"Again."
She stifled a groan, knowing her father would only look at her with mild annoyance or sympathy. She wasn't sure which she could face less at that point.
With some effort, she raised her arms again and slipped into a fluid combat stance, trying hard to ignore the parts of her body protesting vehemently. A sprained wrist, what felt like a cracked rib, she was missing yet another tooth and her knee felt like it was twisted in the wrong direction.
Father loved them, she knew that. He did this because he loved them. Because he loved her. That was why he was putting them through this now, when there was no chance they'd be killed…maybe.
Jacob was watching from the side, ostensibly impassive, the blank mask of an Assassin, drilled into them since they were children. But she'd long since learned to read all her brother's tells. His foot was tapping inconsistently, his arms were crossed tightly, fingers drumming and his thick brow was furrowed ever…so…slightly from the effort of trying to do nothing.
Needless to say, he'd stopped playing cards with her when they'd turned thirteen a couple years back.
She smiled inwardly, her own face as carefully blank.
Jacob had a big heart, though he was careful to shroud it in the cavalier attitude and roguish character he was building for himself. He'd already pressed their father twice about letting him take her place in training, and twice the man had rebuffed him in no polite terms. She could feel her brother watching them, itching to push their father to let them trade places again.
She was equally careful in not letting their father see she'd been looking at her brother instead of paying attention. The last thing she needed was another injury due to her own clumsiness.
She loved her brother, and he loved her, that was a comfort, when the training got so much she could hardly bear it.. But that was a weakness, and it could be exploited. It would be exploited. Years of lectures and repeated lessons had drilled that into her. She had to be good. She had to be better than good, she had to be perfect. She had to be ready for anything thrown her way. She had to be strong. Stronger than her brother. Stronger for her brother. For her father. For the Assassins.
She had to be.
Her father's foot slipped sideways on the mat and her eyes latched onto the motion. She slid in the opposite direction, gritting her teeth against the pain that wracked her body and dropped low. Her father jolted back in the other direction and raised his fist. She saw an opening and went for it. With a heave of effort she struck forward, fast, rising upward as she went. With her left hand she caught her father's fist and drove her right elbow into his exposed stomach.
Only it wasn't there anymore.
He'd barely moved at all, but suddenly he was further to the side and as she shot forward the fist she'd caught had hold of her wrist and wrenched it down, behind her back. Her back arched and she cried out, despite her efforts not to, as the her father pulled her feet from under her with his leg and pinned her to the ground.
The whole thing had taken a couple of seconds.
She could barely see she was in so much pain, but she could hear Jacob angrily yelling and the pressure on her arm lessening slightly. God, she wanted to stop, just for a minute. She hated herself for her weakness but more than anything at that moment she just wanted someone to hold her hand or give her a hug and tell her there was nothing to be upset about. She despised herself for wanting to cry. Jacob didn't cry during training. Jacob didn't-
"Again." Her father whispered in her ear.
The train jolted violently and she snapped awake, confused for a moment between the last of the dream and the waking world, before her senses caught up with her.
She was on the floor, her blankets all caught up in a tangled mess with her body. She was sleeping on one of her arms, an uncomfortable reflection of her dream...her memory. Sometime during the night she must have rolled off the bed, or been rolled off by the motion of the ever-moving train.
The practicalities of living on their mobile hideout were still a little bothersome.
The lamps above her swung a little as the train rolled on. With a grunt, she pulled her blankets together and got to her feet, depositing them back on the bed. The carriage was dark, the sound outside muted with the doors and windows closed. Whoever designed the train had put a lot of effort into soundproofing and other odd comforts not usually afforded on public transport.
She padded quietly toward the door which led to the next carriage, pulling her loose shift she wore to bed straight as she went. The second carriage contained the vault, the planning board and the sofa Jacob had claimed as his own.
She'd offered, then insisted he get a bed for himself, that there was room in the first carriage with her, but in a rare occurrence he'd overruled her and now it was all hers. Through the little window she could see the dull glow of a table lamp, and her brothers' boots, ankles crossed. Where he was sprawled out over the sofa asleep or, rarely, reading.
Bracing herself for the cold, she opened the door, wrapping her arms around herself as the rush of night air blew threw her, cutting to the bone. Gritting her teeth together, in an attempt to stop the involuntary chattering, she stepped out, her feet numb against the metal in an instant.
"Jacob." She managed, rapping her knuckles on the other door.
She saw the boots lurch as she assumed he awoke abruptly. Jacob stumbled to his feet and pulled the door open, eyes wide and blinking irregularly as his brain struggled to catch up with his body. He was still mostly clothed, but without his coat and his shirt was mostly unbuttoned.
He blinked again, eyes travelling up and down her body, a puzzled frown settling on his face. She'd have found it adorable if she wasn't currently freezing her tits off.
Literally, she mused, wryly.
"What the hell are you doing out-"
"C'mon, you lummox." She ordered, grabbing the front of his unbuttoned shirt and dragging him back into the first carriage.
Evie thrust him further in and slammed the door closed behind her, taking a moment to let the feeling return to various extremities.
"What…" Jacob yawned. "…is this all about? I was asleep." He grumbled, slumping down into the armchair across from her bed.
Evie regarded him for a moment, not entirely sure what she had actually hoped to achieve. The nightmare…dream…memory…whatever, had rattled her, though she'd never admit it, and she didn't want to talk about it right now either.
She was lonely, then.
She thought sink in a for a minute. minute, depressing her a little. Bit pathetic, really, but there it was.
As an afterthought, she tugged the curtains across the door, then stalked across the carriage, before remembering she'd already closed the others earlier.
Jacob watched all this with a kind of tired, if amused expression.
"Bad dream?" He said quietly. Leaning back in the chair and yawning again.
She stopped in her tracks, half-marched back the way she'd come. She could feel Jacob watching her, or…well…not just watching, really. She recognised the feeling, the subtle shift in micro-expressions as his eyes travelled lazily around the carriage, pausing on certain parts of her body.
Even given the nature of their relationship, and their past, and whatever the hell was in their potentially short future, she couldn't deny the attention was flattering. His idiot smile made her feel a way she rarely allowed herself to. Special. Wanted. Human.
She turned to face him, arms crossed.
"The only thing to be scared of in the dark is…well…us, Jacob." She smirked. "And you're a bit shy of intimidating with that ratty top hat you found." She leaned from one foot to the other, glancing from her brother to the floor.
He sighed, sliding further back into the chair, watching her. She waited a moment, before he finally relinquished and patted his leg slightly.
"Hey." He argued, idly, as she slid into his lap. "I like that hat."
His arms folded around her as she pulled her knees up to her chest, thumbing her chilly feet. His hands rubbed her arms.
In any number of romance novels she'd heard about, she supposed this was the moment where all kinds of flowery prose about his rough, but gentle touch would send sparks through her flushed, soft skin.
But they were both coarse, rough and worn. Both scarred and bruised. Her skin was pale, his a kind of ruddy tan. He wasn't like the handsome heroes from the books and she wasn't any kind of picturesque beauty, by the normal standard. His beard was messy and she had a mass of dark freckles across her face. Their eyes were dark and their noses sort of stumpy. Her brow was strong, defined, not soft and curved like a noble woman.
Henry was different. He was handsome, kind, pretty. His eyes were captivating and she got a little thrill every time he looked at her or smiled. It was different to Jacob, though. She did like him, not that admitting it would end her brother's constant mockery.
She jumped a little when his dry hands squeezed hers before moving onto her feet, massaging them carefully. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as he leaned forward, nuzzling her through her loose, dark locks.
"Cold feet." She turned her head slightly, breathing softly into his ear.
"That'll happen." He murmured, his breath hot on her skin. "Want me to start the fire?"
He raised one of his hands, pulling her hair back over her shoulder and trailing a series of kisses up her neck. She lifted one of her own, cupping his face, leaving several kisses of her own around his cheek and ear.
"Jacob Frye," She began, voice hitching as his hand slipped down to her chest. ", if you even think of moving I'll never speak to you again."
"Don't get my hopes up." He chuckled, throatily.
They fell quiet, holding one another in the darkness for some time. Only a kiss there or a soft touch there as any sign the other hadn't simply fallen asleep.
"Want to talk about it?" He murmured.
She didn't answer for at least a minute.
"No." She replied, softly. She let go of his face, sliding her hand down his chest and stopping on his thigh. "Father-" She began, then stopped, not sure how to go on.
"Father." Jacob said, from behind her, understanding clear in his tone.
She wanted to explain. Wanted to say a lot of things but hadn't the first idea how to start. She simply didn't know.
"Father." She said again, quietly.
Jacob held her a little tighter.
"I know, sister." He replied. His voice was uncharacteristically shaky, unsure. "I was there too."
"Would all fathers do such things to their children?" She whispered. "If they thought it was necessary?"
"Some worse, I expect." Jacob mumbled. "I think he loved us, at least. He had to make Assassins of us." Her brother laughed again, though it was hollow.
"He did." She insisted. "To both." She added, just as vehement.
"As you say." Jacob said, after a pause.
She leaned back into him, caressing his thigh idly. She could…feel him beneath her, but he didn't say anything. He never pushed her, or tried to do anything she didn't want him to do.
"I can…uh…go if you want to go back to-" He began, hesitantly.
"Stay." She yawned, letting her legs unfold slightly as she curled up in his lap, her head resting in his shoulder.
"Think I can manage that." He yawned again, stretching his arms before dropping one around her shoulders, pulling her close.
Evie closed her eyes, taking a degree of comfort she'd never admit in the warmth and the smell and the touch.
"Good." She exhaled, and drifted off.
A/N: Okay, here's the thing. I love Syndicate a fair bit, and its got some great characters, otherwise I wouldn't have felt compelled to be going through with this.
But...in that usual Ubisoft way they *are* pretty undeveloped. And I think that's a shame. I mean there's enough there to get to know, say in this case Jacob and Evie, but even by halfway through or so they still kinda feel a bit like strangers. The flipside of that I suppose is that I'm left with an impressive amount of room to maneuver in terms of the pasts, motivations and inner-workings of the cast. Even if I'm basically making up a lot of it for the purpose of this story. But that's fiction, right?
Anyway, rant over. Here's another helping for those who liked the first one. Thinking about moving it to M if I'm going to go into legit explicit territory, don't want to upset any gentle souls. Or admin.
