This ain't no place for no hero,
This ain't no place for no better man,
This ain't no place for no hero to call home.
-Short Change Hero, The Heavy
Ever since he was a wanton little ragamuffin, Thomas always knew fate had a funny way of working. No matter how much planning, lying, cheating, stealing and murdering you did, it always caught up with you. Though whether that proved for better or worse, no one could ever predict.
Somehow he never ended up, well, ending Connor. And the Assassin never ended up knifing him either. Oh, he had numerous run-ins with her in the ensuing years. Not that they ever came to their brief truces voluntarily. More, it proved far more expedient to refrain from murdering each other on account of their shared ends justifying their opposing means. He also came across the other killers she led. Folks like Dobby, William de Saint-Prix and even once, that sharp-shooting Clipper fellow. Yet unless goaded, they didn't attempt to kill him. He suspected their reasons for their apparent leniency. But he refused to ask why.
Ain't no need to go askin' stupid fuckin' questions you don't be wantin' the hard answers to, he told himself over and over again.
It would take a year and a half for Thomas to see Connor again. Not that he was counting or anything ridiculous like that.
The winter of 1778 brought about the hunt for Benjamin Church after his betrayal of the Templars and the Continental Army. It made the most sense for Thomas to accompany Haytham with his daughter on her (fucking impressive, he had to admit) ship to the Bahamas since Church decided to go about fucking over Thomas' corner of the black market. Not to mention, Thomas had plenty of non-Templar assets to use to draw out Church. Unfortunately, Haytham found out about their previous alliance. His eavesdropping also revealed their little escapade back at that cabin in the woods, when the two of them tracked down the Hessian.
Thomas barely escaped the Grandmaster's wrath. Not to due his instincts or luck. Rather, due to Connor's promise to gut her father should he lay a hand on him.
You were nowhere to be found when I was a child. So do not insult either of us by attempting to exert your paternity now, she hissed at the elder Kenway. Dark eyes burning with rage and that fancy hidden blade of hers snapping out of its gauntlet, she drew dagger and snarled, You have no right to me, nor I to you.
To her credit, Thomas had never witnessed the Grandmaster rendered speechless. Which probably explained why he didn't hear hide or hair of Connor for over two years after they parted ways.
The spring of 1780 found them involved in an espionage operation up at Morven House in New Jersey. The feared Redcoat General Banastre Tarleton nearly destroying the Patriot cause with his ruthless military prowess, something had to be done. So both the Assassins and the Templars undertook their missions to thwart him. Little did they know that their goals intertwined. Well, that was until Connor and Haytham stumbled across each other in the Princeton streets.
It turned out Connor was in town to kill Tarleton and steal his army plans to pass on to the Patriots. Haytham wished to kidnap the General and use him for negotiating a peace for an early end to the war. She and her and old man nearly killed each other before they agreed that they could simply swipe the plans and pass them on to the Patriots. It'd leave Tarleton intact and avoid blowback from the Brits. His black market network once again brimming with information, Thomas tagged along with the Grandmaster.
As Princeton was full of Brit officers and slavering Loyalists looking to prove their allegiance to the crown, Connor would appear especially suspicious in her usual robes and male livery. So she was forced to wear dresses and such to better blend in with the general populace. Thomas had never laid eyes on a prettier sight. Not that he'd ever say it to her face. He preferred not taking a knife to his chest or his balls, thank you very much.
Connor also found herself with an ally as recommended to her by John Adams. Some stodgy Brit fellow loyal to the Patriots' cause named Ichabod Crane. Neither Thomas nor Haytham trusted the bloke. And it turned out that they had good reason not to. For Crane was actually on a secret mission from General Washington and the Masons to retrieve some map from Morven House that allegedly showed the location of ancient artifact Washington thought would turn the tide of the war. An artifact that was apparently one of those blasted Pieces of Eden. Unfortunately, Ichabod betrayed all of them and stole the map for himself. Which prompted Connor and Haytham to track him down and force him to turn it over. Crane was lucky to slink away with his life. And that was only on account of Connor's apparent mercy, even as she swore to end him should she ever lay eyes on him again.
At the same time, Haytham and Connor nearly killed each other again until Connor took it upon herself to toss the map into the fireplace of their safe house. I rather no one have it than for it to fall into Templar hands, she smirked as it burned and she held off her father at the end of her flintlock. Haytham was of course livid. Thomas could only chuckle to himself at the Assassin's sheer obstinacy.
Regardless, the mission was technically a success since they were able to smuggle out Tarleton's battle plans. Haytham immediately slipped out of town afterwards. It left the Connor and Thomas staying at the same tavern. After plenty of drinks and Thomas hounding Connor into a few dances, they fell into bed again. Of course, she was gone when Thomas awoke with a raging hangover the next morning.
To his astonishment, Thomas saw her again that September. After her falling out with General Washington (to his dying day, Thomas never once pointed out how right he and his ilk were about the man he tried to assassinate all those years ago. No need to repeat something they both knew), she undertook one last mission for the General at West Point. It happened to be the same place Thomas was stationed with the Connecticut militia. Which was why Haytham ordered him to root out rumors of Benedict Arnold's potential disloyalty and kill him if necessary; with the war turning, the Templars now threw their support behind the Patriots. All the better for them to wield early influence over what was clearly becoming a burgeoning nation.
As per usual, it was just a nice bit of coin to line Thomas' pockets. Because he sure in the hell didn't give a fuck about politics and the bullshit that went along with it.
The mission was technically a failure, considering Arnold escaped. At the same time, West Point was saved and the Patriots avoided complete disaster. It now surprised neither Thomas nor Connor how they ended up sleeping together again. Honestly, it also shouldn't have surprised him to wake up to a cold bed with her long gone in the morning. Nonetheless and for reasons he wasn't quite ready to fully question yet, her disappearing act frustrated the hell out of him. Especially since it'd be another year before they crossed paths.
The Templars lost their Grandmaster in September 1781 through a twist of chance Thomas never thought he'd be a part of. For it was he who provided the information of Charles Lee's hideout in Fort George. Though he swore Dobby to secrecy of him being the source when he passed it on to her to relay to Connor. But instead of Lee, Connor found her father at the fort. Their conflict ended with Haytham's death at her hands and Connor nearly there herself.
Madness. Dizzying affection grown out of years of their bizarre dance around each other. Being a witless piece of shit. Or perhaps even guilt. Thomas didn't know what compelled him to visit her during her recovery two days later. Nor why he finally confessed to being there on that fateful day that Charles Lee came to her village and threatened her life.
She nearly killed him for it. He'd certainly bear the physical scar she inflicted on him for the rest of his life.
They didn't speak to or see each other for a year. The only acknowledgement of how much Thomas missed his 'lil wolf was his drastic uptick in drinking. And with so few Templars left now, no one apparently noticed his constantly inebriated state. Even if they did, they certainly didn't give a fuck as to why.
Not until he revealed Lee's location in Boston in September 1782 did he see her once more. Yet again, that little tidbit of information was passed through Dobby (what could he say? Except that the Irishwoman reminded him of his sisters and didn't take any shit from him, quite similar to her boss). Except this time, it was a purposeful strike at Lee. Thomas was sick of answering to the increasingly unhinged lickspittle. And he wasn't the only Templar of that opinion either. The former general's reckless leadership driven by an absurd combination of rage, hubris and vengeful pettiness sped up the Order's decline. Taking strategic advantage, the Assassins easily wrecked further havoc.
What better way to apologize for his role in Connor's loss of innocence then to hand over her greatest enemy on a silver platter?
Except she nearly died of her efforts to kill Lee. Which was why Thomas greeted her at the tavern door when she limped in to finally kill him. He waited outside as the deed was done. His presence told her all she needed to know of him now; he was done with the Templars once and for all.
I have completed my mission, she hoarsely declared, stumbling out of the tavern, Now take me home.
Frankly, he thought her addled in the mind for trusting him with finally revealing where she lived. To that, she weakly smiled, You have yet to kill me. I assume you sure as shit will do no such thing later.
He barked out a laugh at her curse. Along with sending up a prayer that she'd survive long enough for him to prove she had good reason to trust him.
She almost didn't make it back to the Homestead.
To his credit, the new Grandmaster never pursued either one of them. Her original enemies dead and gone, Ratonhnhaké:ton never questioned it. At least not out loud. Meanwhile, Thomas suspected the new Templar leader had lingering feelings regarding what he'd done to his old mentor before he betrayed the Brotherhood. It was confirmed months later when he made a supply run to Boston.
Deciding to pass by The Green Dragon for old times' sake, Thomas found himself face to face with one Shay Cormac.
I've got no plans to forcefully 'retire' a bloke who voluntarily left the Order, Shay easily declared.
Staring at Cormac over the rim of his tankard of beer, Thomas took a long swig before shrugging, Yeah.
Yet Connor remains a soldier in 'er cause, his dark gaze met Thomas'. Should she continue to go placin' herself as a piece on the board? I can't do anythin' to prevent 'er end.
Thomas swallowed. It was all he could do against such spoken truths. Which is why he found himself stunned by Cormac's next words.
Nonetheless, I have never been one to dole out revenge for the sake 'o sheer belligerence. Nor will I go extendin' the reach of the Order to inflict collateral damage to one's spouse and children.
Thanks, mate.
I deserve none of that now…Achilles would have wanted it that way.
Who in the fuck be Achilles?
Cormac flashed Thomas a pained grin before his expression fell. Trust me, mate, he rose from his seat and clapped Thomas on the back, She'll know.
With that, Shay tipped his hat and disappeared into the crowd. Finishing off his beer, Thomas paid and slipped out of the tavern.
It was high time he return to the Homestead and back to Ratonhnhaké:ton's side. It was were he wanted to be now, after all. Preferably for the rest of his life, if she'd have him. Though only time would tell on that one.
They never marry. He asks her twice of it; once, roughly six months after Lee's demise, the second time, while she heals from the birth of their twins.
The first time, she utterly refuses. He flees the Homestead for Boston that very afternoon, not bothering to stick around for her added rejection. A week later, she hunts him down at the Green Dragon. It's now a normal, rather boring tavern versus enemy territory. After all, all of her enemies are dead. And he is no longer one of her targets. Not after all they've gone through and sacrificed over the years. Not to mention, living in apparent sin with her at the Homestead for the last six months or so.
Sloppy drunk and livid, he barely comprehends her threat to castrate him for his stupidity. In the end, they take a room for the night. Dried out and hung over the next morning, he sullenly sits on the edge of the bed as Ratonhnhaké:tonlocks the door.
Then, they talk. For hours on end. As per usual, while her stubbornness is evident, she explains her motivations in her typical clear and deliberate manner.
She has labored far too long and hard for a marriage certificate to deprive her of what little privileges are left to her. Not only as a woman, but as one of the largest landowners in the county through the Homestead. Not to mention, the homesteaders are under her protection and she will tolerate none who threaten their livelihoods. Most especially, not a husband. She trusts Thomas with her life, of course. Of that, there is no question. Especially after he hustled her back home to heal up after her final encounter with Lee.
Sure, he wasn't an official house guest. The thing was, he just never left. Not the house. Nor his side of bed he shared with her in the master bedroom. Nevertheless, she refuses to bend to those who create the rule of law that strips a married woman of her right to her own assets.
While he admits he understands her misgivings, he makes it abundantly clear that he must think on it. She leaves him to it, though not without hungrily capturing his mouth with hers before silently walking out the door. She's never been one for many words, preferring actions to empty prattling.
He returns to the Manor within a few days. Despite that she never says so aloud, her relief at his reappearance is written all over her face when he strolls through the front door. And though it takes around a month or so, they fall back into their usual routine.
The second time he requests her hand, its sheer panic driving him. It is the fifth night of her illness after giving birth to the twins, the boys but six days old. Their older sister, Julia, stays in their room. Already fiercely protective of them despite having only four years to her, she refuses to let them out of her sight while mama is "resting." Prudence is kind enough to look after the children, moving into house for the time being.
Meanwhile, Thomas sleeps on a cot next to the bed in the master bedroom, attending to Ratonhnhaké:ton as she battles the fever threatening to steal her from him. Though he hasn't set foot in a church for decades, he swears to God and his angels that he shall make an honest woman of her should she mend.
She does so within a fortnight. At first, he doesn't think she remembers his ramblings. Begging her to not give up as he pressed cold cloth to her head while helplessly watching Dr. White and Diana work over her. Thus, he never bothers to comment on them aloud.
A couple of months later, one night after she returns from New York on a mission and he gives her a sound beating in a game of fanorona, she distantly says, "I see that you have won…should we make a visit to Father Timothy to perform the marriage, seeing that I am out of danger?"
Admittedly, Ratonhnhaké:ton has never been one for handling difficult questions in a delicate fashion, he'll give her that. So Thomas finds himself giving a loud guffaw before gulping down a large chug of whiskey. All in spite of his furtive look around the room. Yet, she flashes him a shy smile that lights up her face. All while at the same time pulling back the left sleeve of her tunic. Revealing the green tattoo of a four-leafed clover just above her inner wrist, her skin is pink, still smarting and covered in salve. Above it reads, "A chuisle, a chroí." Below, "Thomas Dempsey," his real name he now goes by.
"Dobby swears that it," she points to the Gaelic, prettily blushing all the while, "Is accurate."
He pounces and makes love to her right there on the floor, in front of the warm flames of the fireplace. Beds and supposed decency be damned. Besides, the tykes were tucked in upstairs hours ago.
Upon his return from his next trip to New York a few weeks later, the first thing he does is kiss her silly on the manor steps for all the world to see. The second is haul her into the house in order to show her the black inking of six eagle feathers fanned out within a circle along his inner right forearm. Beneath them reads, "Ratonhnhaké:ton." Her real name she's allowed him to call her ever since he brought her back the Homestead. Though she still goes by "Connor" with their fellow Homesteaders. It honored the lost son of her mentor that he'd named her for. After all, Achilles was the only father she ever loved.
He admits that he almost fucked up and initially asked for only five feathers. That was until Dobbie kindly reminded him that her confederacy consisted of six tribes. All while Jacob and Jaime also threatened to dump his mangled body in the harbor should he ever break their mentor's heart.
For both of them, no wedding ring or record within the church annals could ever replace such a commitment.
Thomas Hickey, or rather Thomas Dempsey as he now went by in order to protect himself from anyone from his past sniffing around, was still a lot of unsavory things. He loved having his pockets lined with as many pounds (well, dollars now) as possible. He drank a bit too much for his own good. He was a solid cheat at cards and other games. His language remained as coarse as ever. Funny how all those aspects of his old life remained within him. Funnier still was how it'd played out over the years. For as before, his life's pleasures still directly stemmed from how useful he found those surrounding him to be.
Without Ratonhnhaké:ton? Well, he'd probably be dead. Likely, somewhere in a ditch outside a tavern or torn apart on the battlefield. Another pointless sacrifice to a hypocritical cause that aimed to control all within its sight. Without their children, Julia, Aidan or Achilles, he'd be a sorry excuse for a human being. Deprived of any sense of obligation to his own flesh and blood, he'd meander through life, aimless and thoroughly lacking in purpose. Without the homesteaders and their pride in protecting their swaths of hearth and home, his cynicism would've devoured him whole. He'd be left a pathetic husk of man, vainly undertaking an alcohol-fueled search for refuge from his own demons.
His lover, their children, their home and their little community of misfits proved all he bothered to give a damn about. Nothing would ever change that.
As their oldest child Julia matured, devious pragmatism helped temper the rowdy disposition she'd inherited from her father. Markedly, when she followed her mother's footsteps. On numerous occasions, it certainly not only saved her own life but her recruits' as well.
Aidan, named for Thomas' younger and favorite brother, was technically their second child since he was the first-born twin. Honed from all those years of sitting at his father's side and learning how to cheat at a myriad of games, Aidan contained a knack for remembering patterns and numbers. Combined with his mother's sense of discretion, it made him one of the richest brokers of goods and information along the Eastern Seaboard.
Aidan's twin Achilles inherited a passionate love of the sea from the stories about his maternal great-grandfather that his mother proudly told, which she in turned learned from the old mentor she named her son for. Not to mention his own mother's keen skills. His uncanny sixth sense for coming trouble from the authorities matched his father's instincts through and through. Accordingly, he owned a legitimate fleet of ships. He happily let Aidan utilize them to transport his goods in exchange for a fair cut of the profits. That his elder sister had free reign to use them for the Brotherhood's missions proved an added benefit to all of them to cover for the Assassins operations
Unknown to most, the trio's combined talents directly played a hand in securing a victory in the War of 1812. Julia's astounding skill for to putting together solid plans of action for the Assassins allowed them to be executed with frightening efficiency. Aidan's zealously cultivated connections resulted in him becoming President Madison's premier spymaster. Achilles' ships discovered multiple routes to smuggle goods and information to and from the American troops. Mostly in exploiting supposedly impossible shipping lanes that cut through the British armada blockading the coast.
Their parents couldn't be any prouder of their progeny.
So was Thomas still a selfish sort? Undeniably. But neither Ratonhnhaké:ton, Julia, Aidan nor Achilles (who all also went by their Mohawk names as given by their mother reflecting their differing natures. Thomas swiftly learned how to properly pronounce them, of course) could blame him for it. Neither could any of the homesteaders. After all, he'd fight to the bloody death to ensure his sources of continued contentment remained whole and unharmed. And loath to anyone who dared lay a finger on his family. Or his neighbors. Or the acres of land on which they all made their livings. What more could one ask of him? Sure, such an outlook didn't fall into the childish, naive definition of love, as most people saw it. Yet, he'd never claimed to be a hare-brained optimist. Far from it, in fact.
Good thing he never gave Ratonhnhaké:ton back that pretty eagle feather from the first time they worked together. Then again, he doubted she'd ask for it back now.
"You are too quiet, father."
"All the better for the world to go hearin' ya usual chatter, sweetheart," he rasped, reaching out and ruffling Julia's nearly black locks. While she shared her mother's dark hair and her olive skin, the rest of her features were solidly her father. Well, save her paternal grandmother's shrewd, azure gaze. She was named for her after all. "Besides, I ain't never felt better. So quit worryin' yourself."
The two stood on the balcony of the master bedroom of Davenport Manor. Watching as the setting sun split the sky in warm rays of golden red and orange, they hung about in companionable silence. Thomas haphazardly leaned on the railing, arms crossed and with his flask loosely clasped in one hand. Dressed in only a tunic and trousers, his floppy, wide-brimmed straw hat was shoved to the back of his head. Revealing a bit of his shorn, white hair, it was well-worn.
"You must be slipping, pop," she smirked, her mischievous expression a mirror of his own. "It's obvious you're lying, ya blaggart."
Letting out a snort of disagreement, he tossed back a drink and slowly stood up straighter. Wincing and letting out a deep groan as his back creaked and cracked, he cursed his old injuries. A lifetime of running and gunning caught up with him years ago. No matter, it didn't stop him from throwing an arm about his little girl's shoulder. Well, she wasn't so little anymore. Particularly considering the round bump along her midsection under her light green, Indian muslin dress. While she proved just as rambunctious as her mother, Julia preferred gowns when she wasn't out on her Assassin duties.
"I ain't admittin' to nothin'," he shrugged.
Casting him a doubtful look, Julia leaned and dropped her head to her father's stooped shoulder. "You're worried for mother," she shrugged. "I understand. Regardless, she's only broken her arm. She's been through worse."
"Still don't make it no better," Thomas groused, mouth twisting with reproach. "She be gettin' on in years, ya know?! Too bloody old to keep climbin' all over the trees and what not 'round here."
"Oh, I'd like to see you tell her that to her face!" Julia let out a guffaw of retort. "I swear," her eyes sparkled, "You hem and haw over her like an old hen. Quit bein' so silly." Yet she dropped a hand around his and gave it a light squeeze of comfort.
"The fuckin' hell else I supposed to be doin'?!"
"Finding other ways of keeping her occupied since she's retired?"
"Now that be somethin' I'd like to see ya try," Thomas chuckled. "You should damn well know better that your ma ain't one to be takin' no orders. Unless you wanna go meetin' the business end 'o one of her fancy 'lil hidden blades."
Julia shook her head in disagreement and arched a dark brow. "I doubt she'd outright murder you."
"I be forgettin' that you wasn't even a glimmer in me eye when I first crossed paths with the 'lil hellion," he snickered. Taking another drink, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "One day, I gotta round up you lot and let y'all know 'bout the time your mama ambushed and tried to go killin' me in prison. Almost did me in somethin' fierce, too."
Eyes widening in utter disbelief, Julia jerked up from his shoulder, bellowing, "Wait…what the fuck-?!"
"Yeah, none of you kiddies be knowin' the half 'o it," he chortled. "We didn't exactly be gettin' on too well back then. Hell, neither of us really wanted too, neither. At least not without the other one gettin' shanked on a blade or shot straight through with a musket ball."
"You shall have to enlighten us all, then," Julia snorted in disbelief.
Hearing the ring of the dinner bell from below, Thomas glanced over the balcony. The homesteaders had set up few long tables earlier in the afternoon for the celebration. Now, they were all piled high with food and drink. Most everyone from the community wandered around, chattering and catching up with each other.
Off to the side, Ratonhnhaké:ton was in deep conversation with Mariam and Norris. Judging by the way she waved about her uninjured arm and how Mariam leaned over and smacked her thigh in laughter, the two women we likely discussing how she'd broken her arm. Already swaying on his feet, Norris was deep into his cups, happily slurring along in a mish-mash of English and Montreal-accented French. Across the yard, Aidan and Achilles engaged Ellen and Big Dave, who were comfortably ensconced in each other. Aidan's three year-old son, 'Lil Tom, sat perched on his uncle Achilles' shoulders. Half-asleep and swaying, the boy would be asleep soon.
"I'm glad we could all make it back for Istá's birthday," Julia's voice cut through Thomas' thoughts. Retreating to the door, she waved for him to follow her downstairs.
"Ain't got no argument with that," Thomas grinned. "She may not be sayin' or showin' it much. Still, she be happy as a clam whenever ya brats bother comin' up for a visit."
"Hey now!" Julia lightly smacked him across the arm, "You know how busy we are. Especially with all the rebuilding since the war ended."
"A likely excuse, poppet," he half-teased, half-admonished.
Taking one last look over the balcony, he caught Ratonhnhaké:ton's eye. Her hair was mostly grey now, streaked with only a few slices of dark brown. Plaited back in a two braids, she'd woven through a few more feathers and ribbons for today's gathering. Of course, she wasn't in a gown of any sort. Rather, a finely stitched dark waistcoat with native beading along the pockets and collar over a white tunic. Her red sash looped around the waist of her black trousers, her black boots were freshly polished as well. Around her neck was her usual bear claw collar. Within its center sat the gold and ruby pendant he'd given her years ago, after recovering from the twins' birth. She never removed it, unless one of her missions required it.
Adamantly waving for him to come down (her expression briefly translating to Move your ass, you are already late), she shot him a bright smile as he sloppily blew her a kiss and raised his flask in salute.
"Go get changed, pop," Julia pecked her father on the cheek, "I'll meet you at the top of the stairs, yeah?"
"Works for me, darlin'," he nodded as she left.
Changing into a fresh pair of trousers, Thomas haphazardly tossed on a waistcoat over his tunic without bothering to button it up. He then pulled on his boots and wandered out of his quarters. The trip down the stairs took a while. Though Julia laughingly blamed it on her current condition with child, they both knew that he hadn't been a young man for a long, long time. No matter, for they eventually made it outside.
Thomas greeted Aidan and Achilles with his usual hearty hug and making a loud show of chiding that it'd been too long since they all decided to visit their poor, addled parents. Meanwhile, 'Lil Tom still sat on his uncle Achilles' shoulders. Unable to keep himself from tickling his grandson, Thomas relished the child's gleeful laughter peeling out across the front yard.
Silently appearing behind him, Ratonhnhaké:ton arched a brow. "You will spoil him."
"No more than I went doin' with our own 'lil tykes," Thomas smirked, "But they turned out right as rain, eh?"
"No thanks to you." Ratonhnhaké:ton's brief grin clearly indicated her amusement. Especially as she procured a piece of candy out of seemingly nowhere and slipped it into 'Lil Tom's eager, grabbing hands.
"Akhso!" the boy exclaimed, popping it into his mouth. Smiling around it, he leaned over and pressed his little palms to her cheeks while dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. Closing her eyes for a long moment, Ratonhnhaké:ton rocked to her toes, smiled and clasped her hands on top of her grandson's. "Tanks...Niá:wen,"he slowly translated.
His father Aidan shook his head. "You'll ruin his dinner, istá."
"Someone must do so," she reached up to ruffle Aidan's hair.
Wrapping his arms around Ratonhnhaké:ton from behind, Thomas ducked his head and suggestively murmured against her ear, "And who's that gonna leave to go spoilin' you, love?"
"Perhaps you offer yourself for such?" she interlaced her fingers with his at her waist.
"Yeah," Thomas snickered, "I ain't gonna go fightin' you on that one."
Spinning her around, he hungrily captured her mouth with his. Achilles rolled his eyes and loudly declared that the house was right there if they needed privacy while Aidan let out gagging noises at the display. Julia took her usual route of smacking her younger brothers on the backs of their heads. Her bawdy laughter as they let out a loud, "OW!" had them both grumbling.
"Hmm," Ratonhnhaké:ton gave Thomas a pleased murmur, "And what is this for?" she slightly withdrew with a grin.
Delicately brushing the pad of his thumb across her scarred cheek, Thomas' gaze searched her face. He couldn't help committing it to memory for what seemed the millionth time. Not that he minded in the slightest.
A slow smile coming to him, he nuzzled his nose into her neck while chuckling, "Do I ever go needin' a reason, me lovely?"
"No," she closed her eyes and gently ran a hand through his short locks, "You are aware that you never do."
"Yeah," he nibbled a kiss to her jaw, "That be what I thought."
"Konoronhkwa, Tom."
"Me too, Ratonhnhaké:ton. 'Til me dyin' breath and the end of me days, swee'art."
Yeah, his life couldn't get much better than this.
~THE END~
Translations:
"A chuisle, a chroí" - equivalent of " Pulse of my heart/My heart's beloved" in Irish Gaelic.
"Istá" - "Mother" in Mohawk.
"Akhso" - "Grandmother" in Mohawk.
"Niá:wen" - "Thanks" in Mohawk.
"Konoronhkwa" - "I love you" in Mohawk.
Otherwise, if you would've told me three years ago that I'd finish a novel-length fic, I would've called you crazy. But here I am, done with this part of the series. Seriously, this was supposed to be a super-simple, one-off of a kink meme request of "Connor doesn't kill Thomas at the gallows, so they constantly run into each other over the years and have lots of hate sex." So I never thought it would've blown up into a full AU. I'm sorry it took so long for me to finish. Thanks for all of your patience, the reviews and that you've stuck with me.
I may one day write more in this series, but likely not for a long time. Especially since this story has also helped sharpen my writing skills and given me the confidence to start writing my own original content. In the meantime, thanks again!