"In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. What was the point in just being hurt on the inside? It should bloody well show." –Janet Fitch, White Oleander

-o-

The ceiling of her room was very boring, Jacqueline realised, as most ceilings were. Now that she had no real option but to stare at it, she noticed it was boring. It was slanted up, a plain canvas of wood planks and old nails. She pushed the blankets away from her legs and sat on the edge of the mattress. The night was dark and the hooting of owls echoed through the air. It had been three weeks since her return to the manor, and though she was physically feeling better, an illness plagued her body and mind. Sleeping was hard to come by, and when by chance she managed to find rest, it didn't last more than a couple hours.

With a light sigh, she reached to her bedside to light a candle. The moment she struck the flint and the wick caught fire, her bedroom vanished. She was back in that dark room, staring at the illuminated face of Lee and watching him light that candle again and again, knowing the pain was soon to come after the lighting of that single candle and the gold light it cast on her torture instruments. Again and again that candle lit, casting shadows on ghoulish faces.

Jacqueline flung it across the room, breathing heavily and painfully, and the vision vanished. Her heart was palpitating in her chest, and she placed a shaky hand on her sternum. Wax was spattered in a thin trail to where the candle now lay on the floor. Bisou, who had been asleep at the end of her bed, jumped off with a concerned bark.

Picking up her crutches, Jacqueline limped over to the candle and picked up the brass holder. While observing it, someone knocked on the outside door. There were three to her room—one door to the main room and fireplace, and two on either side of the hearth: one that led to her actual bedroom and another to her bathroom.

"Ah!" She jumped a bit too violently than normal, sending a lance of pain up her leg. "Ngh…who is it?"

"I heard a noise. Are you well?" Connor. Jacqueline painstakingly made her way to the door and peered out.

"Yes, just…" She sighed again. "No."

"Tell me what troubles you." Connor's insistent voice made her wince; it sounded like his father's, even though it was several measures kinder.

She glanced up at him. Even more than usual she felt vulnerable, and not only because of her questionable physical and mental states. It being sometime around midnight, she was in her nightgown and had her hair down loose, and both of those made her uneasy. But she let him in, perhaps against her better judgment.

Connor made to start a fire, but she stopped him considering her reaction to her candle. "Don't do that."

He gave her a look, but stood. "Very well."

Facing her, she could see scars of various shapes and sizes across his chest. Of course, the thought that came immediately after was that he was shirtless, and she quickly stopped staring. "I am being haunted." She eased herself down into a soft chair, and he sat on the floor.

"Haunted? By what?" Even without his gloves on, he was doing that thing with his hands.

"Memories. I tried lighting a candle, and…suddenly I was back there, in that room…"

"Even the strongest can be pursued by visions." Connor interjected. "You are safe now."

"I know, but yet I am…on edge."

"Such apparitions cannot harm you. They are not real, and you know this."

"Exactly, and I know I'm being foolish, too, but…" Jacqueline held her forehead in her hand. She considered telling him about his father's presence during a portion of her capture, but refrained. The corners of her mouth twitched into a half smile. "Well, maybe when I don't have so many broken bones you can help me sleep."

It went right over his head. She could almost see the words float through the air and soar out the window, for he only frowned slightly. "But you would be well and no longer have trouble sleeping."

"Oh my goodness." She chuckled. "I don't have to explain that, do I?" At the longer-than-appropriate pause, she rolled her eyes. "Ratonhnhaké:ton, I mean help me sleep."

"Oh…oh!" His eyebrows shot up, and even in the dark she could see the blood rushing to his cheeks.

Jacqueline cackled. Bisou, excited by the action, bounced in a circle and jumped on Connor, licking his face. He spluttered and fell back in defeat, which only made her laugh harder. Before she knew it she had joined him on the rug, and her dog hopped back and forth between them, barking and wagging her tail until Jacqueline batted her away. It had been a long time since she had laughed like that.

-o-

When morning came, Jacqueline was warmer than she would have been in her bed. Her back and neck ached due to her having fallen asleep on the floor, nestled against Connor. It was good she was lying on her back, for her ribs were still in a delicate state. Bisou had taken the armchair as a bed. They must have all passed out the night before.

She grunted trying to sit up and eased herself back down onto her impromptu pillow, Connor's arm. Her hunting dog snuffled drowsily and jumped off the chair to lick her face. The hound was smart enough to learn where she was hurt quickly, and avoided broken bones and burns. A bird started chirping outside the window. Winter had come, but sparrows and finches still flocked en masse.

Now getting restless, she made another attempt at getting free. Connor exhaled deeply and pressed his face against her shoulder. She rolled her eyes, stifling a chuckle. Still the same—he slept like no other. Finally getting back to her feet, she turned and looked back down on them. Connor slept curled up like a child, with one hand out. Reaching for something that wasn't there.

It was still early, slightly before dawn, and she hadn't gotten nearly as much sleep as she wanted. Hobbling with her splinted leg gingerly helping her along without her crutches, she took the fur that she kept in the room and draped it over Connor.

Smiling lightly, she sat back in her chair, content to sleep there for any extra hours. Before long she dropped back into an uneasy sleep.

-o-

Waking for the second time that day, she was alone. The fur was tucked around her. It must have been late afternoon. The window was white, and it was clear the first blizzard of the season was ravaging the Homestead. Something was very wrong. The atmosphere of the house was tense. Sensing trouble, Jacqueline hopped on her one foot to her crutches and walk out into the hall.

Raised voices trickled up from the kitchen area of the house—Connor and Achilles were arguing again. Ever since she returned, she'd noticed an increased hostility between the student and mentor, which she refused to take part in. When they started yelling, she retreated to her room hoping she hadn't caused any of it, which was futile because she knew Connor's stubbornness and her condition were only two of many factors.

Tension in the house had increased, she assumed, for a few main reasons. The foremost being, Connor wanted to tell people such as Adams and Washington their true identities as Assassins or Templars, a plan that Achilles strongly disagreed with. Lesser was the finger-pointing that came with her kidnapping, and though when she first heard this come up she tried to tell them that it was no one's fault, they weren't having it.

Things felt different on this particular day, however. Jacqueline hobbled down the stairs in time to see Connor storm past her toward the door. Achilles was waiting there, and threw out his cane to stop him. "Just stop right there!" He demanded. Connor paid no heed, and marched past, nearly smoking with anger.

"Step aside, Achilles!" The younger man snapped back, smacking aside the cane and throwing open the front door.

"Don't do this, Connor!" Achilles stumbled out the door after him into the raging snowstorm. Jacqueline hurried after them, metres behind after at last getting back down the stairs.

"Then what would you propose we do? Sit and watch while the Templars take control?" Connor asked, turning back for just long enough to say his piece. "We are sworn to stop them. Or have you forgotten?"

"Assassins are meant to be quiet. Precise. We do not go announcing conspiracies from the rooftops to all who pass by!"

"What are you going on about?" Jacqueline navigated out the door.

"The boy's finally decided that he should inform our allies of our Assassin nature." Achilles told her crossly.

"Who are you to lecture anyone?" Connor whirled on his mentor. "You locked yourself away in this crumbling heap and gave up on the Brotherhood entirely. Since the day I arrived you've done nothing but discourage me, and on the rare occasions you've chosen to help, you've done so little you may as well have done nothing at all!"

"Connor!" Jacqueline gasped.

"How dare you!" Achilles exclaimed.

"Then tell me: on whose watch did the Brotherhood falter? Whose inaction allowed the Templar order to grow so large that it now controls an entire nation?" Connor tied his bedroll to the back of the saddle.

"If I sought to dissuade you, it was because you knew nothing. If I seemed reluctant to contribute, it was because you were naïve. A thousand times you would have died and taken God knows how many with you. Let me tell you something, Connor—life is not a fairy tale, and there are no happy endings!"

"No," Connor agreed coldly. He swung himself up into the saddle. "Not when men like you are left in charge."

Achilles lowered his voice dangerously. "In your haste to save the world, boy, take care you don't destroy it."

Jacqueline reached up and put her hand on his horse's neck. "Don't, Connor. Think about this."

"I have thought about it." He paused for only a fraction of a second at the sight of her, pathetic and recovering, before urging his horse on and vanishing into the whiteout.

Once he was gone, Achilles made a noise of frustration; the noise one makes when one has had to deal with too much. "That boy's going to damn us all!" He aggressively limped back into the house. "Get in here, girl, or you'll catch cold on top of all your godforsaken injuries."

Jacqueline watched the road in shock before numbly following him. For once, she wanted to agree with Achilles. Connor was going to damn them all.

Her mentor was hurling logs into the crackling fire, grumbling to himself. "…arrogant fool thinks himself so important, that he can just go marching through the streets blabbing about Assassins and Templars and such, foolish boy, must not have taught them well enough…"

Jacqueline watched him sadly a moment before cautiously approaching, as one would an angry lion. "Achilles…don't blame Connor. He only does what he thinks is best."

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it?" He glared at her over his hunched shoulder. "Always doing what he thinks is best, but not what is." The cane struck the ground on the last word to make a point.

"We are arrogant youths, Achilles. Just like you always say." She sat down in a chair by the fire. "How much harm could it do?"

"You've no idea the power that our Order once used to hold. If word were to reach other Templars that we still existed, we'd be hunted like animals." He stabbed at the popping logs with his cane. "The boy's foolish desire to see justice done is going to get us killed. He'll be the end of us all."

-o-

-I'm sorry but at the current moment the closest I can get to ConJac is cuddling, apparently, but once she gets better in all respects things should get good. Wink wink nudge nudge giggle yep

-So I'm thinking of writing a sort of spin-off for Tyranny of King Washington, and Jacqueline's role in that universe. Would anyone read it? I'm a little on the fence.

-I'm glad you guys like Georges! I like him too.

-Review for cuddling!