"It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!" -Mark Twain

-o-

The route to Martinique was indeed much warmer than the New York area. The shores were high, rocky cliffs of white stone topped with small jungles of bright green foliage. Cawing gulls and the occasional albatross following the Aquila like dolphins. The crew was in a good humour after being out in the good weather, and some messy sea shanties kept a rhythm for them to heave ropes in time. In the crow's nest, Jacqueline was lounging back, sunning her face like a cat.

"Keep carryin' on like that and you'll get burned." Thomas, the actual lookout, volunteered.

It was a futile warning. The French assassin looked up at him, smiling lazily. Her cheeks were already scorched. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to drink, would you?"

Her friend scoffed and handed her a flask from inside his vest. "You're talkin' to a long time sailor. And I'd bet ten pounds that every crew member here has somethin' to drink."

"Connor probably doesn't know, or he'd ban everyone of alcohol and then we wouldn't have a crew." Jacqueline took a nip and handed it back. "He doesn't approve of drinking. Especially not with me."

"Speakin' o' whom, who's the old dog he's got with'm?" Thomas looked over the edge toward the upper deck, where silver-haired Haytham stood sternly next to his son. "Doesn't look too happy to be here, does he now?"

"That's his father." Jacqueline didn't need to look; she was back to sunning her face.

"You're kiddin'!"

"I'm not. They have…conflicting interests." A seagull landed next to her, and she casually backhanded it off its perch.

"I'll bet you five quid you can't shoot the old man's hat off."

Jacqueline looked up. "You're on." She swept her bow from her back and nocked an arrow in one smooth motion. When she spoke, it was down the shaft. "Though I should warn you I'm a deadly accurate shot."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Thomas crossed his arms and watched.

Jacqueline squinted an eye and focused on one of the outlying folds of Haytham's trifold hat. If she missed and killed him, well...no loss there. But for Connor's sake, she wasn't going to kill him, despite the ease with which she could do it. So she breathed out through her nose, took into account the winds and the rocking of the ship, and let the arrow fly. It flicked through the air as a silver glint. Her shot was accurate and speared the trifold off his head, but a sudden breeze that rustled the deck carried both arrow and hat overboard. It could be seen floating in the white foam trails behind the Aquila a moment later.

"Ha!" Jacqueline barked with a grin. Thomas grudgingly dug a few coins out of his pocket and slapped them into her open hand. "I almost deserve extra for that."

"Ah, shut up, ya great lout." Thomas pushed her teasingly. "Now you can get me a drink with that money."

"Uh oh." Jacqueline stifled her laughter at Haytham's glare up at them, but still snickered behind her hand. Next to him, Connor looked vaguely amused. "I think he's angry."

"We should hold a funeral for that lovely hat." Thomas snorted.

They laughed for a good few minutes afterward. When they eventually sobered up, their environment had changed slightly. The ship now slowly drifted through a ravine of the same white rocks. Moss-caked boulders poking from the azure water scraped faintly against the sides and belly of the brig. The seabirds that had followed in their wake had abandoned them for higher, sunnier climates.

"Ouch." Jacqueline rubbed her thumb on the insides of her fore and middle fingers. "My callouses are gone."

Thomas ignored her. He was looking the other way, out a brass spyglass toward the end of the narrow passage. "I think we've found our ship."

"Let me see." Jacqueline grabbed the spyglass and looked out. What was apparently the Welcome was floating in the bay at the end of the ravine. She gave the spyglass back to Thomas and jumped out of the crow's nest. Halfway down to the deck, she wrapped a hand around a rope and slid down to land before the upper deck and jogged up the stairs. She could feel the warmth of what would have been rope burn under her glove.

"Connor, the Welcome is up ahead. It's dropped anchor." She informed him.

"You owe me a new hat, young lady." Haytham snapped.

Jacqueline shrugged. "It was a good shot, though, right?"

He harrumphed and folded his arms over his chest. "My son may not mind your aimless gallivanting, but it's impractical and childish."

"But it does make things interesting." She pointed out. His mouth flattened into a disapproving line. "Aren't you glad you didn't kill me?"

Haytham made a scoffing noise like he was going to point out why he should have, but Connor butted in before any more sparring of words could be enjoyed. "Did you see anyone on the Welcome?"

Jacqueline almost immediately dropped her joking persona. "Non, not that I could see. You think it is a ruse?"

"I think we should investigate." He decided after a deliberating pause.

"Right." She jogged back to the nearest shroud and made her way up to the crow's nest, navigating around another climbing sailor as she went.

Thomas was still looking through the spyglass when she hopped back into the nest; he was frowning, his mouth curled in a distrusting sneer. "She's dropped anchor." He removed the brass from his eye but continued staring suspiciously. "Somethin' don't smell right, Jack."

"I agree." She muttered and held out her hand for the glass. The slightly warped image of the ship swam before her right eye. It did look very abandoned, even for an anchored vessel.

The Aquila sailed cautiously into the small bay, circled around the cliff to drift up alongside the Welcome. Where Jacqueline was, she could look down at the empty deck. The singing below her quieted as the rest of the crew observed the curiosity. Birds were strutting along the shiny wooden rails, pecking at invisible bugs and leaving white streaks on the polished ship.

"There she is!" Thomas suddenly exclaimed. He was pointing out toward another exit from the tiny bay, where the real, occupied sloop was sailing away. Not seconds later, cannonballs splashed into the water next to the Aquila to make spikes of water.

The lookout was all business now. He clanged a bell three times and leaned down to call to Connor. "Enemy ahead! They're making to flee!"

White sails dropped open to catch the wind as the brig peeled out of the bay after Church's sloop, the real Welcome. The Aquila made haste after at nearly breakneck pace, fast enough that Jacqueline could feel the salty spray all the way up the ship. The sloop was far faster than them, but the little brig was able to keep pace enough not to lose Church.

"Why is that ship so fast?" Jacqueline clutched the nearby rigging with one hand and stood on the edge of the crow's nest, still following the Welcome through the spyglass. "It's huge!"

"They've got a headwind and a running start to boot." Thomas squinted into the west and the setting sun. "That monster could never outrun the Aquila straight out."

The Welcome slipped into a gap between spits of land, and Jacqueline was surprised when Connor steered around instead of following through. She brought down her spyglass, having lost sight of the other ship. "What's Connor doing? We'll lose them!"

"Hmm…" Thomas rubbed the patch of black scruff on his chin and looked up as though testing the wind by just seeing at it. "The current 'round these parts is swift n' sure. If he sails true, we'll catch the bastards before they can weasel out."

Just as they rounded the sandy beach, they were besieged by the Welcome—ironically—and a few even smaller vessels. Taken by surprise, the Aquila took a heavy hit in the beginning. The pair in the crow's nest rocked dangerously as holes were blown into the side of the ship. The crew rushed into action while pieces of the hull flew out at all angles. Despite the hits, they were in perfect position to launch a counterattack.

"What is Connor doing?" Jacqueline cried, staggering back at the force of the cannon's blows. "Fire!"

On cue, the cannons went off in booming succession. But the cannonballs were two at a time and chained together, swinging through the air like a flock of lopsided birds. The chain smashed into and wrapped around the Welcome's mizzenmast, bringing it crashing down.

"He's takin' her alive!" Thomas grabbed a rifle and tossed it to her before arming himself.

"Wow, what a shot!" Jacqueline put a hand over her eyes to block the sun and watch as, after the next volley, the main mast caved in and toppled over. It made a great cracking, warping groan as it went down, bringing a spiderweb of ropes snapping after it. Their unfortunate lookout went diving into the water.

As they neared the Welcome to board, the Aquila jerked violently. Jacqueline went stumbling into the mast and groaned at the strike to her tender ribs. It felt like the world had tilted on its side for a moment such was her disorientation. When it levelled out, she had enough time to see her precious brig go crashing front-first into the starboard side of the Welcome. The two ships repelled like magnets and came to a rest side by side. She watched Haytham fling himself to the next ship, clearly set on finding Church.

The crew armed, men tossed rifles at anyone who would catch one. Aft lines were thrown to secure the ships together. The redcoats across the way readied for battle as well, but their ship was in flames. A great roar came up from the crowd, with the cracking of gunshots and clashing of blades, when the Aquila's crew jumped across the ships. Scrambling up the side, she watched Connor lead the charge across the chaotic, rampaging deck.

"Oh, those rotten scoundrels!" Thomas bellowed incredulously, running forward to grab the edges of the nest and watch as his compatriots dove into the fight. "Not without me, you don't!" He grabbed hold of a rope and swung across to the next ship like a monkey on a vine with a whoop of adrenaline-fueled giddiness. Jacqueline followed Thomas' lead and went hurtling down to the Welcome's deck.

Hitting solid ground, she looked around. Connor spotted her and raised a hand in greeting. She jogged up to him, drawing her pistol and shooting a redcoat in passing. "This is really what I needed, I must say. I'm feeling top calibre right now!"

"Have you seen my father?" He called over the din of stomping footsteps and singing steel.

"Just a moment ago, throwing himself to the wolves. Like father, like son." She rolled her eyes and pointed with her smoking pistol. "That way."

He nodded once and dashed off around a pile of burning crates that released a musky, aromatic smoke. "Hey!" Jacqueline called after him, but was stopped from following when she had to deflect an incoming cutlass. She struck it aside with enough force to dent his cheap steel and stab him. "Be careful, Connor!"

"Ahoy, Jack!" Thomas called, running past her in a flash of pistols and gun smoke. "Bloody hell, you fight like a demon!"

"I think the proper term is 'she-devil.'" Jacqueline took a knife from her belt and hurled it into a sailor's chest.

"Aye, that sounds right." He wasn't even bothering with strategy—where Jacqueline and Connor's fighting styles were based on their years of training and experience, Thomas was just shooting things, and having a lot of fun while doing it. "Where'd Connor go?"

"Off to murder someone, I believe." She kicked a piece of charred wood off a splintered crate and swung it hard, with both hands, to hit a man hard across the face.

The fight was starting to die down. Any remaining redcoats were surrendering. Jacqueline sheathed her weapons and sought out Connor, back the way he had left. He intercepted her on the way back, stony-faced and quiet. Blood was stained up his sleeve. "Where's Church?" Jacqueline asked, falling into step with him.

"Dead." He said simply, walking on even when she fell back. She glanced back and saw Haytham emerging from the bowls of the ship. He caught her gaze and she glared back a moment before stomping proudly on—for some deep-seated reason that made no sense, she blamed him for Connor's cloudy mood.

Jacqueline followed the rest of the victorious crew back to the Aquila. She climbed up into the crow's nest and sat on the edge, her legs dangling over into open space, and watched through the bright orange setting sun as they left the gutted ship behind.

-o-

The spring forest was cool and pleasant. Jacqueline's boots made impressions in the grass that was somehow both dry and damp. Bisou was trotting ahead, snuffling and wagging her tail. It was hunting time, and she was doing it only to get out of the house. It was time for Connor and Achilles to reconcile after their fight the past winter, and that wasn't an event she wanted to be around for.

While she had time to think, she considered her thoughts on Haytham Kenway. Now, after having working with him for only a short, reluctant time, she was forced to admit that his goals and the goals of the Assassins were far from different. Connor didn't seem to hate his company—in fact, she found their interactions amusing and enjoyed their banter as long as it remained peaceful.

Even so, there was a deep pit in her stomach, like a black chasm. It was the hate that Connor couldn't feel, the hate she already harboured, the hate that had been stirred by her torture, the hate in the hearts of the Templars that killed her parents, the hate that Georges felt for the forming government. She felt as though all the hate in the world was concentrated into her and she was going to take it out on Haytham.

Just thinking about it made her falter in her steps. She put a hand to her chest like her heart was giving out and sank down to sit in a large patch of creeping phlox. The white flowers parted under her with a wave of sweet air and a few disturbed bumblebees. Bisou trotted back to her and whined, eager to continue.

"I'm sorry, Bisou." Jacqueline sighed wearily and scratched her hunting hound behind her ears. "I just suddenly became so tired."

A long time passed while she lay back in the phlox, idly and sleepily watching the white, oval petals swaying over her nose. The previously upset bumblebees came grumpily back and began once more to search the flower stamens for pollen. One of the fat insects landed on the bridge of cloth her shirt made between her breasts and inspected a brass button. Finding nothing of use, it hummed away for sweeter treasures.

"Bisou, what do I do?" Jacqueline asked the dog lying next to her. "I care very much for Connor and do not wish to hurt him. But how do I do that when I despise his father?"

"Aroo." Bisou yawned and put her heavy head on Jacqueline's stomach.

"I agree." She patted her dog's nose. "I must eliminate the competition for Connor's affection." A wry chuckle drifted up to the flowers. "I refuse to share him!"

Bisou snorted into her shirt and put a big paw up on her leg.

"You're right, again. That's ridiculous. Those two hate each other."

"Who are you talking to?"

"Oh!" Jacqueline sat up quickly, pulling herself from the lulling scent of the flowers. The bumblebees buzzed away again, irritated. Connor was standing over her, observing mildly. "Just Bisou." She grinned and laid back again.

Connor sat down beside her. "I am to meet my father again. Will you come?"

"Are you asking if I'm going to accompany you, or are you asking me to do so?"

He looked up and sighed. She knew that he got impatient when she answered questions like that, but it was too tempting to pass up. "Both."

"Then the answer to both is no."

That seemed to surprise him. "Why?"

"I…" She stopped and restarted. "There's nothing more I have to do with your father. I do not want to accompany you until you've either stopped working with him, or he is dead. I'm sorry."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Jacqueline turned her gaze up to him. A beat passed. "Yes, I suppose you do. When do you leave?"

"This evening."

"Then come here. I suppose I should say my goodbyes now so you have time to prepare. It's close to sundown." She reached up and gently pulled him down by the front of his robes. She considered kissing him, but decided against it and settled on being held. It was soft and comfortable in their little nest—Connor was warm and the flowers smelled mildly pleasant. He was becoming more comfortable with being around her, and now held her a little closer and a little tighter.

Jacqueline dozed away the afternoon in the scent of wet grass and Connor's forest mesquite muskiness. When she woke, she was alone.

-o-

-Thanks for the idea, EpicCritic! What can I say? I felt inspired! :)

-Review for adventure on the High Seas!