Hi guys! New chapter for you all, and I've got nasty plans for the next one so hold onto your top hats. I've finally gotten to play the game some myself, and while I'm barely into the beginning sequences I'm loving every moment. The story has, therefore, adjusted a little bit in this and the following chapters to include what I now know about the twins. Spoilers for the game may be present, though nothing major and I will warn you. This chapter partially came about because I wanted to get a new one up and because I was really delighted with Jacob's bird tattoo. I don't really know if it's a kestrel, but that's what it looked like to me so head-cannon locked.

She knew death too intimately not to see its signs, and they were settling on Jacob one by one like the falling leaves of autumn.

She'd had to leave him for three days to keep up appearances, and though she got word daily from the assassins in disguise constantly on guard around Martian's practice, she didn't dare dwell on the true gravity of Jacob's condition until she returned to him late on the third night.

Silent and smooth in her movements, Evie slipped across Martian's roof, dropping into his open window like a shadow. The assassin who was keeping watch over the old doctor's study nodded to her respectfully and then slipped out. She closed the window behind him and lit a candle before shifting her hood down and composing herself. If Jacob was awake she didn't want him to see the situation written all over her face. If only they could go home, but Martian wouldn't be able to look after Jacob properly on the train and taking him back to their hideout where even his closest Rooks would see the situation would only make things infinitely worse.

The Rooks were holding, but only just. She'd had to go from location to location sending people on missions, retrieving information, planning their next move. The Rooks had to keep going as though nothing was wrong, and that meant that Evie was using every trick in her arsenal to evade the truth.

Lying to the new recruits was easy, since in their minds Jacob was tantamount to a legend. It wasn't strange at all to them that he should suddenly disappear on important business. For the more seasoned members though, the ones Jacob laughed and joked with, the ones who he trusted with the major details, they knew better.

She crept into the next room; a hidden alcove just off of Martian's bedroom that he used specifically for hiding his assassin patients. When she entered, she was surprised to find Andrew there, sitting by her brother's bed and wringing a cloth out in the basin set on the nightstand.

She stood there, silent and observing and Andrew was so focused on his task that he didn't realize she was there. He squeezed the last of the water from the rag and then wiped it tenderly across Jacob's brow, smoothing back his sweat-slick hair. Her contacts had told her Jacob developed a fever, but no-one warned her that it was this bad. Jacob was soundly unconscious and flushed, skin that wasn't bandaged glistening with sweat. The shilling at his throat had fallen to rest against his windpipe, and from where she was standing she couldn't make out much more than weak breaths in the lamplight.

Slowly, carefully, Andrew folded the rag and wet it again, laying it across Jacob's collarbones this time. He made like he was going to continue but all at once he seemed to lose his resolve and his head bowed, soft sobs escaping him as he leaned carefully against Jacob's broken body.

Evie's first instinct was to go to the boy and comfort him, but she was frozen. How long had Jacob looked this poorly that spirited Andrew was this scared? The orphan was one of the bravest little souls she'd ever met, and he was weeping over Jacob like he was losing his father all over again.

Jacob, oh so brash on the surface and yet so tender with Andrew, didn't stir no matter how the boy sobbed. He was still. Completely still, and with the way Andrew was bent she couldn't watch his chest to see if it rose with breath.

For a terrifying moment Evie feared Jacob had just died in front of her, and she almost rushed to shove Andrew out of the way. The way Andrew suddenly quieted stopped her, and she held her breath as the lad turned his head and lay it ever so carefully against Jacob's chest. He lay quiet with his ear just below the kestrel's beak for several long moments, his eyes closed and his hand resting on Jacob's arm. It was only then that Evie was able to breathe again and the horrible tension went out of her frame.

Andrew was listening to Jacob's heart, which meant it continued to beat. There was life flowing inside him yet.

She slunk back and out of the room, sagging back against the door frame and feeling very tired all of the sudden. The days of running back and forth across London and pretending everything was fine were tearing her down and she was suddenly extra grateful that Henry had boldly taken on their field work solo for the moment. Jacob took precedence in her heart, but she couldn't help feeling that she was letting her father down every day that she wasn't working towards the piece of Eden.

She put her head in her hands and sniffed, wiping away the tears that had started to flow without her really realizing it. She slid to the floor and drew her knees up, feeling suddenly very cold and hollow. Her work normally filled her, her brother normally backed her despite their differences. She had to admit his Rooks were working, but she didn't want to leave the fate of London in the hands of the gang alone. Gangs could turn. A back up plan was important.

Jacob was important.

She pressed her forehead into her forearm and let herself cry softly, hearing their father's voice in the back of her mind. He'd been strict, he'd been passionate about their work. He'd seen the assassin order as a necessity, a duty, a privilege, and a way to protect them both. It was no secret when they were born, and so the best he could do for them was to trust and train them to grow into effective fighters who could defend themselves and push back at the Templars who would certainly try to take advantage. He'd built them both to protect themselves and to protect others, but if he had been there she knew he'd be out there looking for the piece of Eden. There was really nothing she could do for Jacob by being there. Nothing at all.

But their father wasn't there, and as much as she respected his vision and tried to carry it she wasn't him. She got wearily up, wiping her eyes and trying to blink back exhaustion.

"It's an infection, combined with the loss of blood and the difficulty breathing. That's why he's so weak."

She turned, surprised that she hadn't heard Martian approach. She cleared her throat and tried to compose herself but she knew it was too late. He'd seen her red eyes by the light of the candle he was carrying. His eyes were filled with a sad sympathy. He turned to look in on his patient.

Evie moved to the doorway as well, only to see that Andrew had fallen asleep tending to her brother. His head was still on Jacob's chest and though Evie felt for the boy Martian's comment about difficulty breathing came to her and she pressed her lips together, her brow furrowed as she crept in and very gently scooped Andrew up. She carried him into the next room and tucked him in.

"What are his chances?" she asked when she came back to the sickroom and closed the door. She was unable to completely erase the tremble from her tone as she watched Martian inspect the flush of angry skin around Jacob's shoulder injury.

"I've cleaned the wound and done all I can to aid his breathing, but the ribs make it difficult and I don't know how deep the infection was before it had the chance to flare. I took this—" he held up a splinter of metal "out of the wound. It's little wonder he tore the stitches and continued to bleed when he was buried, this was still inside him and it prevented proper healing which allowed infection to set in. He had been trying to heal around it—but with the kind of physical strain you both put on your bodies it was slowly tearing the muscle with every major motion. Now there's the fever and I fear the infection has allowed him to contract a flu."

The diagnosis chilled Evie to her very core and she sat heavily next to Jacob, taking his hand and staring down at his skin, so sickly pale next to the inflammation from his ribs and shoulder. "You bloody, blind idiot!" she cursed softly, blinking away angry tears. She gripped his hand a little harder and ground her teeth, trying to think, trying to decide what she could do.

"He's holding strong for now," Martian said gently, resting his hand on her shoulder. "He can still breathe and Andrew's been doing splendidly keeping his temperature down, but what worries me is this lethargic state that will not allow him to take food or water. I was able to get him to swallow some water yesterday, but he's had very little today and the last time I attempted he nearly breathed it in. If he has another coughing fit like that I fear dislodging his broken rib and puncturing his lung."

Evie felt light headed, processing the information the doctor was giving her. "He won't wake at all?" she asked finally, looking up at Martian, who was now sitting across from her on Jacob's bad side, gently changing bandages and checking his ribs.

"He does, but the fever has made him delirious and he will not take food. When I convinced him to take water he drank very little." Martian hesitated, and his expression was so sad Evie wanted to shake him, to make him just spit out the truth because if Jacob was going to die she'd rather know.

"What is it?" she pressed.

"Evie, he's growing weaker. He sleeps longer each day and his fever will not break. If he continues like this he will pass from dehydration within another day or two."

An odd calm came over Evie then, and she just looked at Jacob, reaching out a hand to stroke his face. She ran her thumb across his cheekbone, so like their father's, and gently smoothed his sideburns down with her knuckle. She stared into his face and raised her other hand to stroke his hair.

"Miss Frye?" Martian said hesitantly after several minutes, but she didn't look up at him.

"Thank you doctor, I'll stay with him till dawn."

She herd Martian hesitate, but eventually he got up, bid her a quiet goodnight, and shut the door behind him.

By the light of the candle Evie kept her vigil. She rest her hand on his and leaned against the mattress, tracing his kestrel tattoo with her finger. The flesh was uncomfortably warm and she swallowed, thinking about why he'd chosen to get it.

"It's a bird of prey, Evie. I thought you'd appreciate the nod back to our assassin heritage. Altair and all them," he said, waving a hand and then pulling his shirt over his head.

"But why that bird—there's eagles and hawks, why get it at all?" she asked. "Our heritage is in our blood, in our training. You don't need to prove it with ink."

"Why wear the assassin symbol then, if it's in our blood?" he challenged, but no matter how she pressed he wouldn't properly answer her about the kestrel.

It wasn't until later, when she was filing their library that the bird of prey book caught her eye and she took it down. It fell open naturally to a page that had been unceremoniously folded over, and through her cursing Jacob and his disrespect she paused. The image of a kestrel was drawn in careful ink, along with a short description. She had to smile then, because it was little wonder that he was being defensive.

Kestrel, it read. The smallest known bird of prey the kestrel is never the less a skilled flier and effective hunter, striking its targets with a pinpoint accuracy.

Not only had Jacob taken the time to pick up and read a book, he had then gone and gotten a tattoo of a bird that he and his relatively short frame identified with. She chuckled lightly, smoothing out the page he'd damaged. He wasn't short, not really, and he'd gotten the tattoo over muscle that was quickly filling in his eighteen year old frame, but he'd always been a bit insecure about his stature as compared with the other assassins and the other boys who got into fistfights on the streets. Evie supposed she could relate—she was never taken seriously simply because of her gender. In a way that gave her an advantage. She was usually on top of whoever was screwing with her before they knew what hit them. Jacob—well, Jacob didn't want underestimation he wanted respect.

"You have it now, little brother," she whispered, resting her hand on his tattoo and smiling sadly. "And look where it's got us. Half of London respects you, half of it fears you, and all of it will fall without you."

Jacob will be awake in the next chapter, promise. Whether or not he will be lucid is another matter.