People stepped aside for Jacob now.

Especially in Whitechapel, where he was the closest thing that existed to the law, crowds parted for him like the sea before Moses. Hats were tipped at him, cheerful voices calling out from doorways in greeting. Rooks met him with friendly laughter and a measure of respect. Girls smiled at him constantly.

A year ago, the heady and intoxicating mix and approval of power would have left Jacob feeling like he was on top of the world.

Now, he found that it sobered him.

Oh, he grinned and waved back, and he liked the attention. There was no question of that. He had always liked being the centre of attention. He dutifully met the people who sought him out and tried to act as he felt he should: arbitrating between disputes, accepting pleas for help, overseeing the imposition of order where there had been none before.

And there were lots of late nights at pubs with the Rooks. That was as natural as breathing.

But it was hard for him to treat his leadership as a success when he walked by the field where fallen Rooks were buried, names and bodies of men and women- almost always pathetically young- who had given up everything so that he would enjoy this privilege.

He made himself walk by that field. He had seen what unbridled power did to Roth and Starrick, and he worried that it would be all too easy for him to go down that path.

Roth's and Starrick's toxic presence still lingered in London in the form of their followers, even if the men themselves were gone. Granted, they were dramatically reduced in number; when Starrick's fall became public knowledge, most of the Blighters scattered like dandelion snow in the wind. The organization was rudderless without a leader, unable to sustain any kind of centralized focus.

But that still left a core group of loyalists in Westminster. They were the last boil to be lanced before the organization was gone, he hoped for good.

Greenie helped him prepare the Rooks for this last conquering fight. "Do not underestimate them," he advised, gesturing to the map where they had placed a few pins in locations for potential gang wars. "They are small in number but they were the fiercest of Starrick's supporters. They have nothing to lose now."

A year ago, Jacob would have shrugged off this advice.

A year ago, he didn't have a dedicated fund set aside for Rooks funeral costs.

"You're probably right," he conceded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evie's head pop up from her book in surprise. "Would you advise anything?"

"An exit strategy," Greenie said quietly. "I know it goes against your nature to even consider leaving a fight, but it may be wise in this case."

Greenie was right. He didn't like it. But maybe, like Evie had always implied, this role entailed doing his fair share of things that he didn't like.

"I'll make sure that's an option," he agreed. Greenie looked pleased. Evie's mouth opened in a perfect circle of surprise.

When Greenie left to return to his shop, she lowered her book. "Did I just hear you agree to make an actual plan, dear brother? Am I dreaming?"

"You've worn me down," he groaned dramatically. "My spirit is broken."

She smirked at him. "I knew you would see sense in the end."

"Don't tempt me to change my mind."

"You wouldn't dare, now that you're the responsible leader of London."

He groaned again and rubbed his face. "I need a drink."

Even with Blighters demolished, the Templars were trying to retain a foothold in London. Evie would receive periodic reports from Henry of new arrivals, agents sent from foreign headquarters to try and salvage Starrick's destroyed network.

The newest was a gentleman from Edinburgh, recently arrived and established in a house near the Strand. Presumably, he assumed that the nicer neighbourhood and police presence made him safe.

He was, of course, wrong.

Evie picked the lock to an upper window while Jacob kept watch over the street. She knew that he had organized a distraction that would keep the police busy, and she had gone to the trouble of obtaining plans for the house so there would be no surprises.

She slipped into the window and landed in what looked like a private library, the thick carpet muffling the sound of her feet. Jacob rolled in behind her, dusting imaginary dust off of his lapels. "Nice place," he said approvingly, wandering over to a fully stocked tray of spirits.

Evie suppressed an eye roll and gestured towards the door. "McFayden should be asleep. He's a relatively small player in the grand scheme of things, so I suspect he won't have very heavy security. Keep watch on the door?"

"Done," he replied, swirling a glass of dark liquid with a smile and already clearly not paying attention. "This is a seriously top-notch whiskey, Evie, you should try it."

"Perhaps another time", she muttered, slipping out into the hallway.

McFayden was tucked up in bed where she expected he would be, and she looked him over as he slept. She couldn't help but feel a bit of professional disapproval. The lack of guards at the door was seriously sloppy; no wonder he hadn't been called to London before.

As she produced her hidden blade, there was a sudden unearthly yowling and the sound of shattering glass from next door.

McFayden's eyes flew open and widened for a fraction of a second as he saw her. She hissed and pushed the knife into his neck, holding a hand over his mouth so that he wouldn't alert the entire household.

As he took his lasts breaths, more glass broke next door. She could hear muffled swearing.

She yanked her blade out and ran towards the sound, blinking for a moment when she found the hallway and adjoining room empty. As her eyes adjusted, she realized that the room wasn't empty- there was just no one at eye level.

Jacob was on the floor, swinging his arms frantically as a small ball of calico fur hissed and scratched at his face. Disbelieving, Evie lunged and yanked the cat off him.

"Out the window!" she hissed at him, pointing to where they had entered. Jacob lumbered to his feet and clambered out awkwardly, trying brush cat hair off himself and push up the building at once. She followed on his heels, the sound of a disturbed household growing louder from below.

It wasn't until they were almost a neighbourhood away that they relaxed, slowing down on a rooftop to catch their breath.

"I'm sorry-" he started, but she put her hand up. Looking at him in the moonlight, now, she could see that he had a series of scratches across his face, red and angry. "It flew at me," he said helplessly. "I don't even know where it came from or what I did."

She couldn't help it. She started to laugh. "Honestly, what is it about you?"

"It isn't funny! I'm a master assassin, I shouldn't be bested by a cat!"

That just made her laugh harder. He managed to pout for about three seconds before he started to laugh as well, sheepishly hunching over. "I should've kicked it away but I couldn't bring myself to hit something so much smaller than me. Thank God that no one saw that."

"I saw it."

He pulled her in for a kiss. "I know my secrets are safe with you."

Sometimes they were sweet and loving. Jacob didn't mind that, especially when they were crowded in the narrow confines of Evie's bed, where hushed kisses and soft embraces seemed like the appropriate thing.

Those were the moments when it was like being back to discovering each other, when everything was still frightening and they were trying to negotiate this new and strange understanding of themselves. They had lived in that territory for a long time, trying to balance it with the increasingly tense terrain of the rest of their lives.

Bursting through that wall had been like letting off a pile of fireworks. Success had made them bolder and braver. Practice made him more confident, her more relaxed.

They learned to love roughly, to demand. It meant late nights in dark corners of alleyways where they wouldn't be recognized, fingers shoved in trousers and bites on shoulders. It meant carriages with locked doors when it became too unbearable to wait for night, balanced on each other with practiced thrusts and hands over mouths to muffle their sounds. It meant long-abandoned offices in empty warehouses after target practice, tempers running high and passion running higher, her arms braced against brick walls and his hand tangled in her hair.

Jacob usually didn't stop to think about it too carefully. But when he did, it made nothing but perfect sense to him. Every part of their lives were woven with violence. He knew it. She knew it. It had always been so, since Grandmother had taken them in hand and delivered them to Father when they were six, two solemn children staring up at the larger man with big eyes.

It made no sense to always treat each other gingerly and softly in bed and then freely kick each other to pulp in the practice ring. This was their life, for better or for worse.

He didn't need to prove himself to Father any more. He didn't need to prove himself to her any more. This was who he was, and this is how he loved, and she accepted that.

It only made him want her more.

"No, no," Evie corrected gently, folding Clara's hand into hers and tracing the letter again. "The circle curves to the right if it's a 'q', but it curves to the left if it's a 'g', like so."

"I used to be able to do this," Clara said glumly.

"And you will do it again." Evie took her hand away and gestured at the paper. "It just takes practice. Now, once more."

Most of the street children couldn't read. Evie couldn't help all of them, even though she sometimes wished she could. She had convinced Jacob to use Rooks funds to hire a teacher to visit a local church in Whitechapel twice a week; children would crowd into the pews by the dozens and watch as he traced out letters on slate.

Clara, though, had a foundation in reading from being raised with a rich family, even if she had only gained her learning by secretly listening in on lessons. She was bright and she had potential. Even if Evie couldn't help all of the children, she could help Clara.

Clara frowned and gripped the quill, tracing out the letters slowly. "In… the… beginning… Do you think I'll ever be able to read harder books?"

"Of course," Evie agreed. "We can start as soon as you'd like."

"My Ma used to want to be able to read," Clara said quietly.

Evie had never asked, but it would be a lie if she said she wasn't curious. "Clara," she started gently, "what happened to your mother?"

Clara kept her focus on the letters, her small face scrunched in concentration. "She passed when I was ten."

"I'm sorry," Evie replied, almost automatically.

"Don't be sorry. She had already been gone for almost a year."

Evie frowned at the small figure in front of her. "What do you mean?"

"She couldn't get out of bed. She barely ate. She was there, but she wasn't there, not really. When she stopped breathing, it was just her body following the rest of her."

The matter-of-fact way it was stated made Evie's chest constrict a little. "I'm sorry," she said again, aware of how inadequate it was as a response.

Clara finished a word with a flourish and turned to Evie seriously. "It was never the same after Pa left. He filled her belly with babe after babe, and then ran off when he couldn't face another child. And without him, neither could she." She went back to the page and started the line again. "No one should have a babe they can't welcome. I'm never getting married."

If the statement had come from any other eleven-year-old, Evie might have smiled. Delivered by Clara with a chilling calmness, it didn't inspire mirth.

"After she died," Clara continued, "it was just me looking after my brothers and sister. The world abandoned us too. It's always the same with the children who come to me. Too many babes, too many mothers who didn't want them, too many fathers who abandoned them. So I won't. I will never abandon them."

"A noble cause," Evie said softly.

"But I can do that better if I can read. I've been having someone else write my letters for me, but I want to do it myself." Her brow furrowed in frustration as she finished the line again. "There, does that look better?"

Evie leaned over with a discerning eye. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. Clara's print was precise and only a little bit hesitant; with some practice, she would be proficient in no time at all.

"It looks very good. Once more, and this time, try to write at least three words without lifting your pen from the page."

Clara started obediently. "I'm glad that you came to London."

Evie resisted the urge to wrap the girl in a hug. "I am too."

Jacob chewed on the nib of the quill and stared at the ledger with a frown. He had done the sums at least three times, but the total still wasn't adding up the way it ought to.

Salaries, uniforms, weapons, ammunition, bribes… He scrolled his finger down the expenses side to make sure that everything was correct. It looked right. Pubs, races, protection, smuggling, arrests…The income side looked right as well.

He ran both of his hands through his hair with a frustrated groan. Someone should have mentioned that gang leading involved so much desk work.

There was always the option of hiring someone, but the stubborn side of him felt like that would be admitting defeat. The petulant child in his head would stomp his foot, wailing that he could do this, he could, and anyone who said he couldn't was wrong.

He reasoned that he had managed this well enough when the gang had thirty members, so surely he could keep it up even though they now had… At least ten times that number, if informants were included.

"Problems?" Evie's voice floated from the end of the carriage.

He scrambled to cover the ledger with his arms, rattling his tea cup in the process. "What? Problems? No! Everything tickety-boo here, no problems at all-"

She leaned over his shoulder and pushed his arms aside. He squirmed as she eyed the ledger and his scribbled sums critically, waiting for the judgemental comment and something about how he ought to have paid more attention during their lessons growing up.

He probably should have paid more attention, of course, but that was beside the point.

Instead, she just pointed at a step halfway through his calculations. "You didn't carry the one here."

"What?" He followed her pointing. Aware of her small smile, he corrected it and redid the sums as she watched.

He wasn't sure if he was more irritated or relieved when everything came out properly this time.

She gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "You'll get the swing of this, I promise."

"I liked it better when you just made fun."

"Fine. You're an idiot and you can't do maths."

He slouched forward in his seat and folded the ledger shut. "All right, it turns out I don't like that either." Trying to regain some of his dignity, he straightened and faced her seriously. "Besides, I was making that mistake on purpose. I wanted to see if you'd catch it. The good news is you passed. Well done, sister mine."

She nodded solemnly. And then she laughed at him to his face.

"Miss Evie?" Henry's voice called through the door. "Are you there?"

She and Jacob froze to stone, barely daring to breathe.

She was almost completely undressed, her shirt tucked up around her shoulders, Jacob crouched over her in just his trousers. He looked almost comical, his hand on his belt, his mouth hovering over her breast. Only his eyes moved, flickering between her and the door.

Her mind slowly creaked into action and she found her voice, raising it so Henry could hear, hating how it came out with a bit of a squeak. "Sorry, Henry, I'm not decent at the moment. Do you need something?"

She could hear his embarrassment. "I apologize for bothering you- I am actually looking for Jacob, do you know where he might be?"

Jacob's head shot up and he met her eyes with a flicker of panic. She cleared her throat and looked away to yell back. "Sorry, no, I've no idea. Try the local pubs? I'm sure he's passed out in a hay bale somewhere."

Jacob shot her a filthy look.

"I see. Thank you anyway," Henry yelled.

They both stayed frozen until they heard him step away from the train, the door swinging shut as the train chugged into movement once more.

She finally relaxed back into the pillows. "That was too close."

"Good thing he knocks," Jacob said. "If he were more like me, we'd all be having a very awkward conversation right now."

She twisted her face. "I'm trying to imagine two of you in the world. It's not good."

He chuckled and lowered his face, kissing her breast gently before suddenly scraping tender skin with his teeth. She tutted and made to push him away. "Don't you think this is maybe a sign that we should stop being reckless in the middle of the day?"

"You make it sound like I bullied you into this," he replied, sliding his fingers between her legs and smirking at her choked noise.

"You make me do things that are against my better judgement."

He pulled his trousers off and climbed back over her. "Well," he chuckled, sending a shiver up her skin and a rush of warmth to her hips. "Let me see if I can convince you into one more thing."

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Maybe."

"Just make sure you use a sheath," she grumbled. Even when I try to sound annoyed, she thought helplessly, I just end up sounding coy. How does he do it?

Wanting to spend time with Evie meant that Jacob was training more than he had in years. She prioritized it, and accordingly, he tagged along. It was a far cry from a drink at the pub, but it got their blood up, and he tended to like where that went.

They met in the cavernous space of an empty warehouse, a burned out shell after a mysterious fire had hollowed it out earlier in the year. Equally mysteriously, the old owner had disappeared the same night, leaving his affairs in disarray. While lawyers and family tried to arrange his estate and decide what to do with the property, unbeknownst to them, it had been quietly converted into a target practice ground.

She was in fine form, Jacob observed proudly. The hanging wooden panels cracked backwards as she threw her knives, each one landing squarely in the centre of its mark.

When she reached the end of the row, she simply started over, her knives embedding themselves next to the first. The third time this happened, he made a point of stepping into her line of vision and raising his eyebrows at her.

She wouldn't meet his eyes properly. "What?"

"In the country where I come from, we take the first set of knives out before we start throwing again."

She thinned her lips and walked to the targets, lowering them down and wrenching the knives out.

He watched her re-position the targets. It wasn't like her to break routine. "Is something wrong?"

She spun a knife over and over in her hand and he watched her take a deep breath. "Henry asked me to marry him."

"He what?"

"Asked me to marry him. Earlier this afternoon."

"He didn't."

"He did."

Jacob whistled. "Damn."

"Yes. So would you step out of the way?"

He considered this news as she threw another round of knives. "What did you say?"

"I told him that I wasn't ready for the responsibility of marriage."

"But you left it open for the future?"

A muscle in her jaw jumped. "He's a good man."

That was all fine and well, he thought, but he didn't have to like it. "You still could've just turned him down outright," he said, aware of how petulant his voice sounded.

"I'm my own person, Jacob. I can make my own decisions."

Evie leaned over the waste basket, stomach still rolling. If only the train wouldn't sway so much, she thought with a groan. Maybe it was time to look for a room that wasn't on wheels.

A tap on her shoulder indicated that Agnes had returned with water. "Thank you," Evie croaked, accepting the cup. She managed two sips before her stomach lurched again, forcing her back over the waste basket.

So much for breakfast, Evie thought glumly. Some of it had still stayed down, though it was currently doing its traitorous best to come up with the rest.

When she managed to raise her head again, Agnes had knelt on the ground and was gently rubbing her back. "Miss Evie," she said quietly, "I've seen this afore with me sisters… When were your courses last?"

Evie stared at Agnes and felt all of the blood leave her face. She suddenly wanted to throw up again, but this time, it had nothing to do with the rocking of the train.

Notes:

Victorian condoms did exist. They weren't as effective as what we have now, obviously, but they were understood as a method of birth control.