Evie's knuckles were starting to crust over with blood. It wasn't her own, and it itched on her skin as it dried, flaking away in brown slivers. She would've liked to scrub it off but she wasn't sure that the pump out the back of this shack even worked. And then, of course, they'd just get dirty again anyway.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," she said slowly, leaning down and yanking the man's head back by his hair. "But know that my patience is running thin. Where did Jack keep his lodgings?"

He twitched backwards and spat on her face, the spittle tinged with more blood. "Go to hell, you crazy bi-"

She jabbed at his windpipe and he wheezed, coughing, doubled over in the chair. In a strange way, she had to admire the devotion that Jack had inspired in his acolytes. Most men would've broken by now.

This one would too, of course. It was just a matter of time.

"Where," she said again, voice muted, "did he live?"

He was silent, glowering, his lips pulled back in a sneer as he rasped to breathe.

Sighing, she pulled her gauntlet back on, working her fingers into the fabric and metal. Making sure that he watched, she flicked her wrist and twisted the blade out.

She always found this part distasteful. But this man's obstinacy was standing in between her and her objective.


One hour and fourteen minutes since she had left.

She was fine. He knew she was fine. She could take care of herself. She was fine.

It still felt like his lungs wouldn't fill all the way, the thundering of his heart loud in his chest. Jacob couldn't remember ever feeling like this, and he hated it. He kept closing his eyes and finding himself back in that damned cell, aching and cold, disoriented and helpless.

He heard the footsteps moments before the knock on the door. Not Evie's.

When he opened it, Emmett was on the threshold.

"Mother said I should come visit again," he said, shifting a little from foot to foot. "Keep you company. Can I come in?"

Jacob gestured for him to go through, glancing down the hallway before he closed the door again. "I'll get my eyepatch, one moment."

Emmett shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I don't think it's as bad as you think it is."

So Jacob made tea instead, the two of them sitting a little awkwardly at the table as it steeped.

Should he bring up what had happened with Jack? How did you reassure your son that, yes, I was tortured but I'm improving now and don't worry about it?

Emmett was a good kid, but he felt things keenly. Jacob blamed the earnest disposition. It was something that Emmett had inherited from his Mother, and if Jacob was honest with himself, he didn't quite understand it. All he knew was that his usual 'joke about it or ignore it' strategy of addressing their concerns seemed to make them both upset.

Jacob was still wrestling with the question when Emmett broke the silence. "Why didn't you let me help?"

"Beg pardon?"

"You made me leave. I could've helped, you know. I'm not useless, even if Mother keeps clucking over me like I'm nine. I knew Jack too. I know I haven't had my blooding yet, but I still could've helped."

Jacob cocked his head, taking in Emmett's mulish look, the petulant jut of his chin. Now that he didn't inherit from his Mother.

He poured the tea and decided on diplomacy as the best route. "I know you aren't. But I needed you to keep your Mother safe."

Emmett frowned as if he hadn't considered this.

Jacob remembered how it felt to be desperately keen to prove yourself, unable to stand the idea of being coddled even when you probably needed it. "Jack was trying to get at anything special to me, and that put your Mother in the line of fire. I couldn't trust anyone else to do the job right."

Emmett was now staring into his tea suspiciously, like he suspected that he was being placated.

If there was anything else that Jacob remembered from being that age, it was that distraction was the sure-fire fallback. He stood and clapped Emmett on the shoulder. "I'll get the cards. Let's see if your old man can still whip you at whist."


It turned out that Jack lived in the attic of a crowded boarding house in Shoreditch, the building stuffed beyond capacity with families of ten and men too drunk or ill to work. The door was locked, but that had never stood in Evie's way before.

The room itself was cluttered, papers and cloth scattered everywhere. She bent down to pick up a few of the papers, and they seemed to mostly be drafts of letters or newspaper clippings about the Ripper's crimes. The bed was just a straw mattress on the floor.

She circled around to the dresser, the only substantial piece of furniture in the room, rifling through the drawers and tossing their contents on the floor. Three drawers in, she found a thick leather notebook with "Evie" written on the cover.

Why would Jack have something with her name on it? Opening it, she immediately recognized Jacob's handwriting, pages and pages thick with his dense scrawl.

To anyone else, it probably would have taken a bit of time to decipher Jacob's scribbles. But Evie had almost two decades of practice.

November, 1869: Rooks found Templar notes about potential chalice relic in Wales, rumoured to have power- PoE?

December, 1869: Rumours traced back to author in Lancashire. Sent Rook to investigate.

December, 1869: Author total crackpot but lists monk as source. Sent Rook to investigate.

January, 1870: Monk says chalice has been lost in caves in Cumbria, map may be in monastery in the area. Have organized two Rooks and provided funds for search.

And so it continued, page upon page as she thumbed through it, twenty years worth of search for Pieces of Eden that she knew he cared nothing about. She closed the book and looked at her name. He didn't care about them. But he knew she did.

For so many years, whenever she had seen something that he would have been interested in- a new fighting technique, a modified weapon- she would feel the urge to share it with him. It was strange to see evidence that he had experienced the same thing.

Throat tight, she set the book aside and resumed her search. And finally, in the lowest drawer and underneath a false panel bottom, she found what she was looking for.

Elegant wrought metal, leather straps and sturdy fabric concealing a deadly blade, a twin of the weapon that sat on her own arm: Jacob's gauntlet.


Two hours and twenty-seven minutes since she had left, Jacob heard Evie's footsteps at the door.

When she came in, she looked like a cat that swallowed the canary. When he saw what was in her hand, he knew why.

"Found it," she said triumphantly, setting his gauntlet on the table between him and Emmett.

Putting his cards down, Jacob took the gauntlet in his hands, turning it over slowly. It didn't look like it had seen a scrap of damage other than what it incurred during his fight with Jack. "I assumed he'd thrown it in the Thames."

"You assumed wrong," she said, shrugging her coat off and smiling at Emmett. "Hello again."

"Hello," Emmett returned, trying to subtly swap out his cards with better ones on the table while he thought Jacob was distracted. A real chip off the old block, his son.

Evie rolled up her sleeves. "Would you mind going to fetch some water from the pump in the courtyard? I've been getting a bit behind on the washing up."

Emmett nodded and ambled over to the bucket in the corner, heading outside with it in his arms.

She turned to Jacob once they were alone. "I also found this," she said, reaching into the inner pocket of her draped coat, pulling out a notebook and sliding it towards him.

"Ah." He recognized the binding. "Yes. That."

She tapped her fingers on it. "Why didn't you tell me? That you were searching for artifacts?"

He shrugged, a bit embarrassed. He wasn't sure that he wanted her to know how much he had hoped to find something, given its potential for drawing her back to England. Or, at least, that had been his motivation to begin with; eventually, when he had come to accept her absence, some of his recruits had been fascinated and provided the continued thrust for the search. Jack was among them. Given that, he supposed it made sense that Jack had taken the book.

"Jacob?" she prodded.

"Never found anything," he finally said. "Not much sense in telling you that I didn't find anything."

She snorted, apparently willing to set the topic aside as Emmett returned. Accepting the water from him, she poured it into the tin basin Jacob kept for washing; as she started to wipe down dishes, Emmett immediately went to her side, accepting things to dry. Looking at Evie's surprised smile, Jacob nodded in satisfaction. Anne was raising him right.

He turned his attention to his gauntlet, fetching his polish and brush. There was a little bit of rust beginning to form, and blood was still crusted on the blade. Nothing that he couldn't put back to rights with a bit of care.

"So," he heard Emmett say, "you were living in India, right?"

"That's right."

"With your husband?"

"Yes."

"Is he Indian?"

"He is, yes."

"Uncle Henry."

"Quite right."

Jacob worked into the crevices of his gauntlet as Emmett warmed to his theme, Evie calmly answering his rapid-fire questions.

"Did you have other Assassins there?"

"A whole community, yes."

"With apprentices like me?"

"Quite a few."

"Was it just apprentices and Assassins?"

"No, there were whole families, lots of children and elders. It was a big community."

"Oh. Do you have a family? I mean, other than Uncle Henry?"

Jacob stilled at that, tilting his head a little to listen for her answer.

"No, we don't have any children." Was that a trace of regret?

"I have sisters and a brother," Emmett volunteered, stacking the dishes with less care than they probably needed. "Adelie and Viola, they're a lot older than me. Hugh too. I guess they're technically my half siblings, from my Mother."

"I see." He could hear her smile.

"Oh, and then there's Cecily. Father says I can't forget about her even if I never met her because she's still my sister. She died when she was small."

Jacob's gaze snapped up just in time to see the plate slip from Evie's hands, the seconds slowing before it shattered against the floor with an almighty crash. Evie immediately dropped her head, covering her reaction by reaching for the broom and dustpan. "Emmett, hold still, be careful not to step in the glass."

Emmett was still blithely talking, completely unaware of the effect of his words. "Don't worry, my boots have thick soles, Mother breaks things all the time when they're not even wet. So I'm used to it. And-"

"Emmett," Jacob interrupted, sensing a need to intervene. "Isn't it almost time that you got back to your Mother for supper?"

Evie was rapidly sweeping up the glass, movements controlled and efficient. "Supper, yes, that's true." She set the dustpan side. "We'll need something too, I'll go for it now. I'll be back shortly."

And with that, she was gone, coat snatched up and out the door without even pausing to say goodbye.

The room was quiet for a moment. Emmett seemed to finally sense that something was amiss.

Jacob sighed. "Go on, then. Thank you for coming to visit, and for helping." When Emmett drew a little closer, Jacob reached out to ruffle his hair, ignoring the way that Emmett groaned in protest. "Come back any time."

After the door had clicked shut, Jacob heaved a deep sigh and stood to clean up the rest of the glass.


Standing in line for pea soup and hot eels, Evie rubbed her arms, trying to ease the hair that was standing up all along her arms.

It was like someone had walked over her grave. No one other than Henry had known about Cecily in India, and he had respected her wish to not hear her name spoken aloud.

For years, she had wondered if eventually the grief of it would fade. And it had, in some ways. Enough that it rarely bothered her now without some sort of reminder. But when the reminders came they were aching and sharp, shards of metal that wormed under her skin and burned from within, the pain a gnawing thing until her lips and knuckles grew white from the effort of clenching them still.

And as if it wasn't enough to mourn for her child, it always twined with the recollection of her fear of leaving England, the disorienting blindness of not having Jacob nearby, the horrible and drawn out childbirth that had come far too early. The constant questioning of her decision and the desperation that went with the feeling of having no other choice.

She closed her eyes and saw delicate little fingers in her mind's eye, tiny toes that were perfect in how they were formed, the faintest fuzz of dark hair on the top of her head-

"Evie Frye?"

The tone was shocked, the voice somehow familiar.

When Evie craned around, she saw a wiry woman with a high forehead and dark hair, wrapped up tightly to ward off the cold, now frantically waving to catch her attention.

"Do you remember me?" She darted forward, ignoring disgruntled customers who thought she was attempting to cut in line and reaching for Evie's hands. "It's Clara- Clara O'Dea."

"Clara? You look-"

"- A little different from when I was eleven?" She laughed. "Yes, I suppose I do. But I would recognize you anywhere."

"It's-" Evie took her in, the determined gaze and worn clothes. It had been so long that she wasn't even sure where to begin. Surely she wasn't still running the children's gangs? "- how have you been?"

Clara rubbed her gloved hands together. "I don't have time to talk at the moment- though I'd love to know why you're back in England- where are you staying? I'll come visit soon. I think you might actually be able to provide the help that I've been looking for these past few months."

When Evie returned, Jacob was still sitting at the table, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface. He immediately stood and reached towards her, taking the paper bag of their supper and setting it aside, pulling her in for a hug. "I'm sorry for that shock."

He smelled good, that peculiar mix of gunpowder and grass and Jacob. "It was just a surprise, that's all. I didn't expect him to know."

He tensed a little. "It's a part of my history as well. I should to be able to share it."

Evie heard the hint of defensiveness in his tone and bit the inside of her cheek. "I know. You can. I was just… I was surprised."

He softened again, drawing back and putting a hand to her cheek. She met Jacob's gaze, concerned and gentle even through the battered eye, and held her breath.

When he leaned in to kiss her, she melted into it, twining her arms around his neck.

Oh, but she'd missed him. Missed this. After half a lifetime away, Evie thought she would have forgotten, but her body remembered; remembered how she fit against him seamlessly, two halves meeting for a perfect whole.

Nothing had ever matched it.

She parted her lips and he immediately followed, tongue swiping against hers, hands snaking up to the base of her neck and tangling in her hair. How could just a kiss make her legs turn to jelly? His stubble was scraping across her skin and she found that she liked the feeling, the roughness of it a contrast with the softness of his lips. If his kiss had been gentle before, it was possessive now, his grip hard and demanding.

His stomach suddenly grumbled loudly. They pulled apart and both looked down for a moment before breaking into giggles, the sound somehow matching even if his laughter was an octave lower than hers.

"Right," she said a little breathlessly, patting him on the chest as he grinned at her. "Supper. Hope you're in the mood for eels."


The train rocked onwards to Crawley. Jacob had his eyepatch on and his gauntlet back on his hand, a comfortable extension of his arm, a talisman of things gradually improving. Every time the panic would start to grow about being in the open once more, he would twist his wrist and feel the leather stretch in a familiar way over his fingers, reminding himself that he couldn't stay in the flat forever.

He also had his cane, a less comfortable reminder of the changes life had recently wrought.

Jacob hadn't particularly wanted to bring the cane. It was embarrassing to have to show such obvious weakness for the reunion with his apprentices, but his ankle was still damned sore, and he objectively knew it was ridiculous to risk injury for his pride. Evie, when consulted, had no sympathy whatsoever. She insisted that she would take the cane along and whack him with it intermittently it if he wouldn't carry it himself.

Which was hard to argue with.

She was sitting across from him now, wrapped up in a coat more of the style that she used to favour. He slouched, crowding her legroom, mostly because her irritated frown was still deeply satisfying in a way that he couldn't explain. "Just like old times, isn't it?"

"Rather." She kicked his shins aside. Ah yes, now that brought back memories. "Speaking of which, whatever happened to Agnes?"

"Last I heard, she took Bertha up north and they've made a lucrative business of giving highland tours to posh Southerners."

Evie considered this. "Not what I expected, but good for her."

For a while, they watched the countryside roll by, offering their tickets when the conductor marched through. Jacob had almost drifted off when she jostled him again to get his attention. "Did I tell you that I ran into Clara?"

"No." He hadn't seen her in years, basically since de facto leadership of the street children had passed to someone else. "She must've been thrilled- she really never warmed to me the way she did to you."

"She said she wanted my help with something but wouldn't say what." Evie looked thoughtful. "I wonder."


The Council headquarters looked much like Evie remembered, other than a new lick of paint on some of the inside rooms. They were met at the door by a man with grey hair and a curling moustache who immediately stuck his hand out to Evie.

"William Lister. We've corresponded, of course."

Jacob looked back and forth between them in surprise. "You have?"

She cleared her throat. This was something that she'd never discussed with him, something that she probably ought to have explained, but it had fallen by the wayside in the face of more important matters over the past few weeks.

Unfortunately, Lister didn't read her discomfort. Or perhaps he did and didn't care. "Mrs. Mir here practically buried us in letters," he said, voice jovial even if his eyes were a bit hard. "Every time that we so much as implied that you needed more oversight, Jacob, we would get another one threatening to involve Arbaaz Mir and the Indian brotherhood and the importance of maintaining cordial international relations if we tried."

It was true; she hadn't been above some blackmail and coercion if it kept Jacob doing the work that he was doing in London. She'd known it was important, even from the other side of the world.

"Right," Jacob said slowly, his gaze flickering back and forth. "Well… Er, these pleasantries are fabulous as always, Billy old boy, but I'm here to see my recruits."

Lister vaguely gestured up the stairs. "First door on the left. And Jacob?" When Jacob paused at the doorway, Lister shot him a curt nod. "We're all glad you're alive."

She followed Jacob as he left the room and climbed the stairs, noting his shoulders becoming stiffer and stiffer as he got closer to his apprentices. He hesitated for a moment outside before finally pressing ahead, leaving the door open for her to follow.

Six apprentices were standing in the room.

All of them jerked to attention when Jacob walked in, and there was a moment of silence as they stared, obviously taking in the eyepatch and cane.

"I like it," one of them suddenly said, a young man with a thatch of curly brown hair.

Jacob looked confused. "Sorry?"

"The eyepatch. You look like a pirate."

Jacob coughed, the sound almost a laugh, and stuck out an arm towards Evie. "Everyone, my sister, Evie." He rotated his hand around the room as he listed off names. "Lottie, Jane, Alfred, Walter, Oliver, Roy."

It was impossible to remember them all at once, but Evie knew that would come with time. So instead she just offered a nod to each in turn.

"We've heard so much about you," one of the young women said. "Is it true that you took Jack down all by yourself?"

"It is," Evie said, seeing the spray of blood and the twitching body for a moment in her mind's eye.

"How?" This time from the man that appeared oldest- other than, of course, her and Jacob. "How did you manage it?"

With an unspeakable sound and fury born from seeing Jacob's crippled body. "I surprised and overpowered him."

"But Jack was the strongest of all of us," he insisted. "He was like a beast when he was angry."

They were now looking at her with something very akin to awe. Evie was used to this; it often happened when she met new recruits, no matter their age. It would pass, she knew, as they got to know her better.

Jacob cleared his throat addressed the room. "As you know, Jack is dead. He did his best to break me, but he did not succeed." He leaned a little on his cane, shoulders still tense. "We have a lot of work to do. The Rooks are still out of control, and I haven't been able to go out and find out exactly how the cards fell after Jack's death. Some of Jack's acolytes are still running around. It's time. I need you to come back to London."

They all nodded. Most of them were looking at Jacob, but Evie noted that one young man in the corner- tall and thin, with short cropped red hair- was glowering at the floor, his body language resentful at best, furious at worst.

"We owe it to the girls," Jacob said, his voice gruff.

The room fell into an unhappy silence and Evie watched as redhead's scowl deepened, his fists curling tightly. She recognized the look of a man on the edge of violence, and she didn't like the way it seemed to be directed at Jacob. She didn't like it at all.

"Right," Jacob continued, clearing his throat. "I expect you all back by Thursday. We meet on Friday at my flat, noon. I expect you all to organize your own lodging, as before. Jane…" he hesitated, looking at the youngest recruit in the room, a little blonde slip of a thing.

"I'll take her," the other woman volunteered. "She'll live with me."

Jacob nodded. "Thank you, Lottie. I'll see you all on Friday."

And just as fast, he was leaving the room, nearly bumping into Evie on his way out.

She followed him down the stairs but stopped him when they were in the foyer. "Jacob," she started in an undertone, "that redheaded boy-"

"Oliver," Jacob supplied. "Yes, I know. It's to be expected. He and Constance were engaged to be married. She was one of the girls that I sent after Jack," he clarified, shoulders sagging at the memory.

"Ah."

"I want to get out of this place," he muttered, so Evie followed him back out into the weak winter sunshine, towards the train station, away from the ghosts of Crawley and back to London.


Notes:

You know things are getting a little out of hand when you find yourself googling things like whether the word "kid" was in common usage in the Victorian era (it was established in informal usage by 1840, apparently. THE MORE YOU KNOW).

Jacob's flat in the game didn't have a kitchen, and this wasn't just a graphics shortcut (I mean- it might have also been that, but it wasn't incorrect). Space was at such a premium that it was fairly common for lower class lodgings- such as those in Whitechapel- to not have any facilities for fixing food. Because of this, street food was a roaring business . Think McDonalds is gross? Imagine jellied eels!