Chapter Rating: PG-13
Word count: This chapter, 5,652 or so. In total, 13,362 or thereabouts.
Notes: …Okay, it's been like two years? And this has literally been written the entire time. I just never got around to proofreading it. Will I ever get to work on more of it? Maybe, I dunno. But I was re-reading the whole thing earlier and it seemed a shame to just ignore it, so I spruced it up and decided to finally post it.
Also I still don't speak French, so I used more Google translate. *SHRUG*
And I remembered to translate things this time, so italic underlined stuff is 'speaking French.' On tumblr I can just use hovertext to translate 3:
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed, and I am not affiliated with Ubisoft. This is written purely for my own entertainment. However, I do own all of the characters in this fic.

"Well, someone's mood soured fast," Malcolm observed, as Siobhan stalked back in, Richard a few steps behind him. "Oh, and you've brought the security blanket."

Richard stretched languidly and dropped himself down into Malcolm's chair. One side of Siobhan's mouth twitched up, as Malcolm stared at Richard blankly, before throwing his hands up and hauling himself up to sit on the desk, instead.

Siobhan pulled off his glasses, and reconnected himself to the Animus. As he held one hand out to the side, Malcolm handed him the goggles.

A deep, slow sigh, and then he put the goggles back on.

"Round two, then."

Cian stood in the middle of the tavern, staring at his boots. Remy's hand on his shoulder didn't make him jump; in fact, he didn't even react to it.

"Why not go see Isabel?" Remy suggested, giving Cian's shoulder a squeeze.

"'m not mad at you," Cian said, not even tangentially related.

Remy let out a breath that didn't quite manage to be a laugh, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. "That is good to know. You are still allowed to go see Isabel."

Cian shook his head slowly. "No. Not…not tonight. Do-" He paused, before he trailed off with a lame, "Never mind."

Remy watched him expectantly.

Cian snorted. "I should've brought my flute with me, when I left home."

"Oh." Remy tipped his head to one side. "…Wait here." He darted back out onto the street before Cian could argue.

He was only gone for about ten minutes, about four minutes longer than it took Cian to get impatient and pull up a chair. When Remy came back, he was carrying a case in his hands, and Cian brightened slightly at the sight of it.

"Where the Hell did you get that?" he asked, as he opened the case to look at the aged, slightly tarnished flute inside.

Remy waved it off. "There are a handful of unused instruments at La Fleur. They do not mind."

Cian didn't reply immediately, turning the flute in his grasp and inspecting it. Remy patted him on the shoulder and breezed further into the tavern, heading for the den. A moment later, Cian was on his feet again, heading for the stable.

There were never many people in the stable, and with the moon high in the sky, he knew he was guaranteed something at least resembling privacy.

It had been nearly a year since he had last played, but he still remembered how, even if he was a bit rusty. He picked carefully through the notes of a slow, simple song. Flower flicked one ear towards him, whickering softly, as he slid down the wall to sit in front of her stall.

It was a chilly night, but he was comfortable enough, and the act of playing the music was comforting, a sort of soothing nostalgia.

He didn't remember falling asleep. Certainly, he didn't remember moving back inside. And yet when he awoke the next morning, he was in his bed in the den, the flute sitting on the small bedside table. He was still fully dressed, boots and all, and found himself disoriented, wondering if he had sleep walked back to his room.

He found the Assassin's hood strangely unappealing that morning-suffocating, almost. He stripped off the coat, the vest, the tunic, and pulled on a plainer tunic, before he wandered out into the den.

Remy was arguing with someone in the library, voice hushed as a rapid stream of French poured out.

"I'm not taking it. Give it to someone else. Hell, send it to London. Molly has experience with these things."

"For the love of God, Remy, can you cooperate for five minutes? We trust you with this!" The other Assassin pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And I do not want that trust! I prefer not to ruin my life to prove myself to the cause-Oh! Cian!" His expression brightened in an instant. "I did not see you there."

The taller Assassin left so quickly he seemed to evaporate. Cian watched him go before turning his attention back to Remy.

"Did I interrupt somethin'?"

"Ah-no," Remy answered quickly.

A beat, and Cian arched one eyebrow.

"Well, yes, but I am glad you did," Remy admitted. "You fell asleep in the stable, you know."

Cian snorted. "So I gathered. I'm gonna assume Flower didn't bring me back inside."

Remy shrugged exaggeratedly, palms up. "You never know. You are not exactly heavy, after all."

"My, what an incriminatin' statement."

"Pardon? I did not say anything."

Cian snorted.

They were quiet for a moment, until Remy finally asked, "You are alright?"

"I'm-" Cian huffed out a sigh and dragged one hand through his hair, for a second bemused at the lack of a hood that had become characteristic. "I'm fine." At Remy's skeptical glance, he added firmly, "I mean it." He folded his arms. "I'm not…happy about it, but I'll get over it."

Hesitantly, Remy wondered, "Will you come with me on my next job?" He rubbed his hands together and rocked back on his heels. "If not you, it will be Abel and I am…not entirely happy with him at the moment."

Cian contemplated the wall. "Alright," he agreed, as if the word was falling out of its own accord. He had killed someone. Realistically, he had known he would have to do so ever since he left the farm, but knowing something 'in theory' was very different from having first hand experience. But…he had survived it. He hadn't gone crazy. And he would have to do it again eventually. He could do it again. It couldn't be too much worse.

Remy smiled. "Wonderful. Merci."

Granted, Cian didn't think agreeing would suddenly make him so busy.

"Stop it."

Clang.

"Knock it off."

Clack.

"Dick."

Click.

"Stop touching things. Bonnie, tell him to leave."

"You would make me kick out my moral support? How could you?"

Cian ducked behind a door and waited until he heard a scuffle, and then six sets of footsteps hurrying away. He bolted from his hiding spot, snagged the satchel and the keys, and then scampered up the wall and over.

"He is young," Richard observed quietly, as he clicked through Malcolm's files.

"Sixteen and a half-ish, right now," Siobhan confirmed.

Cian listened as the fight went on outside his hiding place. This hadn't quite gone according to plan, but the guard-lone, but built like a work horse-had not taken the bait.

In hindsight, though, that was probably good. If he was so much trouble, he might very well have killed Remy, had Remy been on his own.

Cian leaned out of his hiding spot, hand curled around the corner of the wall. He whistled once, sharp and piercing, and called, "Hey!"

The guard turned, startled. Remy stabbed his sword through the back of his neck and out the front.

"I was handling it," Remy insisted, as he shook blood from the blade.

"Uh huh. Sure." Cian's skepticism may have been forming puddles on that ground, at that point.

"Really!"

"Yaaaay," Siobhan intoned flatly, "I'm learning."

"Cian," Richard corrected, instantly, gentle but pointed. "Cian was learning."

"Right," Siobhan agreed, almost meek. "Cian."

Cian perched in the rafters, fingers resting lightly against the wood between his toes. A gentle whistle drifted through the nearest window, almost entirely masked by noises on the street and the pacing footsteps of the courier below.

One hidden blade clicked out, and Cian dropped from his perch. He landed on the courier's back, blade sinking into his neck at the base of his skull. Cian killed him from behind, where he wouldn't have to look at him.

He straightened to his full height, blade retracting, and listened carefully. Remy whistled a second time, and Cian grabbed the pouch and jogged out to meet him, stepping over the body of the second courier, just outside the doorway.

"We should get a drink," Remy decided, apropos of nothing.

Cian hummed in agreement and gestured for him to lead the way. …While silence wasn't the most mature decision Cian had ever made, speaking wasn't particularly high on his to-do list; not until his voice stopped cracking.

"Oh, wonderful. Vicarious puberty. Just what I always wanted. Not like I haven't already done it."

Richard snorted.

After a second, Malcolm wondered, "…Did Dick just laugh?"

This was neither guard nor courier. This was a spy. She had managed to follow one of the others back to the den. Not Remy, not Abel-goodness knows, never Abel, perfect Abel-and that was all Cian really cared about. He cornered her against the back wall of the tavern, and before she could even plead her case, it was done. Click click, one-two punch, heart and throat. She dropped.

Remy emerged from his search through the den, just to make sure there weren't any others, as Cian was hauling the body to the river.

"Does this happen often, and I've just never noticed?" he wondered, as Remy joined him silently on the bank, the body sinking.

"It has been awhile," Remy replied, ruffled like an annoyed cat. "But she appears to have been the only one. Thank you for handling her."

"Aww, little Cian's all grown up and slaughtering people. Just about brings a tear to my eye."

Richard swatted at Siobhan's arm.

"Hands off the test subject," Malcolm interjected flatly.

There was a long moment in which nothing happened, and Siobhan could easily imagine Richard's blank stare and Malcolm's aggravated glower. And then Richard leaned back against the Animus, arms spread across the edge of it, as if it was the back of a couch, and he tipped his head back against Siobhan's knee.

Malcolm scoffed, but didn't argue further.

"…Hi."

Isabel glanced up at him where he perched in the window like a bird ready to take flight, before she looked back to her mirror and resumed brushing her hair.

"Your voice is deeper," she observed, voice carefully neutral.

"…Yes." Cian scratched the back of his neck with the hand he wasn't using to balance.

"It's a pity you've forgotten how to speak, then."

He sighed and shifted, swinging his legs inside to sit on the window ledge. One forearm on his knees, he dragged his other hand through his hair, hood falling down. This wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. Hell, he didn't even know what he'd had in mind when he had decided to stop by.

"I'm sorry. I know, I haven't been around in a while-"

"Six months," Isabel interjected sharply.

"-and I'm sorry. I just-" He locked his fingers together between his knees and looked away. "It's been hectic." He shot her a nervous glance, before his gaze darted back to his boots. "I've missed you."

Isabel huffed and finally turned to face him, one hand on her hip, her hairbrush dangling from her other hand at her side. "I've missed you, as well, but six months? Because it's been hectic? Really, Cian?"

He looked at his left vambrace, the blade mechanism visible through the straps and laces. Both blades were clean and freshly sharpened. Almost pretty like this, if he decided to extend them. But he knew they hadn't been clean last night, as he and Remy stayed up to prowl the area around the tavern, just to make sure all was well.

"I wasn't sure if you would still want t' talk t' me," he admitted quietly.

Isabel cleared the few feet between them, close enough to tilt his chin up with one hand. "I know what Assassins do, Cian. We've helped them, in our own ways." Cian's dejected huddle began to unfold as she spoke. "Have you killed outside of a mission?"

"Well, no-"

"Then it's nothing I didn't already expect."

Cian smiled, hesitant and slow, but honest.

"Benigno didn't have nearly as much of a moral dilemma," Siobhan observed mildly.

"Benigno was a thieving street rat from the Renaissance," Malcolm pointed out.

Three months until Cian turned seventeen, and he had almost lost track of how long he had been in Paris; almost lost track of why he was in Paris.

"Are we even still lookin'?" he asked Remy one day, as they reclined on the roof of the tavern in the grainy sunlight.

Remy sighed. "It is as if he has dropped off the face of the world." He sprawled out on his back, one arm folded behind his head. "We have neither seen nor heard hide nor hair of him. We assume he is still in France, only because we have not heard about him leaving."

Cian grunted. "Lovely." What was that drifting away on the breeze? Oh, just the odds of him ever finding out what happened to his brother. Quaint. He flopped backwards beside Remy.

Remy reached over to jostle his shoulder. "We will find him. Yes? Yes. You are not giving up after this long."

Cian chuckled softly, more just a warm huff of air. "Well, I guess that would be a waste of time, giving up."

"He has so much more down time than Benigno. It's almost relaxing."

"Wasn't Benigno constantly chasing ducklings, though? That would keep anyone busy."

Siobhan rolled his eyes behind his goggles. "I can't believe you just referred to Renaissance Assassins as ducklings."

"Why? I've called you worse."

Richard snorted, and coughed against his hand to cover it.

"…Seriously, does he ever just make noise like a normal person-Ow!"

"Richard, no hitting," Siobhan scolded.

Two months until Cian turned seventeen, and he wasn't entirely sure if he even wanted to leave Paris. Not anymore.

He jolted, startled, snapping his book closed out of reflex as someone pulled his hood down from behind. A pair of hands reached forward, briefly framing his face before they pulled his hair back, gathering it into a tail.

"It's not a mask," Isabel scolded playfully, as she combed the fingers of one hand through his hair a few times before tying it back, "so stop trying to hide behind it. I think the hood hides you well enough. I never get to see your face anymore."

Remy snickered behind his scarf, only to let out a startled squawk and duck to the side as Cian pitched the book at his face. "For the love of God, Cian!"

Laughing, Cian managed an utterly unremorseful, "Désolé!"

Isabel folded her arms over the back of Cian's shoulders and rested her chin against them. "What are you two doing, hunkered down outside like this? It's not exactly a beautiful day."

"We are waiting for a courier," Remy replied, as he picked up Cian's book and leafed through it idly. "You are reading in French?"

"I do learn these things after a while." He reached for his book, but let his hand drop when it became apparent that Remy wasn't going to hand it over. "We're actually supposed to talk to this courier. Novel concept. Whoever decided it was a good idea t' split a map int' twenty pieces needs t' be shot."

"Perhaps it was a Templar. Then we are allowed to shoot them."

"If only."

Isabel hummed in quiet amusement. "Boys and their murder plots. It's very charming."

"Merci beaucoup. We're gentlemen."

Isabel lightly bonked her forehead against the back of Cian's head and pulled away. "Have fun waiting for your courier, boys," she said, as she turned to go.

"You're funny!" Cian called after her retreating back.

"Why don't I get friends like this?"

Richard and Malcolm swatted him in tandem.

One month until Cian turned seventeen. He had been away from home for nearly two years. Home…didn't really seem like home, when he thought about it. Not anymore. Home, at that point, was a pair of teasing French accents. Home was not the farm where he'd heard his dog get shot and watched the same happen to Niall. But still, family was family, no matter how unlikely the odds were of him finding anything.

"Sorry?" He shook himself out of his thoughts when he heard someone speaking to him, glancing up at Remy.

"You are brooding again."

"Not broodin', just…thinkin'."

"So it is very deep brooding, then." Remy leaned one shoulder against the wall beside Cian, facing him.

"Why's it matter if I'm broodin'?" Cian wondered, one eyebrow raising.

Remy shrugged loosely. "It just does not seem like much fun. You never look particularly content, during your brooding." He prodded at Cian's shoulder with two fingers. "So, stop. With the brooding. Come have a drink with me." He gave Cian's shoulder a tug.

Cian rolled his eyes fondly. "That's your solution t' everythin'."

"It makes you so much more pleasant," Remy replied, feigning innocence and weaving aside to dodge the punch aimed at his sternum.

"Violence is not the answer, Cian," Remy scolded, tone briefly holier than thou.

"It's corporal punishment," Cian corrected, equally holier than though.

The semantics of violence versus corporal punishment aside, they did go get a drink. And a few more. And a couple more. And then Remy was heaving his guts up in an alley, Cian awkwardly patting his back while leaning against the wall for support.

"Okay. Okay, so-" He paused as Remy spit a few times, before he plowed on. "So. What're you drinkin' t' forget?"

Remy slurred something in unintelligible English.

"…Y' wan' try tha' again?"

"I think Abel found a lead on Ackley." Cian stilled, but Remy continued, heedless. "He's being quiet about it in case he's wrong, but I think that's what he was getting at." He leaned heavily on the wall, shoulder pressed to Cian's. "You're still going to leave, aren't you." It should have been a question, but it wasn't.

"I-yes." Cian couldn't quite work out why Remy was so bothered by that fact, but he would leave the deep thinking for a more sober moment. "Were y' gonna tell me?"

"Yes, when I knew for sure." Remy sounded surly as he spoke, and then he rounded on Cian, hands on his shoulders. "Your brother is probably dead by now!" Cian flinched, and Remy gave him a shake. "Why are you so determined to chase after a corpse?"

Cian ducked out of Remy's hold and began backing out of the alley, away from him. Eyes too bright, Remy caught his wrist. "Non, non, je suis de'sole'. Cian, come back." He dropped Cian's wrist and fell back against the wall again, head meeting it with a heavy thunk. "Je suis de'sole'," he repeated, digging the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Cian waffled for a moment. Should he leave? No…no, that didn't seem right. Drunken ranking aside, this was still Remy. So…figure out what was actually wrong? That sounded better. But what came out was, "C'mon. Let's get back t' the den."

Somehow, miraculously, they did manage to drag each other back to the den without getting lost. Even more miraculously, they didn't fall down the stairs on the way to Cian's room.

They sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling and talking about nothing in particular. At some point, Cian fumbled his way into some clothes more appropriately for sleeping. He wasn't sure who wound up falling asleep first.

They were a disoriented tangle of limbs when Cian awoke the next morning. His head pounded in time with the footsteps in the hall, and his mouth tasted like a fish had died in it. As he disentangled himself from Remy, the other Assassin grunted and rolled over, only mumbling, "Is it morning?" after a couple minutes of unsuccessfully trying to get back to sleep.

"I'll get back t' you on that," Cian returned, equally groggy.

He dressed slowly, as Remy underwent the grueling process of sitting up.

They sat in muddy silence for a time, until Cian sighed slowly and dragged one hand through his hair. "So." He sat down on the bed once more.

"So?" Remy replied.

"You wanna tell me why it bothers you so much that I'm leaving eventually?"

Remy grunted and flopped over onto his back again. "I was hoping you would forget about my little outburst."

Cian peered down at him expectantly, and watched a parade of emotions cross his face, settling on resigned determination. Remy sat up on one arm, curling the other hand around the back of Cian's neck to pull him closer.

"What are you-?"

The kiss was quick and chaste, and Cian sat rooted to the spot, still as a statue.

Remy's eyes darted for a second, searching Cian's blank expression, before he evidently came to the wrong conclusion. "God fuck it all," he muttered bitterly, worming his way out from beneath Cian, who was still leaning over him in surprise.

Remy's boots hit the floor with a clunk and jarred Cian back into motion. Cian turned to grab his shoulder, but Remy was already dashing out the door. Cian darted after him, shoulder hitting the wall across the hall with his speed, before he pushed himself off of it and kept going, dodging two people on the way to the stairs and only narrowly avoiding a third.

It wasn't much use trying to catch Remy. He had always been faster, and he had a head start. But Cian did pause outside the tavern to track him for a moment, noting the direction he went before deciding on where he was most likely running off to hide, and then he bolted off down the street.

Past a quiet cafe with a few couples drinking tea and coffee outside, down an alley between a church and a house, around the corner of a baker's shop, through the middle of an open air market, until the roundabout, circuitous route to the river was finally complete.

Cian rapped his knuckles on the side of the shed four times, and heard a slightly worrying crash from inside, but no one came out. With a quiet, drawn out sigh, he stepped around to the front of it.

"Remy?"

He stepped inside cautiously. Remy had backed himself against the back wall, a short ladder overturned in front of him. He had both hidden blades extended.

Cian raised both hands to show that he was unarmed (or at least as unarmed as he ever was). "Would I really follow you this far, just t' hurt you?"

"Well, you are a stubborn bastard," Remy replied unsteadily, but he retracted the blades, regardless.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Cian clarified, as he took a step closer. When Remy didn't move, Cian took another step closer, up onto the toppled ladder, and then down onto the other side. Three more steps brought him close enough that he could lean back against the wall beside Remy, their shoulders brushing.

As one, they slid down to sit on the floor.

"So." Remy shifted.

"So," Cian echoed. "You don't want me t' leave."

"Non. But I know you are still going to. And I apologize for running."

Cian slid sideways, to lean more heavily against Remy's shoulder, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Cian broke the silence. "I don't mind," he said quietly, not referring to Remy's panicked flight across the city. "I mean…I don't feel the same, but…you're my best friend, Remy."

Remy laughed gently, just a warm huff of air (more than he had expected, less than he had hoped for, it was clear), and leaned equally against Cian's shoulder. "Good."

"I feel like I should have seen that coming."

Richard patted Siobhan's knee consolingly.

Cian sprawled on Isabel's bed, boots hanging over the side, and stared at the ceiling.

"I feel like I should have seen that coming." He splayed his arms out over his head.

Isabel peered down at him, mouth quirked in a crooked, cheeky smile. "He did give you his flute."

…Wait what. "That was his?"

"He didn't tell you?"

He snorted. "No."

She hummed thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what to tell you, or what you want me to say. Just…try not to hurt him."

"I know. I'll do my best."

"Is she related to Richard?"

"No," Malcolm replied, his eye roll nearly audible. "You've already met his ancestor."

Richard straightened up curiously, shoulder bumping Siobhan's hip, and in unison he and Siobhan asked, "Who?"

"…That was creepy. Just for that, I'm not telling."

Cian was seventeen. He had been for about a week, actually. His birthday had been uneventful. Remy gave him an elaborate stiletto, and Isabel bought him a chocolate tort. He had considered it a good day.

It was about a week later that Abel knocked on the stable wall to announce himself, before he offered a quiet, "Cian," as greeting. "You-" He fell silent, expression growing frustrated.

"I speak French, Abel. Relax," Cian interrupted, throwing the older Assassin a bone.

Abel sagged minutely with relief for a split second, and leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed. "Ackley is moving."

Flower's brush slipped from Cian's fingers, and he burst out, "Where?" Abel recoiled slightly at the force of the question, but Cian plowed onwards. "De'sole', de'sole'. Keep talking."

"Spain. Remy is insisting he accompany you."

Cian blinked slowly. "I guess that's okay…?"

Abel shrugged loosely. "Good. He's already preparing." He pushed away from the wall and turned to leave, offering, "You should go do the same thing," over his shoulder.

Cian wasted little time after that. Within an hour he was ready, and Remy was knocking on his door.

"Cian?" Remy leaned in. "I am-"

"Comin' with me? Abel told me." Cian snorted and joined Remy in the hall. "Longest conversation I've ever had with him."

Remy huffed out a quiet chuckle as they headed for the stairs. "So, you do not mind?"

Cian had to think for a few seconds, but the conclusion came to him readily enough. "No," he answered, and admitted, "It'll be nice to have company."

Remy grinned at him brightly. "Good."

"Is Remy gonna die horribly?" Siobhan wondered.

"You're watching history, Bonnie, not a movie," Malcolm shot back wryly.

"He does not know," Richard translated.

Cian balanced on the edge of Isabel's window and watched her rummage through her dresser.

"I found it!" she sang out triumphantly, as she pulled out a length of intricate, delicate, vibrantly red lace. "It's not much," she said, as she approached the window and draped the ribbon around Cian's neck, "but it's one of my favorites, and I want you to have something to remember me by."

He scoffed playfully and leaned forward to kiss her. "As if I would forget you," he replied fondly, leaning his forehead against her's.

She smiled gently, though it wasn't quite as cheerful as usual. "Just remember to come back, eventually."

"I promise."

"Remember to keep that promise." She kissed him one last time. "Now get out of here."

"Can we be done soon?" Siobhan fidgeted on the Animus. "Sorry," he added, when Richard grunted as he took a knee to the back of his head.

"Soon," Malcolm assured him. "Unless you need to stop early?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Siobhan assured him quickly. "But this isn't the most comfortable bed, and I'm losing feeling in my lumbar."

"Well, if you would sit still, perhaps you would be more comfortable."

"I find that unlikely."

It was a very long way to Spain. Long, and not terribly fast, because they didn't want to exhaust Flower or Louis. But it was pleasant enough. Cian told stories of the farm, of Niall and his antics, and there was only a twinge of pain. Remy spoke of his family, of his mother raising him as best as she could with his father so frequently absent. Neither of them had lived glamorous lives, but they had been content. They had been loved.

They weren't sure how much of a lead Ackley had on them, or how fast he was going, but there wasn't anything they could do about that on the road. They would handle it once they were in Spain.

Abel's trail, however he dug it up, led them to Corana, right near the end of the peninsula. The people were unfamiliar. The places were unfamiliar. The customs, the language, everything was unfamiliar. By luck and intuition, they managed to find an inn. Remy knew a handful of Spanish, the innkeeper knew a hanful of French and English, and through pieced together words and pantomime, they managed to get a room and to board the horses. (And they steadfastly didn't pay attention to the man loudly ranting about the loss of his coin pouch.)

"We'll check the harbor tomorrow. See if we can catch sight of 'im. If not, we'll see if we can scrounge up any local Assassins."

Remy nodded absently in agreement as he stared out the window. "Do you think he will be leaving Spain? Sooner than he left France, that is."

"Probably?" Cian hazarded. "Abel's like a hunting hound. He'd have ferreted it out, if Ackley was here for a while. Don't you think?"

"Hopefully."

That night passed quietly, and the next morning found them exploring the port. And then it wasn't quiet anymore.

"CIAN!"

Remy pelted towards him, caught him by the back of his hood, and hauled him away. Cian fell into a sprint beside him, with a baffled, "What's wrong?"

Remy led him to one of the docks, only recently vacated as a ship sailed out to sea, still within shouting distance. Quickly, Remy cast around, and snatched a spyglass from someone's temporarily abandoned luggage and shoved it at Cian's chest.

Dread rising in his gut, Cian peered through the spyglass. It took a few moments of searching, but he found him; he found Ackley leaning on the railing of the ship, chatting with a young woman. The spyglass went slack in Cian's grip. Before he could drop it, Remy pulled it from his loose hold and returned it to where he had found it.

Mechanically, Cian set off in search of a harbormaster, Remy slinking at his heels. The harbormaster spoke English, thankfully. The ship was bound for New York. If Cian wanted to follow, he had to wait a month. It wouldn't be cheap. Cian thanked him politely, turned, and began making his way back to the inn.

They walked in stiff, uncomfortable silence, Remy casting Cian uneasy glances now and then.

"What?" Cian finally snapped, as they approached the inn.

"Are you alright?"

Cian paused. Thought about it carefully. And then he pulled out one of his knives and hurled it towards the inn. The blade sank a couple inches into the wood with a solid 'thock!'

"Not really, no," he answered, before he stalked inside. He slammed the door in his wake, his knife toppling to the ground as he did.

"Temper, temper."

"Family trait," Richard suggested, leaning forward just long enough to avoid another knee to the head.

Cian woke the next morning to find his knife on the table and Remy staring intently out the window.

"Good morning."

"Good mornin'. What're you doin'?"

Remy pointed out the window. "Tracking," he replied, as Cian joined him. "You will need money, correct?" They watched a demonstrably wealthy man chat emphatically with a painfully disinterested woman outside the inn. "Drunk already. Easy target."

Cian nodded once in agreement, before he latched onto Remy's phrasing. "You said I'll need money, not we."

"I cannot follow you that far, Cian," Remy told him, words disappointed. "I can keep you company until your ship departs, but I still have work I must do on this side."

Cian sighed. So he would be alone again. But he supposed he shouldn't complain. "You can head back sooner rather than later, if you'd rather."

Remy snorted. "And leave you to bumble around here for a month? I do not think so."

Cian cracked a world-weary smile.

"Just a few hours and I get to see half of Europe and the colonies. Like magic."

"Actually, the colonies will most likely be tomorrow," Malcolm corrected.

"Just a few days, then," Siobhan amended.

It was a quiet month. They explored. They snatched enough money for Cian to buy passage on the next colony-bound ship, but other than that they took only what they needed to get by. The innkeeper tended to give them strange looks, but he never said anything, beyond a few stilted requests for Cian to stop playing music late at night.

"Are you gonna go back to map huntin'?" Cian wondered as they sat on the edge of the window, on the eve of Cian's trip. They could see the masts from the inn.

"Most likely," Remy replied. "There were still three pieces left, at last check. Will you come back, when you finish this quest?"

Cian shrugged. "Hopefully. I don't imagine I'll have much time for makin' friends over there. I'm not that good at it."

"You slept with Isabel and you did not shoot me for kissing you. Trust me, you have worse skills."

Cian snorted and rolled his eyes. "Sure, and they probably involve fuckin' people and bein' forcibly kissed."

"Nonsense. You were very talented, compared to other stone statues." Remy weaved out of the way of the punch aimed at his shoulder.

They didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, as they stood at the base of the gangplank, Remy kissed Cian's forehead.

"Be careful. My feelings will be hurt if you get killed just to avoid coming home."

Cian pulled him into a hug, trying his damnedest to ignore the note of finality to it. "We wouldn't want that to happen." He stepped back to arm's length. "I'll be careful. You take care of Flower. If I hear somethin's happened to her, I'll have to come back just to kick your ass."

Remy offered a weak smile. "Do not tempt me."

They stared at each other for another moment, before Cian turned and boarded the ship.

"Can we be done now?"

"Yes, yes, fine. That's all for today."