(Warning: This chapter contains highly suggestive material. If you cannot handle such material please exit. Continue at your own risk. Nothing graphic, but you know.)

We wake up entwined, his hands tangled in my hair, my hands tangled in his shirt. I know we're both awake, but neither of us try to disentangle ourselves. Nothing happened between us, but we spent the night grasping at each other somehow, still refusing to let go. It's stupid, I know, but there's some kind of comfort I feel in him, and I never want to leave it.

"We need to leave," he whispers, his breath caressing my ear. "It's almost dawn."

I sigh. "Matthew, they're not going to hurt us."

"No, it's me hurting them I'm worried about."

He's always so worried, so terrified. He won't admit it, but I can see it in his eyes, the way he tenses if someone stares too long. I know because I do the same thing. "I need clothes." I still wear his coat, my old garments lost somewhere in that boat.

"I'll see if the military ship can supply you a nice Parisian dress on the way."

I loosen my grip on his shoulders and stare him in the eye. "No, that's not what I need."

He raises a brow. "What else would you wear?"

I'm already on my feet, swinging open the door. "It's better if you just wait."

The coats fit better than expected, though it definitely took a lot to convince the smallest guy on board to give me his uniform. With my hair up in a cap and looking much more masculine, I could actually pass for being part of the French Navy.

Matthew eyes the coat awkwardly before dropping it to the ground. "I can't wear this."

I let out a groan and lean against the wall. "Why not?"

"I just can't. I can't dishonor this country by wearing this uniform."

I snort. "You think wearing the uniform will dishonor France? Trust me, a lot worse people have worn this jacket. And you're looking at one right now."

His eyes rake up and down my body, and I force myself to remain still. "I highly doubt that."

"Try me."

He walks over to me, and I press myself against the wall. "How many people have you murdered in cold blood?" His voice is chilling. It should scare me, I should leave right now.

But I don't. I smile. "How many do you think?"

"Much more than you should have."

I force my eyes away from his and notice the closeness of our bodies. He's so much taller than me that he has to lean awkwardly down to meet my eyes. "No. The blood on your hands is justified. Mine's not."

"I don't know what happened to make you kill someone, but it couldn't have been for the wrong reason." He brushes a hand against my arm. "But even if it's not, I don't blame you. Some people deserve to die." The thought slips out easily enough, and it doesn't hurt me as much as one would think. "I should die."

"Never." He lets out a breath and moves away from me.

He slides his arms into the coat.

The officers glare at us as we pass by, eyeing the uniforms with obvious disdain. They can't bear to see them on such vile people. And they're right. We dishonor the uniform, but if me dishonoring this blue uniform keep it from going red, then so be it.

The captain waits for us near the edge of the ship, a scowl on his face. His eyes trail from my eyes to my chest instantly, and Matthew sets a hand on my shoulder, grunting in displeasure. I small part of me feels grateful. "That will be all, Sir. We thank you for your… hospitality and will put in a good word for you when we get to Paris." He turns to me. "Let's go."

But when we try turning to leave, a group of men blocks our our path. "English scum."

"What is this?" I ask mostly to myself as Matthew's grip on my arm tightens.

"We do not condone English spies or assassins on this ship, especially ones wearing our uniform," the captain mumbles.

Before I realize, hands grasp me, but I can only voice one word. "Assassin?"

Matthew pulls out a sword. Where had he gotten that? "Can we talk about this later?" he growls blocking a strike at the same time as pulling my back to him.

"You're a goddamn assassin!"

"If you don't stop right now we are going to die." I keep my mouth shut, but a huge part of me wants to scream in protest.

He lied to me! He gets paid to kill people. How could he not tell me? I've done so much for him, told him so much. How could he? Why do you care so much? my mind bites back. Because he's your friend. Or he was.

Suddenly I realize my line of work is not much better. Not four days ago had I just killed a man. Maybe he's not that different from me after all.

"As much as I love the look you're giving me, I would very much like for you to help me get us out of here," Matthew snaps as we're backed into the side of the ship. I try searching for my sword, but suddenly something drenches me. I panic for a moment, my chest heaving as my eyes are drenched in red.

Blood. Oh God. This is death this is the end.

"Hey!"

It's over.

"Look at me."

It's time to repay my sins

Hands grasp my shoulders, but I can't see who they belong to. I force my eyes shut, the hot liquid I'm drenched in too strong. I feel my knees give out, and I hit the floor with a thud. I'm not sure when I start screaming. I just know I do.

"Look at me!"

I feel water. It's cold and it fills my throat. It chokes me, but it clears away the red on my face. Matthew clings to me as we float to the surface. He must've jumped ship, a stupid move normally, but right now I can understand it was our only option.

As soon as we return to the surface, I choke out a breath and let a strangled sob. Matthew pulls his arms tighter around me. "You're okay. Hey, look at me."

"The blood," I choke out, refusing to open my eyes. "Get the blood off me."

I hear them firing shots, but they miss by 100 meters or so. Matthew's a fast swimmer. "It's okay. Close your eyes." I'm not sure how long it takes, but my feet hit solid ground and suddenly I'm clinging to the earth.

"Hey," Matthew prompts, grabbing my chin. "Calm down."

"The blood," I squeak. "It's on me."

He grabs me and slides off my jacket and boots, pinning me to the ground. His nose brushes mine. "Open your eyes." My chest heaves, but it's less sporadic, more controlled. "Look at me."

Slowly, I open my eyes and am immediately blinded by the sun glaring down at us. Matthew's face is the first thing I see. "There is no blood," he whispers. "There's no blood."

I gulp and let out a painful breath. I glance at my jacket that lies in the rocky soil beside us. "The coat is red, you bastard."

His face contorts at the name. "It's paint. They mark traitors with red paint to stain them so nobody will trust them."

"That's why they let us go," I mumble, closing my eyes again. Matthew's body is almost flush against mine, though no weight's pressed against me. My clothes, or lack thereof, cling to my body, and I slide a hand between his chest and mine. "We need to get out of here."

His fingers stroke the collar of my shirt before standing up and pulling me to my feet. There's something hidden behind his eyes, something unseen and dangerous, but before I can question it, he's walking. I follow. "We need to find a place to stay, but no one can see you. You're stained red everywhere."

I look down at myself. It's true. My hands are red, my clothes, even my hair. Not even the ocean was able to wash it away. "Why didn't they pour it on you?" I ask quietly.

He's silent a moment before answering. "Being stained is a great dishonor, one of the highest, besides banishment."

My heart pangs. "You're an assassin."

His lip curls upward. "Yes."

"Okay."

"You're not mad?"

I laugh. "Oh, no, I am very mad. But I don't blame you. You do what it takes to survive, right? I've killed people, I'm not going to lie about it, and I know you have as well. And we both want to get to Paris for different reasons. And once we're there I never have to see you again."

"I didn't have to take you this far," he snaps back. "I should leave you here right now to die."

I turn and slap him right in the face. "Try it, Matthew. I dare you."

He growls and grabs my hand when I try to slap him again. "I don't need you. I've lived a long time on this earth without someone pulling me back, and I can live a lot longer with or without you." I try to strike him again, but he catches me. "Don't try to hit me again."

"If you want to leave so badly, then go. I don't want or need you. I can handle myself."

He scoffs. "Do you even see yourself? You're stained red everywhere. One look from a villager and you'll be dead. There's no running away. I'm the only thing that will help you. No one wants a traitor."

"I am not a traitor!" I shout, pulling my wrists from his grasp. "I've given my life to this country, Matthew. I refuse to give it up now."

"Well, I've spent my life avoiding this country. Every time I come her a part of my soul is ripped away."

I push him back. "I didn't know assassins had souls."

His expression contorts from anger into something that resembles hurt. He walks away without another word.

Again, I follow.

I walk behind Matthew for what seems like forever. My feet start to ache, the rocks leaving tiny imprints on them. I'm ashamed of what I said to Matthew, so ashamed, but I can't take it back now. It won't fix it.

It's dark when we come across a town. I stand awkwardly at the outskirts, afraid to be seen, while Matthew waltzes right up to the only inn. Tears prick my eyes as he leaves me, and I'm suddenly unconsciously aware of the chill. He's really leaving me out here. What have I done?

He's been so good to me. I wanted to leave him on that freighter ship to die at the hands of his enemies. He's never tried to leave me, not once. He could have so many times, and now I deserve it. I really do. I don't deserve his affection. I don't deserve his help. I. Deserve. Nothing.

I'm out there for a few minutes at most, but it feels like an eternity. My wet clothes cling to my body, and combined with the wind it feels as if I'm being frozen in place. I want to cry, but I'm sure m tears will freeze as well. It's late November. It should be snowing right now, but I thank God it's not. But if it was I'd laugh at the coincidence.

"Hey," a voice says, his voice deep and low.

I whip my head around toward the voice and gasp. "Matthew." I run to him, grabbing his shoulders. " You came back."

His eyes are hard as he pulls away from me. "Follow me. And don't be seen, please."

I'm hurt by his coldness, but I know I deserve it. I follow him through the shadows of the town. It's very small and quiet, and there are no dangerous gangs roaming the streets, so the inn is easy to make our way toward. We enter the back way, and when Matthew insists on climbing through a window, I have to admit, I'm quite skeptical.

"This isn't some kind of payback, is it?"

"Get in the window."

I groan in response and start climbing. It's not that high up, and I've definitely climbed higher, but there's something in the back of my mind that makes it terrifying. Finally, I make it into the room and collapse onto the floor. It's small. The beds are small, the wardrobe is small. I don't know how Matthew could even fit in here, especially when he hits his head on the ceiling.

He ignores me completely, turning away to take off his boots and jacket. Slowly, I come closer to him. "Matthew."

"I don't want to hear it," he growls.

I let out a breath. "I'm so sorry. I never should've said those things, I… I of all people shouldn't judge you for it. No sane person likes killing people, so you obviously don't want your job. We've both killed people, ruined lives, but we do what we must to live."

"There's water for you in the wash basin," he says quietly not meeting my eye. "You should try to wash some of that stain off."

The wash basin doesn't have its own room, instead shoved into a corner by the bed. It's grimy and gross, but at this point I have no choice. Matthew's back is turned when I start unbuttoning my shirt, but by the time it slides off he's peeking over his shoulder. My back is facing him, but I feel his hot gaze on my bath. All too slowly, I start undressing, and my cheeks are red by the time I slip into the bath.

The water is freezing, so I scrub fast and hard, but the red doesn't come out. I glance over to my right and see Matthew standing there silently, his hands balled into fists. "Come here," I say, almost choking over the words. He obeys me and crawls next to me. Finally, his eyes are softer and I realize maybe, just maybe, he forgives me.

I touch his face, wiping away some of the mud caked on his cheek. He sucks in a breath. "I can't get it off me. Will you help me?"

He nods and grabs one of the rags next to me. Gently, he runs it across my face, down my arm. I close my eyes and feel his hands on my back, my neck, my chest. I don't know if it's working or helping the stains, but it doesn't matter to me anymore. I meet his eyes again and grasp his face, this time with both hands.

Our kiss is soft, cautious, unsure. Neither of us realize what we've done yet, but once we do I doubt either of us will stop. I stand up out of the basin, pulling him up with me. I bite his lip as I pull his jacket off, whimpering at his tentative nature. Water drips slowly down my chest as I kiss him, your hand wrapping around my hip. I'm pulled out of the wash basin and onto the bed, the water still dripping.

"Don't leave me," he whispers into my ear as he sheds his tunic.

"Never," I lie.

(A/N: This is highly unedited and very embarrassing, but my friends, I don't have the will to edit, so the garbage will do. And yeah, please don't come into the reviews bashing about how I've ruined your innocent minds lol. There is a clear rating at the beginning of this chapter, and trust me, this is definitely not rated M.

And for those wondering, yes, I'm still kinda working on this. It's not as stressful anymore, and I'm kinda getting excited about this so wooo

Weatherbug02)