A/N: AU where Ethan Frye is still alive in the twins' adulthood and helping in their conquest of London. It's oddly specific, I know. I hope you'll see why by the end.

~ Do You Still Love Me? ~

They fought so much these days. Whenever Jacob came back to the train fresh from a conquest, blood-soaked and triumphant, it was usually just to receive a new lecture from Evie about his use of violence, his love of whiskey, and his persistent tendency to focus on wild gang raids and train wars rather than crucial Assassin missions, until what should have been a happy night of celebration devolved into a shouting match and slammed bedroom doors. And however much Ethan agreed with his daughter's concerns about Jacob's increasingly erratic behavior, and however much he knew his son could be reckless and unthinking in his pursuit of glory, he also didn't want this growing rift between them to drive his children apart.

He had always loved his son so dearly, after all. He knew Jacob didn't always believe that, but it was true. And that would never change no matter how many bar fights Jacob started and how many trains he derailed in his attempts to further the Assassin cause. He berated him just as sternly as Evie when he did something stupid, of course, and indeed, his son did stupid things with tiresome frequency; and he wasn't afraid to impose his will on the more impetuous of his twins when he had to. He'd tried to ease off as they got older, let Jacob have a little more freedom to make his mistakes and learn the lessons he'd learned in his own youth, but every once in a while he let the hammer fall down and put his iron will to use. And yet...

And yet Ethan had always tried hard not to be disappointed in his son, because he knew that would hurt worst of all. But Evie had no such qualms, and when Jacob returned on this night two hours late, covered in blood again and looking fresh from a fight, Evie started up her usual scolding almost the second his boot stepped over the threshold. "Where have you been?" she demanded, as he hung up his top hat. "You were supposed to be helping Abberline track down that Templar by the docks, not running off on another one of your adventures! How do you plan on being an Assassin if you can't even focus on one task for ten minutes?"

"Evie," Ethan said, tiredly. "Enough. Let him explain."

"No, please," Jacob snapped, spreading his arms mock-theatrically, as though to expose himself for a stoning. "Tell me, darling sister. Give me yet another lecture on all of my moral and emotional failings until you're blue in the face. I'm sure it'll all work on me this time."

"I'll stop lecturing you when you start being responsible!" Evie said through gritted teeth. "I can't rely on you to complete even the simplest of missions -"

"For your information, Evie," Jacob said coldly, "I did complete the mission, and then some. Hence why I'm covered in blood. And I even brought your fucking Templar to the coppers alive." So saying, he unbuckled his Hidden Blade and threw it on the floor. "And it'll be the last mission I ever do for you," he snarled, and stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Evie balled her hands in frustration. "He's impossible, Father."

"No," Ethan said. He loved his son, flaws and all, and he'd had enough of watching them constantly going at each other's throats. "You're scolding him before you even know what he's done, or why. You expect him to be happy about doing jobs for you when you automatically assume the worst of him? You expect him to trust you when you so obviously don't trust him?"

Evie's mouth opened, then closed; clearly she had not been expecting him to scold her. "But - but, Father -"

"Go apologize," Ethan said. "Now."

"But -"

"Now," Ethan said, and Evie wilted, reluctantly.

"Only if he apologizes to me for being a prick," she said. "And a jackass."

"I'll talk to him about that later," Ethan said, wearily. "Now go."

And after a few hours had passed, and there was no shouting or breaking glass from the other car, Ethan figured that meant they had reconciled, and rose to give his son a nice long talk about responsibility and working through mutual trust issues. But when he crossed the car and knocked on the door of Jacob's bedroom, there was no response from inside. Bewildered, he turned the knob and opened it a crack to peer into the room, and found it empty, with Jacob's hat and clothes missing. Clearly he'd ducked out for the night, on another one of his mysterious midnight journeys that had been happening a little more frequently than before lately. Sometimes he found himself wondering what that was all about.

Well, Ethan was hardly one to pry. He was an Assassin, after all; there was no reason he shouldn't give his children the same freedom he gave others, and he didn't mind if they kept secrets. He started to close the door - then stopped, realizing there was something else peculiar. His son's bathroom door was closed, and if he hadn't known his proud, angry son so well, he would have sworn he heard crying.

He stood there blankly for a moment, unsure what to do. He hadn't heard his son cry in years. But then paternal instinct kicked in, and he carefully slipped into the bedroom, shut the door, and ventured to knock on the bathroom door. "Jacob?" he asked.

The crying stopped at once, and Ethan heard frantic movements from inside. "What?" Jacob's voice demanded, cracking slightly. "I'm busy."

"Jacob," Ethan said, sternly. "Open the door."

There was a very long, very reluctant silence. Then Jacob slowly opened the door, looking as though he wanted to melt into the floorboards and disappear; he swiped hastily at his nose with his sleeve, but Ethan could see his son's eyes were red. "I'm fine," he said. "Just got something in my eye."

"What's wrong?" Ethan said, gently. He reached into his coat and took out a silk handkerchief, and offered it to Jacob, who scowled but took it.

"Nothing," he said, dabbing impatiently at his eyes with the handkerchief; and Ethan knew, with a rush of fondness, that his son was embarrassed to be crying in front of him. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"Did Evie apologize?" Ethan prodded, mostly because he wanted Jacob to know he wasn't angry. "I told her she'd been too harsh with you."

"Yeah," Jacob mumbled. "Whatever. I don't care anymore."

"Then what's bothering you?" Ethan studied his son worriedly. "You can tell me anything, Jacob."

Jacob's jaw twitched. Then, reluctantly, he stepped out of the bathroom and sat heavily down on the bed. "Dad," he said, and Ethan sat down on Jacob's steamer trunk, realizing his son wanted to talk. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Anything," Ethan said. Jacob started to lift his sleeve to wipe his nose again, but Ethan touched his arm to stop him, took the handkerchief and started to gently clean the tears off his son's face. Jacob sat still, grudgingly allowing it. "I don't like seeing you upset, son. Tell me what's wrong."

"You have to promise not to be mad." Jacob swiped at his eyes again. "Or hate me."

"Jacob," Ethan said, softly. "I'd never hate you. Tell me."

"There's..." Jacob stopped, then seemed to summon his courage and continue. "There's something you need to know."

"All right," Ethan said. He had noticed his son being more secretive lately, and this confession didn't come as a shock, although he was grateful that Jacob had finally decided to trust him and confide whatever it was he was hiding. "What is it?"

Jacob's voice broke. "I've been hiding something from you, Dad." And judging from the fresh tears starting in his eyes, it wasn't anything good.

Ethan's mind began to race with worry. Was his son a Templar? Had he gotten somebody pregnant? Was someone trying to kill him? In that moment a concentrated collection of every father's worst nightmares flashed through his mind, and he could barely manage the strength to say, "What is it?"

"I -" Jacob clenched his fingers together, and even from this distance Ethan could see how badly they were shaking. "I -"

"What?" Ethan coaxed. "Tell me. Tell me."

He had expected Jacob to say that he was in trouble with the law, or that he had killed someone he shouldn't have, or that someone he loved was dying. But nothing, nothing could have prepared him for what his son said next.

Jacob's voice cracked. "Dad, I'm gay."

For the longest moment Ethan just sat there, stunned. At first he could not process what his son had just said, and he thought that it must be - perhaps some kind of strange joke he wasn't privy to, or perhaps - but no, Jacob was starting to tear up again, and Ethan realized in a kind of wondering amazement that he had meant it, that his son had just come out to him.

"Jacob," he said, awestruck. It was all he could say.

Jacob wiped furiously at his eyes, avoiding his gaze; it seemed he could not look his father in the eyes. His voice was feeble. "Do you still love me?"

And that question, so simple and so painful to hear, finally broke Ethan out of his spell. "Jacob," he murmured, and moved forward to crush his son in a hug; and Jacob burst into tears and buried his face in his shoulder, sobbing into his Assassin robes. "Jacob. Of course I love you. Always."

And they sat there for a long time, Ethan holding his weeping son in his arms and marveling at the revelation. So many things made sense now, so many questions about his son answered. He'd had a strange feeling about his youngest child for so long, and now it was finally put to rest.

"So," Ethan coaxed, pulling back from his son to wipe Jacob's eyes again. "Who else knows?"

Jacob avoided his eyes. "A few people."

"Does Evie know?"

"No," he said. "I - I was afraid to tell her."

Ethan could imagine why. He touched his son's face gently, and knew now why his rowdy, angry boy was so sensitive to Evie's jabs. He realized that her constant disappointment, her refusal to acknowledge his attempts to please her, was hurting him much more than she knew. She had unintentionally convinced him that she would never love him the way he was.

"Jacob," he said. "You need to talk to her. Properly this time."

"No," he said, fearfully. "I can't."

"Yes you can. I know you can."

Jacob looked down at the floor. "I'll try," he mumbled, reluctantly.

"Good." Ethan stroked his son's hair. "Are you seeing someone, Jacob?"

His son's sheepish silence gave him the answer.

Ethan laughed. "Who?"

"Nobody," Jacob muttered, but he was smiling a little now, which told Ethan he was all right. "I'll tell you later."

But now Ethan remembered a certain young inventor, whose laboratory Jacob seemed to love visiting. He recalled how whenever he dropped in and found his son had gotten there before him, the man always scrambled to come up with a reason for why Jacob had stopped by: Oh, I was just showing him the newest telegrams from the lines he fixed. Oh, he needed his grappling hook fixed. Oh, his shoe inserts needed to be resized.

"Would this mystery man possibly be named Alexander?" he said wryly, and Jacob blushed, clearly embarrassed that his father had seen right through him.

"Maybe?" he tried. Ethan sighed fondly.

"Well," he said, "it'll take me some time to get used to this. But I still love you, Jacob. I always will."

"I love you too, Dad," Jacob said, and the relief in his voice was palpable.

And later that night, as Ethan reclined in his usual spot in the corner of the main train car, he noticed Jacob and Evie chatting merrily as they surveyed some new Assassin plans together. For the first time they weren't arguing or fighting - they were poking fun at each other, laughing at each other's jokes, enjoying each other's company. Ethan smiled, happy to see his children finally in harmony.

"Well," Evie said, as Ethan looked on with fond pride, "you've certainly already come up with a plan for this heist. I hope you know what you're doing."

"When has one of my ideas ever gone wrong?" Jacob teased, and Evie elbowed him playfully. "I always know exactly what to do."

"Which is why you're doing Alexander Bell, I imagine," Evie smirked, and Jacob turned red up to his ears; Ethan had to stifle his laughter. There, at last, was the Evie and Jacob he knew.

"Not fair," Jacob grumbled, as Evie grinned and turned back to their plans. "That is entirely unfair."

"What's unfair," Evie said pointedly, "is you waiting until now to inform me of this excellent blackmail material."

"Oh, you wouldn't dare," Jacob laughed, as they headed out; and Ethan smiled as he watched them jump down from the train and head off together, side by side again after so long, their laughter fading away in the distance.

Cecily would be proud of them, he thought fondly, as he went back to his book. And so am I.

And he resolved that tomorrow, after running his usual Assassin errands, he would drop back into Alexander's laboratory on the way home and give the man a stern talking-to about treating his son right.