A/N: Welcome to the second installment in my on-going post-Catalyst stories! This one is going to be a bit longer (aiming for three parts) and is also based somewhat on the song "Running Up That Hill" originally by Emily Bush if I'm remembering correctly. For the full effect, listen to the version either by Track and Field or Within Temptation's version, which is what I listened to on repeat while typing this. If you're familiar with the song, you'll realize I used lyrics as the story name and as well as the name of the first part. I don't own the lyrics, just using them.

As always, I do not own these characters and please read and review!

TITLE: tearing us asunder (part 1 of 3)

FEATURING: Emily Burke, Thomas Hickey, Nukilik

WHEN: Month + a week and a half after the last events of Catalyst

RATING: This part contains strong language

SUMMARY: Emily Burke is given an ultimatum: say goodbye or lose her status. What should be an easy choice won't stop eating her up inside. When a mission boils down to another choice, how will she react?

tearing us asunder

PART ONE: so much hate for the ones we love

Emily Burke was on the run. She'd fucked up quite badly and now she was paying the price. She didn't even have blood on her hands yet and her heart was racing in her chest. She didn't even think she had the courage to take a look over her shoulders, she was running too fast and she didn't trust herself not to run into something, as skilled an Assassin as she was. Though, she took the chance and gave a quick look and swore under her breath, yanking her head around.

They were closer than she'd thought. She took a flying leap and dug her hands into the side of the building - her mostly healed leg protested at the treatment it was receiving -, hauling herself up. She dashed across the rooftop, footsteps precise and professional. She leaped across the gap between two buildings and kept up her pace, pushing herself just a bit faster. She could do this. She wasn't going to fail this mission yet, she'd lose them and they'd she'd ambush them.

"Them" being a small gang that had been hell bent on avenging Claire Scott. See, they'd turned up about a week and a half ago and Haytham Kenway had been going off about them and she'd finally grown tired of his mutterings and taken up the mission. Despite Haytham being in the process of drawing his time as Grandmaster to a close, he still made most of the calls. Now and then, Connor got a word in but the Templar Order still answered most faithfully to the elder Kenway.

It was a strange world that Emily Burke now found herself living in. Although they didn't correspond on everything, the Templar Order and the Assassin Brotherhood were on decent enough terms. Of course, they still had their differing opinions, but somewhere along the way they'd found middle ground. They'd shared a common enemy, and neither seemed two into the idea of turning against each other again, though the alliance was shaky, poised to shatter at any point in time. As far as Emily was concerned, she was going to take total advantage of the situation. Thomas Hickey, although a drunkard Templar, was a decent man and she found that she enjoyed the time she spent with him more than she figured she ought to.

Emily leaped across another gap, rolling across the roof and sliding off the edge, grabbing the gutter at the last moment, allowing herself to hang. She quieted her breathing and listened for feet. As they came she prepared herself, then sprung the trap her prey had unknowingly walked into.

She leaped onto the building, swinging out her leg. She caught one by surprise, throwing his bulk to the ground. She was on him in moments, her blade slicing across his neck. A dying gurgle choked in his throat as his life's blood sprayed across her feminine hands. She rolled to the right, used to the feel of warm blood between her fingers. She came up in a crouch, somersaulting forward and plunged her knife into another gang member's stomach, tearing it out in another spray of gore. She straightened, spinning to face the final two attackers. They squared their shoulders and she broke into a sprint. She leaped at the last moment, slammed her heel into the face of the unsuspecting woman to the right and swung at the burly main to her left. He grabbed a hold of her ankle as she tried to clear the jump and slammed her into the roof before him.

Emily let out an involuntary cry, kicking out violently. He lost his grip at her sudden attack and she staggered to her feet, clutching at her bruised - if not broken - rib cage. He squared himself up with a growl as she faced him, panting. "Bring it on, bastard," she snarled through clenched teeth and he ran at her. She crouched to spring, and then a shot rang out and he froze in his drags. A scarlet rose blossomed from his chest and he fell face first into the ground. She watched his body slide to the edge of the roof and topple into the streets of Boston below.

Glancing up, she met the eyes of her savior: Nukilik, mentor of the Colonial Brotherhood. She gave an awkward half wave, still clutching her side. He made her way towards her, and she couldn't help but cringe at the judgment in the tilt of his brows. He wore his usual Assassin robes, adorned with furs that were white in color. At his head perched his tricorne hat, though it was different than the ones Haytham and Connor wore. It was thicker, and Emily suspected that was because it looked as though it was made of the same fur his robes were.

"We need to talk," said Nukilik, giving her a once over, "about your behavior."

Emily made an exaggerated sound in the back of her throat. She didn't deserve this right now. Her ribs were probably broken and her leg was an aching pile of shit. "Mentor," she muttered, "any other time would be great, but right now, I'm hurting… can't it wait?" She favored him with a sweet grin but Nukilik's glare didn't soften, if anything it hardened. She grumbled. "What is it?" She demanded, crossing her arms, trying to look as impatient as she could while keeping the pain from her eyes.

"Your relationship with Thomas Hickey has gone too far," replied Nukilik with a tone of steel.

She recoiled from him as though he'd slapped her. Of course both Orders were aware of how close the two had gotten, but she hadn't been aware that Nukilik knew how close they'd gotten. Indignant, she narrowed her eyes. "What're you," she grumbled, "my father?"

That, obviously, was not the correct response for Nukilik grabbed her collar. "Listen to me, Emily. I may not be directly related to you in anyway, but you are a part of my Brotherhood and you are under my order. Hickey is a Templar-"

"Yes," snapped Emily, brushing away his hold, "I'm quite aware of that fact. And I'm an Assassin. Times are changing, Nukilik. We're not at war anymore. Not with the Kenways and not with Hickey."

Nukilik snarled. "If you don't heed my warning, Emily Burke, there will be consequences and you won't like them very much," he pointed an accusing finger at her. "End your relationship with Hickey, or I will be forced to act." Then he left. He just left her there upon the roof of some random Bostonian building.

Emily ran a hand through her hair and huffed. By god, what the hell was she going to tell Hickey?

Hickey was snoring. He was sprawled out across the couch in the corner of the Green Dragon Tavern and Inn. He wasn't dreaming, he was just snoring, completely at peace with the way he was. Though, he wouldn't have minded some company. Particularly the company of a blonde Assassin by the name of Emily Burke. He quite liked her company, and he knew she enjoyed his. Their nights were particularly nice. Had he been dreaming, that's what he would have been dreaming of.

Though, had he been dreaming it would have ended abruptly as the couch he was dozing on was unceremoniously kicked backwards against the wall, jolting him from his slumber. "Wha' t'bloody hell!?" He crowed groggily, jumping into sitting position. Though when he saw Emily standing a few feet in front of him, he relaxed, leaning back against the cushions. "G'afternoon, there Burke," he grinned swavely. Then he noticed her expression and his grin faded. "Emmy?" He stood up.

She was covered in blood. She was always covered in blood, though she usually looked triumphant when she was covered in blood. Now she just looked downright miserable. "Need a pint?" he asked, looking her up and down, making a move towards the counter. "Few bandages, nice lil visit ta the bedroom'll cheer ya right up." He winked, but her expression didn't change. He crossed his arms and shook his head. "Don' know what got inta ya," he said, narrowing his arms. "Not yer usual self."

Emily sighed and wrung out her hands and he almost snorted. Was she nervous about something? He shook his head. Emily Burke didn't get nervous. Though she sure as hell did look it.

"We have to stop," she said, looking him in the eyes.

He frowned. "Eh, stop what?" He blinked, waving a hand for her to clarify. Perhaps he was being daft but he honestly didn't have a clue what they were stopping. They weren't exactly currently doing anything.

She sighed and gestured between them. "This… Us."

Hickey barked out a laugh. "What's gotten into ya, hm?" He made a move towards her, but she stepped away and he froze. "Emmy?"

She shook her head. "No." She shook it again and said it again: "No."

He reached for her and this time she let him grab her shoulders. "Emmy?"

She looked up at him and her eyes hardened. She shoved him away from her. "Don't touch me, alright? Just leave me the fuck alone. I don't want you and I sure as hell don't want this. So, just stop." Her emotions were eating her words, each other more and more strained. The last word she said was the worst. It was so constricted that Thomas hardly knew what she was saying, but he heard it. Heard the desperation in her voice, heard the way it caught.

"Please."

Thomas stepped away from her and put his hands in his pockets. "Sure. If it's what'cha want." She nodded and then he nodded. Then she was gone. She stepped back and then spun on her heel and raced out of the inn. The door hadn't had time to close before Hickey was at the bar, pint in hand. He glanced at the way she'd gone and then at the pint and he downed it all and slammed it against the bar, cursing to himself.

He couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn he heard something that sounded like a sob before she left. He figured he'd never know for sure.