now! How can he? He'd resented her for her devotion to the mission and adamantly stated so. He'd declined to assist her. He'd called her a fool. Now, he grants himself permission to cry? He should be livid! The hard-headed bastard should be angry with her, not falling to pieces in front of her as she lay bleeding on the sofa.
His hands are still carefully resting on her hips as he remains kneeling by her side, and it makes it difficult for her to feign anger, but she manages it anyway.
"You should be disappointed that I didn't," she quips bitterly.
His head jerks up again, allowing her to see his eyes, red and puffy from his unbridled crying, and Evie instantly feels remorse for her words. But aren't they true? Jacob has never supported her. The only thing he's ever done to protect her – not that she needs protecting – was to give her their father's brass knuckles. It was the only moment she could think of, since their days in primary school, where he had shown her a gesture of caring. Of course, the cruelty was not given in a one-way channel. It was received and given back with equal fury. He didn't resent her, Evie quickly realized. They resented each other for their differing views on life, and their greatly differing priorities.
"Jacob," Evie blurts, as soon as Jacob opens his mouth to try to speak. "I…"
"No, don't," he coughs, wiping his eyes with his left hand, the one not equipped with his new pair of brass knuckles.
Jacob wants to stand. Wants to leave. Wants to hide his shame and tears. But his legs are jelly, and his knees offer no support. His hands are still frozen in place. Evie stares down at them. Her expression is exceedingly apologetic, but Jacob can't bear to look at her, so he doesn't notice.
Then, Jacob, in too much emotional agony to notice that his sister hasn't tried to push his hands away, chokes out, "I could never wish you dead."
He is even more ashamed to find that his voice comes out quiet and weak, quite in contrast to his usual confident, commanding tone. But Jacob doesn't move until he feels Evie's abdomen tighten as she tries to sit up. Only then do his reflexes kick in to send his left hand flying up to hold her shoulder down against the cushions.
"Rest," he says, but the order becomes empty as his voice cracks.
Still, Evie obeys him – for once – lying back. She dares herself to look at him, pained by the only expression of true, deep emotion she has ever seen him display, and finds that he has begun to cry again. This time, his chest is heaving. Luckily, the loud, strangled cries of anguish that escape at night when he's alone do not come out, and he remains silent, save for the sound of his quiet, gasping breaths.
Part of her wants to scold him for his weakness. But is it such? she wonders. Could this be an expression of strength? She thinks back on their collective experiences, and realizes that she has never offered him a display of caring or gentleness in all their years. She wants to believe that her anger, her bitterness, is his fault, but she realizes, lying there watching him cry, that the refusal to be vulnerable is mutual. She is just as much at fault as he.
So her bitterness fades, as she realizes the unfairness of her own instinctual emotional reaction, and an intense, foreign feeling of affection floods in.
"Jacob…" she repeats, her voice soft.
Jacob's silence breaks. He sobs aloud, his head falling weakly to her breast. He is conflicted. Part of him is broken by the tenderness in her voice, and part of him is comforted by it. In the end, he calms, but the sobbing continues.
"Jacob… Oh, Jacob."
Evie feels a knot in her throat as shame fills her gut. How could she be so harsh? How could she be so merciless and unforgiving? How could she possibly be so daft as to fail to recognize his… What was it? Love?
He has never been kind. This is true. But he has always, always been there. And she realizes that this has been enough. Enough to protect her, enough to get her through their parents' deaths, enough to keep her going. And she loves him for it.
"Sweet Jacob," Evie squeaks out, her own voice cracking. Tears form in her eyes as she reaches down to thread her fingers through his soft brown hair and stroke his scalp as she whispers, "My sweet, sweet Jacob."
Another loud sob escapes him, and she nearly jumps from its volume. She is stunned by this display.
"Please, Jacob…" she tries.
She wants to tell him not to cry, but she knows from experience that he needs this. She doesn't want him to bottle it up like their father. She doesn't want him to burst with rage when his emotions take advantage of him. She wants him to feel comfortable expressing himself. (Though she knows he doesn't, and that he's likely horrified by his own fit of emotion.) She wants him to feel safe with her.
So Evie keeps stroking her brother's hair back, feeling her heart swell until she thinks it might burst from the uncontrollable wave of fondness she is feeling. She has dammed it up so well for so long that now, crushed by the weight of his unbridled affection, that she can no longer hold it back. The raging water of her love crashes through her, and her tears finally fall.
Then, she leans up, her neck straining, and presses her lips to the top of his head, leaving them there until she feels his body heaving another mighty sob.
"Oh, Jakey. It's alright. I'm alright."
She hasn't called him this since primary school. She'd first used the nickname to infuriate and taunt him, but the day she finally noticed that his blush was not of anger, but of embarrassment, she retired the pet name and never used it again.
"Evie," he howls, broken and melted by the return of his affection. "I thought I was going to lose you."
She has never treated him with tenderness, but as he reflects on their life, as Evie has been doing, he realizes that she has always been there, and always wanted the best for him.
"You haven't lost me, Jacob," she assures him, stroking his sweaty, tousled hair to calm him. "I'm right here."
Then, he slides his arms around her torso, careful to keep his touch far away from her bleeding wound, moving his head up to press his cheek against the warm skin of his sister's neck. The woman continues to stroke his hair and begins to rub his back, causing his sobs to slow nearly to a stop.
They stay silent for a long while, until Jacob's breathing has slowed and he has settled enough to speak.
"Do you love him?" he asks, voice broken and strained.
"Pardon?" she returns, obviously confused by his question.
"Aleck," Jacob says, his tone suddenly strong enough to be firm as he lifts his head to look at her, eyes exceedingly puffy and red. "Do you love him?"
Evie blinks at him, stunned.
"I don't know what you're on about."
"Don't play stupid, Evie. I know you—"
"You know nothing," Evie asserts, interrupting him. "And if you think that I feel anything other than platonic, friendly affection for him, then your insanity must be caused by one of Starrick's concoctions."
Jacob rubs his eyes, taking in her words, then meets her gaze again, searching for a lie. He is greatly surprised to find none. He may not know how to read or handle his sister's emotions – this has been made quite obvious over the years – but he knows when she's lying. (Mostly because she's not very good at it.)
"Then why are you so devoted to him?" Jacob finally presses, needing reassurance.
"I'm not devoted to him, Jacob. I'm devoted to the cause. Can't you see that?"
"All I see is you putting yourself in harm's way – risking your life – to do his bidding."
"Then what you see is not reality."
"Yes, well…"
He is left with no argument, only confusion.
Then, after some tense silence, Jacob asks softly, "Evie?"
Hearing the way he says her name, without irritation or contempt, makes Evie soften.
"Yes, Jacob."
"Have you ever loved me?"
This makes Evie freeze. She has, of course, never been asked this before, and knows not how to answer.
"You're my brother," is all she can come up with for a response, and it comes out empty and hollow.
"But have you ever loved me?"
"You're family," Evie says, as if this explains everything.
"But do you love me?" he presses anxiously, his eyes drying and turning back to steel.
"Do I, or have I?"
"Either," Jacob answers. "Both."
Evie sighs, looking down at his hands, which are still sewn to her hips. Her throat tightens, preventing the answer – the truth – that she has just barely come to terms with, and all she can do is slide her hands gracefully over his, leaving them there. Hers are soft, despite the dirty work she's always done, but his are calloused and dry. Still, she likes the feel of them. And he, though startled by it, likes the feel of hers.
Just when Evie thinks her brother will reject this silent answer, he boldly pushes up the hem of her shirt, just enough to expose a small sliver of soft, pale skin. He rubs small circles over her hips with the rough fingertips of his thumbs, and the intimate touch makes her gasp quietly in surprise. He has accepted – and more importantly, understood – her answer.
"Me too," Jacob tells her, replying to the question she could not bring herself to ask.
