His hand travelled down her side, feeling every bump, every scar, every past break or injury. The story of their lives written in their skin and bones. She was thinner than he remembered, or maybe he was just bad at noticing that kind of thing when they weren't alone.
She was breathing heavily as with his other hand he cupped her breast, alternating between lightly caressing and massaging the soft flesh. His eyes travelled up her naked body, taking in every pale, mottled, bruised part of her as she eased down, straddling him.
His chest was heaving too, his body tense, expectant. His hands came to rest on the curve of her hips as she placed her hands, palm down on his shoulders and leaned forward.
There was a quiet moment, then she lifted herself slightly, and he repositioned himself and he felt himself enter into her.
She half-sighed. Her dark eyes, so like his own, met his.
"Jacob." She breathed, in a rush.
"Evie." He managed, in return.
"Jacob." She said again, more insistently, as she slid backward and forward, slow at first.
God, it was intoxicating. Her body was light, but belied the strength that she carried within as she began to drive him harder, faster.
Her hands were gripping his shoulders harder and he gripped her hips tighter, as the motion quickened again.
"Jacob." She was staring at him, intensely. "Jacob!"
He found something a bit off about her tone, suddenly, opening his mouth to voice a question he couldn't seem to ask.
"Jacob! Jac-
"-ob! Jacob!"
"Wrrssrt?" He half-yelled, swatting the hands shaking him by the shoulders away as he awoke in a rush.
His bleary eyes came into focus and he found the dream-memory of Evie looking down at him morphing slowly into the visage of a very worried-looking Henry Green.
That seemed to bring him back into reality.
"What?" He grumbled, getting unsteadily to his feet. He scratched his head, straightening out his messy hair as he tried to shake away the last vestiges of the…rather intense dream.
For the briefest moment, Henry's expression was unfamiliar to him. The usual well-meaning air and easy charm was gone, replaced by a look of…what he thought might have been curiousity, or interest, before it was gone, quickly replaced by one of serious concern.
Before the various useful parts of his brain caught up with him, remembering the other man's urgency, he found himself wondering, what he'd said or done to cause that look. What if-
Oh god, what if he talked in his sleep.
"Look-" He managed, before Henry cut him off.
"Miss Frye is in trouble." Henry began, seemingly not hearing him. "She said something about going to help out that Marx fellow earlier at a speech he was making to some supporters and now I hear there's a full-blown riot in Southwark."
Jacob stared at him for a moment, trying to grasp what he'd just said. Then something clicked in his head, something like,
Evie. Danger.
, and then it was all very simple.
"Round up as many of the lads as you can and get there fast. I'm going on ahead." He bowled past Henry, grabbing his coat and hat.
For a brief moment he expected some kind of argument, but Henry only nodded solemnly, and he remembered the man had proved, if nothing else, he was far more sensible and realistic than Jacob was.
"Good luck." Henry said.
Jacob nodded and stepped outside. With barely any thought, he raised his arm, fired his rope launcher and jumped off the train.
…
Evie ducked another swing from the muscled thug in front of her, barely managing to avoid a grab from another Blighter behind her.
Things had gotten a little out of control.
The small square was had gone from a peaceful gathering to a chaotic melee in a matter of seconds.
Marx had told her to look out for the troublemakers in the crowd from the off. She'd spotted a few plants from the police and Blighters by the Templars seeded among the gathered workers using her "Sight" and had gone to work.
It had been little to no trouble, to pick them off quietly among the crowd, and so she had started.
But then another two-dozen Blighters had appeared out of one of the alleyways armed with clubs and boards. Hired by factory owners on the side she theorised, to disperse the gathering. Before she could get out of the crowd, or Marx could talk down the tense stand-off, somebody threw a punch and a battle had started.
Now she was surrounded by angry workers and angry gangsters. And the Blighters seemed to have recognised her now.
She'd dealt with overwhelming numbers before, but normally in situations of her choosing. Now she was trapped in a constantly shifting crowd, surrounded by opponents who came and went in the crowd and dozens of innocent people either fighting the Blighters or fighting to get free. And Marx was lost in the mess somewhere.
Her options were limited, to say the least.
A hand reached out to grab her from her right. She caught it by the wrist and snapped it with her elbow, hauling the then-wailing attacker across to her left, into another Blighter.
"Marx!" She yelled. "Karl!" But it was drowned out by the chaos around her.
More Blighters were pouring in from the alley the first group had arrived. Then she heard the sound of heavy boots marching in step down another alley.
"Coppers." She muttered, her stomach sinking. She wasn't ready for the board that collided with the back of her head.
…
Jacob gripped the rope, teeth pressed together as he slid down from the factory chimney onto a sloping roof above the square. Maybe around a hundred people were pressed together in a roiling mass, trapped between Blighters, strike-breakers, workers trying to flee, workers trying to fight and a few dozen policemen just entering the fray from the other direction.
"Greenie, you better be here soon or…" He stooped low, scanning the crowd for any sign of his sister as he fixed on his knuckleduster. Or Marx.
He tried several times to focus enough to use his "sight", but was having trouble. It took a bit of effort most times, and now he was fighting down worry about Green's arrival, the peaceful worker's rights campaigner, the people trapped here but mostly, Evie.
Lord knew, she could take care of herself, and she'd probably chide him scathingly for his concerns, but…
His eyes caught a flash of white on some decking, beneath a makeshift cover for a storage unit. Bushy hair, a beard, he was sure of it.
He leapt down, taking a Blighter down with him. Without a thought he buried his wristblade in the back of their neck and forced his way through the jostling crowd.
"Marx!" He growled, elbowing a copper in the face and breaking the knee of a second with sharp kick.
The man looked up, managing a desperate wave before he was nearly swept out of sight again. Jacob pressed on, hurling himself at a brawler, pummelling the man repeated in the face till all that was left was a pulpy mess.
"Mr Frye!" The older man yelled, out of breath, as Jacob dispatched the second Blighter assaulting the activist.
"Where is my sister." He demanded.
"She was combing the crowd for troublemakers." The man replied, worriedly, his accent thickening under duress. "I hadn't expected the strike-breakers, they attacked everybody! Miss Frye was caught in the middle." He continued, helplessly.
Jacob looked around, taking the man's shoulder and holding him close. Green should nearly be here now, the train hadn't been far and he had men in Southwark now. It shouldn't take an Assassin long to find their way-
He caught a flash of green this time, coming from a third alleyway feeding into the square, then more.
"Make for that alley, Marx. My men are there." Jacob indicated it. "The man in charge is called Henry. Tell him to force open an exit there so people can get out of this mess."
"Thank you, my boy." Marx clasped his shoulder apologetically. "Please, best of luck finding Miss Frye. This is all my fault. If anything has happened to her I don't know how I shall-"
"I'll find her, just get out of here." Jacob repeated. "Oh, and tell Greenie if any of the lads feel like getting stuck in I would greatly appreciate it."
He watched the man go, before turning back to the greater extent of the riot. Blue uniforms clashed with the red colours of the Blighters and all the people stuck between. Evie would be wherever most Blighters were.
Jacob climbed up the old structure sheltering the decking, sparing a glance over where the Rooks had arrived. He could already see his men ushering out many of the innocent bystanders. He nodded, satisfied and turned his attention back to the rest. He would try the "sight" again. This time, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, then closed his eyes. Most of the problems of before were solved, he just had to find Evie.
He opened them, bathing the world in a dull, muted grey. Everything sounded like it was far away, or slowed down slightly. He saw coppers, he saw Blighters, and there…there…
There she was, pinned down beneath a Templar leading a group of gangsters as they took turns kicking and beating her.
"Evie!" He yelled tearing into a run as he flung himself off the scaffolding and into the air above the melee.
He didn't bother with technique and simply allowed himself to smash into the throng of Blighters surrounding his sister, throwing them into chaos. His elbow broke the jaw of the nearest, as he half-rolled to his feet, then he brought his knee up hard into another's stomach, knocking the air from their lungs. He punched another in the neck, relishing the sickening crunch that followed.
"Jacob." Evie groaned, from the floor.
He looked down at her, bruised, battered, bloody and felt the rage boiling out of control inside.
"You." He snarled, zeroing in on the black-coated Templar.
His opponent panicked, brandishing a gun. Jacob grabbed his wrist with his gauntlet and punched him in the chin, smashing his jaw. He tightened his grip on the wrist more and more, until it snapped in his metal-clad hand. The man screamed gutturally, already spraying blood because of his broken face. Jacob punched him again, and again, and again.
The Templar had fallen limp, to the floor, but Jacob held on to his broken wrist and went on, kicking the pathetic remnants of the man on the floor. He finally cast the arm aside and began stomping the broken man with his heavy boots. He could feel his sister watching him but he went on, growling and cursing indiscriminately until there was almost nothing left, nothing that looked human, anyway.
"Jacob." Evie tried again, rolling onto her side, clutching her head.
He finally stopped, as she spoke. He was breathing heavily, and turned away to help her up. Too late he saw her eyes widen and he was suddenly rushed from behind by three or four more men, bearing him to the ground. He struggled and fought back against them but he could do little as the blows rained down on him.
He was pretty sure he felt a lot of important bits and pieces breaking as the beating went on and his world was filled with pain.
A gunshot cut through the sounds of chaos around him. Followed by a second. Two of the Blighters fell dead, disrupting their comrades. He managed to grab the nearest living attacker by the throat, dragging him down to the floor with him and headbutting him repeatedly until the man stopped screaming and started rasping uselessly.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Evie on her feet, wielding her cane-sword like a devil, as if she hadn't just been on the verge of collapse. She used it to break the knees of her opponent in a low swing, then drove the blade into his stomach as he fell, kicking his lifeless body aside.
"Miss Frye! Evie! Jacob!" Henry's voice rang out from nearby.
"C'mon." Evie knelt down beside him, grabbing his arm carefully and hooking it over her shoulders. "Let's get you out of here."
"I was saving you, I thought." He grumbled, fighting down the pain in…well…everywhere, as the pair struggled to their feet, she bearing most of his weight.
Jacob didn't know how she did it. Some people got a 'second wind' sometimes, he knew, but Evie just kept going.
Her eyes met his and she smiled briefly. She had a black eye, bruised lips, cuts and scrapes all over her face and neck and her hair had partially come out of the tight braids she normally kept it in. She was a mess, but she was alive.
For a fleeting moment she'd never looked as beautiful to him in all his life.
It took him another moment to realise she was staring back at him with a vaguely similar amount of intensity.
Henry appeared suddenly, then, looking pleased to have found the pair mostly intact.
"We need to go, quickly. The police are closing in." He gestured the way he'd come, where the Rooks were keeping an exit open.
"Right." Evie nodded, finally looking away.
Together, the three lost themselves in the fleeing workers and went out into the city.
…
Later that night, over his protests, Evie had forced him into her bed, arguing that he was in even worse shape than she was. And he couldn't really disagree.
"Why is it," He groaned, laying back stiffly, ", that I came out worse after rescuing you?"
His coat, boots and vest were discarded on the floor. He'd attempted to remove his shirt and given up halfway. Undoing buttons proved far too dextrous a challenge for his useless hands.
"I think I rescued you in the end, Jacob." Evie replied, from the armchair, struggling out of her tall boots.
Her coat and vest were gone, leaving her in only an untucked, half-unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled and her…always noticeably tight trousers.
Well, he noticed.
As he lay back, watching her heaving the long, leather boots off her equally long, appealing legs clumsily, he found his mind wandering back to his earlier dream.
Well, memory.
It hadn't been their first time. Or even their second or third that he remembered the most. It was after a mission to stop a shipment of Templar goods aboard a train, a few years back. Nearly everything had gone wrong and as they'd split up, neither was sure whether the other was alive. They found one another, scarred, bloody and torn and more than pleased to see the other wasn't dead after all.
They'd made love that night, and it hadn't been like any time before. There was something else behind it, an urgency, an agency, a need. It was stronger, it meant more to both of them. He hadn't felt quite like that in a long time.
Evie looked up a she successfully managed to remove her other boot, and in an instant he knew she'd read him like a book.
"Had a dream earlier." He said, as she started undoing the remnants of her braid. "About that time."
She nodded, knowing what he was talking about.
"I thought I might've lost you, earlier."
"You know better than that." She replied, calmly.
"I do." He shrugged, then winced at the pain. "Still worried though."
Evie stood up, shaking her head a little, sending her hair tumbling back over her shoulders.
"I was thinking about it too." She said quietly, sitting on the side of the bed. Her hand gripped his, rubbing it softly. "Really thought they might kill you when you went down."
"Noticed you fired your gun." He smirked. "You must have been really worried."
She smiled a little in return.
"A little."
He met her eyes again for a moment. She leaned across him and blew out the lamp above them, bathing the carriage in a cool, blue-hued darkness. The sounds of the train outside muted slightly, as they remained still.
Eventually, he gripped her hand tighter, trying to pull her closer. Evie seemed to get the message, as he shuffled over to make room for her on the bed beside him. They held one another, she slowly helping him free of his shirt and trousers, he failing to help his sister remove her own.
In the end, he settled for simply trailing a hand over the now-exposed skin of her stomach while she struggled free of her trousers, throwing them aside carelessly.
She hooked one of her legs in his, her bare skin rubbing with his. It didn't take too long to provoke a reaction in other parts of his body.
Evie's lips curled in a smile as she locked eyes with him.
While her hands folded around him, he slipped his other hand under the thin camisole she still wore and began slowly caressing her chest. She sighed, contentedly, then pressed her lips against his, closing what little space remained between them.
Things began to play out much like his dream, Jacob noticed, semi-aware, as Evie rolled on top of him. He slid her knickers down from her waist as she pulled down his own underwear and began kissing him again, trailing them down his neck.
His hands were on her waist and he could feel the depth of their connection as she positioned herself over him and his manhood entered into her. Her eyes never left his as she began to slide back and forth over him, quicker and quicker.
He saw old scars, wounds, fresh injuries, bruises, breaks. Imperfections, flaws, scabs, bumps.
So did she.
"Jacob." She whispered.
They didn't need to talk. It didn't need explaining. They just needed each other.
"Evie." He breathed, as she gripped his shoulders, head lolling back.
The story of their lives was told in their skin and bones. But there was so much more buried beneath the surface.
This chapter is semi-based on the shitstorm that went down during my playthrough of that Karl Marx mission. I *was* mid-way through picking off the targets and a dozen Blighters *did* turn up and literally attack the crowd. And the police *did* then turn up in response and attack the Blighters.
I sat back and watched.