Quick update! I've gotten into the holiday mood, so the Christmas bit will be incorporated into this chapter.

W'P

"I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles." -Audrey Hepburn

-o-

In the first week of December, Jacqueline came down with something. She didn't know what it was, but it was bad. She was burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. She vomited everything up, and continued to retch when nothing was left. Her pillow was soaked in sweat; she shivered in the sun and burned in the shade. Achilles did his best to diagnose her with his limited medical knowledge, but the best he could suggest was that she wait it out and keep hydrated. There was no doctor living on the Homestead.

So she waited it out. As best she could wait it out, at least. She suspected she drank her body weight and more in water. Bisou stayed in the room with her most of the time, whining and licking her pallid cheeks. Connor visited her, but she quickly shooed him away.

"I don't want you getting ill, too." She wheezed. Her voice was hoarse from purging.

"I'm not afraid of sickness." Connor protested.

"Trust me, you don't want this." She smiled weakly. "Go feed Blanche for me. I'll be up and about in no time."

She was not up and about in no time. The illness carried on for another week with no sign of letting up. It progressed from vomiting to starving, and from starving to misery. It became less a matter of waiting out the bug and more about not dying. The most she could eat was a slice or two of bread, and water, of course. The malady was draining her. With each passing day she felt more tired, and hungrier, and weaker. Eventually, two weeks after coming down with it, she accepted the very real possibility that it may take her life.

Achilles let her believe whatever she wanted to believe. Connor came right out and spoke his opinion to her—but that was Connor. "That is ridiculous."

"It's not, though." Jacqueline coughed from a dry throat and took a shaky sip of water. "I really could die."

"You could, but you won't." He reached down to take her hand. It was a kind gesture, and she smiled. "I know you have survived worse than this."

"So far."

The sickness didn't get better, but it didn't get worse. The weight she had lost stayed off, but she didn't lose more. Bisou remained in her room, but stopped whining. She kept eating little bits of food, drinking copious amounts of water, and sleeping like a dead woman. The sun seemed to rise and fall outside her window, up and down, never stopping, and the shadows waxed and waned across her room. As she sweated out the mystery illness, she contemplated death.

It wasn't like she never thought of it. Dying in this manner, in bed and slain by an invisible virus, seemed a bit unfair after everything she had worked for. Achilles had taught her that as an Assassin, she must lose her fear of death and rather embrace it as a fact of life—the other side of the coin. That was where Templars and Assassins differed again. Templars feared death and worked to become immortal through control and power. Assassins accepted that everything died, from the tiniest bug to the most powerful man in the world, and learned to cherish what time was given on Earth. Even as a thief she had known that being killed by a stray arrow, or falling off a roof, or being caught stealing, could mean the end, and she used that factor to motivate her. The instinct to stay alive was something she did not turn into fear. She turned it into fuel.

She considered praying. If God were merciful, would He spare her death? She was so young. There was so much she wanted to do! She wanted to fight and run again, and she wanted to see Bisou grow into a big dog. She wanted to see New York and walk amongst the people, and she wanted to live in the forest like a wild woman. She wanted to venture into the unknown blue on the Aquila and see Thomas again. Part of her wanted to fall in love and then see how that felt. Maybe she would be a femme fatale and break hearts across the Colonies, and see how that felt. But more than anything, she wanted to live.

And then one morning, she woke up and saw snow on her windowsill. She threw herself from bed to smile at the frozen countryside. All at once, her illness was gone, leaving only sticky hair and a very large appetite.

-O-

"What is it?" Connor skeptically held up the handful of long green leaves and white berries.

Jacqueline bent down to grab it away from him, tottering precariously on the stepladder she stood on. He leaned back up against the doorway to the kitchen. She stuck the plant on a nail over the doorway and jumped down. "You can ask Achilles. It's mistletoe."

"But you just told me what it is." He pointed out, following as she grabbed the stepladder and set it aside.

"Ouais, but it's more of a tradition than decoration." She smirked slightly. "Now, I am going to take Bisou hunting. Do you know what "bisou" means in French?" She walked to the door and took her winter cloak from the hook, pulling the hood up and securing her bow over her shoulder.

"No."

"It means…" She paused. Bisou, who had grown considerably in just a few weeks, whined and jumped up to put her paws on her hip. "Well, I'll tell you when I return."

Connor frowned into the flurries of snow that dashed into the house as she left the house. He searched the house and found Achilles where he normally was during December; in his study, reading to hide from Jacqueline's vicious, merciless holiday cheer.

"Achilles, what is the tradition behind mistletoe?" He inquired, after knocking to announce his presence.

The old man looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Jacqueline has hung some over the door to the kitchen, and told me to ask you."

Achilles sighed and sat back in his chair. "That girl…I'm not going to go into detail. Just don't get caught in the kitchen doorway with her."

"Why not?"

"Just…don't." Achilles grumbled and opened his book. "I've got enough to deal with already."

-o-

Jacqueline returned a few hours later. It was the first real hunt she had taken Bisou on, and she was pleased with the dog. She had proven herself to be a good hunter, and had gotten two hares by herself. They walked back to the manor, Bisou happily pouncing through the snow pressing her bloodied mouth to the open ends of fallen trees or rabbit holes. The dog stopped and started digging in a seemingly random place, and she had to be whistled for.

At the front door to the manor, she saw a couple familiar faces. "Bonjour, Faulkner, Thomas." She said, walking up the steps to the house. "What brings you up to our hill?"

"Came to drop off a litt'l present for you'n the boy." Faulkner held up a couple puffy, uneven packages, sloppily wrapped in brown parchment and tied with twine. "Celebratin' the season n' all."

"Oh, thank you." Jacqueline smiled and took the gifts, but faltered. "I'm afraid I don't have anything in return." She held up her brace. "You could have a hare…"

"Ah, don't be daft." Faulkner waved her off. "It's all in the season."

"Then stay for dinner. Both of you can." She opened the door and let them in. "Just…wait around. I'm going to cook."

"Hey!" A call behind her made her turn and see Terry, the lumberjack who had nearly drowned last winter, huffing up through the snow to her.

"Hello, Terry."

"You lot going to celebrate Christmas this year? The misses wanted me to check with one of you up here."

"Yes, I was just about to start cooking dinner. Feel free to bring Godfrey and your wives." She said, starting back toward the manor. "I'm sorry, but I really have a lot to do today."

"Oh, o'course. We'll see you tonight, then." The ginger man started back through his trail in the deep snow.

-o-

"This was the worst decision ever!" Jacqueline exclaimed. After inviting their neighbors from down the hill for dinner, and having Faulkner and Thomas in the house as well, she had gone into a frenzy of cooking. Much to his chagrin, she had recruited Connor as her deputy, and had him peeling carrots at a lightning fast pace.

"What was I thinking?" She continued, harried and stumbling through the kitchen. "I can't host a Christmas party! Achilles is going to murder me!"

"He seems fine with it so far." Connor commented, for once being the cool-headed one. "I think he is glad to have guests besides us."

"We aren't guests, we live here!" She growled, practically throwing a roast hare into the oven. She clutched at her braid, staring at the train wreck they had made of the kitchen, the steaming pots and smells, and Connor watched her warily. He could tell she was ready to snap. Bisou was gnawing on a small bone. Even as he watched, Faulkner snuck into the room and grabbed another bottle of their wine. In the dining room, he could hear the lumberjacks laughing rambunctiously.

"I need some air." Slamming the oven door closed, Jacqueline stalked out of the kitchen and out the back door.

Connor waited a moment before following her. She had left the door ajar, and he closed it behind him. It couldn't have been a more picturesque Christmas Eve. It was dark already, and he could see a puff of white in the black world from his breath. The footsteps from Jacqueline stopped on the porch, but there were pieces of snow scattered away from the wall of the manor. He climbed, following the vertical trail, and saw her sitting on the roof.

"Are you okay?" He asked upon getting closer. It was snowing, and the white flakes were speckling her hair. She had not cut it once in the past year, and it now extended far down her back in a harried braid.

Jacqueline looked over her shoulder. "I'm fine. The fresh air helps."

"I can finish cooking if you want to rest." He sat next to her and looked out at the snowy countryside.

"That's okay." She murmured, without looking at him. She wasn't even looking at anything, just staring into space. "I may as well see tonight through. Thank you for going along with Christmas these past years, by the way. I know you don't celebrate it."

"I don't mind. It is very festive. The religious aspect is…beside the point."

"That's true. It's more about getting together, being a little nicer, all that."

"Are you a Christian?"

"I was." She sighed, leaving a cloud of fog to float up into the black sky. "I guess I still am. Time will tell."

There was a peaceful lull. The lumberjacks in the dining room below could still be heard. The light from the house cast bright shapes out of the windows onto the snow. After a few minutes, Jacqueline quietly stood and slid back down the steep side of the roof, and disappeared over the edge in whirl of snow. He followed her a moment later and walked into the relatively warm manor. She was leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, her face flushed, breathing as though she had just taken a run. When she saw him approach, she blushed an even deeper shade of scarlet and glanced above them, at the little sprig of green flora.

She fled the doorway before he could approach, stepping over to her dog, still curled up and gnawing on rabbit bones. "Did I tell you what "bisou" means?"

"No."

"It…" She trailed off, and sniffed suspiciously. "Do you smell burning?"

It took a few seconds before the words registered, and by that time she was already off to the stove, throwing open the oven door to check on the hare. It was fine, but something, perhaps butter, had splashed from the pan. Smoke billowed from the oven, and she stepped back, waving a hand in front of her face. Connor hurried to open a few windows, or Achilles would have both their heads for burning down his house. A steady stream of what sounded like foul curses in French followed Jacqueline as she used her cloak to wave the smoke off.

"Everything all right in here?" Diana, Terry's wife, poked her head in the door. Her eyes widened at the sight of the smoke and re-stressed Jacqueline. "Oh, dear! Here, let me help."

Jacqueline waved a hand. "Oh, no, you're guests. I couldn't possibly…"

"It's no trouble, and we can't be very good guests if the dinner's burnt, can we?" The pretty ginger woman hurried in and inspected the damage. "Ah, 'tis not much. And the hare's not been hurt."

She went about the kitchen in a manner that suggested she had been in many sticky cooking situations, handling the scene with robotic efficiency. Jacqueline stepped away, clutching a stained towel and seeming to shrink in size. Bisou picked up a hind leg in her mouth and nudged Jacqueline's knee. She took it and tossed it away for the dog to fetch. Still looking dazed, she retrieved a bottle of champagne and several glasses, and drifted away into the dining room.

-O-

The next morning, Connor woke late. Their guests had stayed into the evening, bringing food and drink of their own, which made far too much for just the nine of them. He hadn't seen Jacqueline since she had fled the previous night with most of a bottle of champagne, looking stressed and distant. Achilles, upon asking, had not seen her either.

Groggy and tired, Connor left his room and knocked on Jacqueline's door. There was no answer. He tried again, and got the same lack of response. Instead of knocking again, he tentatively opened the door. His fellow Assassin was asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace, with the drained champagne bottle in a limp hand and a large blanket of fur draped over herself. It was slumped down her shoulder to expose her back.

He wasn't even surprised anymore. It would be hypocritical of him, anyway, as he slept shirtless. He stepped forward and, being painfully careful to keep the fur around her, picked her up. She stirred but did not wake. It was a task to get the door to her bedroom open, and when he did, he had to quirk his head. In her bed was Bisou, sprawled out, large tongue lolling on her pillow and long-haired tail flopping occasionally and lazily in her sleep. Why their places were switched, he may never know.

As he nudged the big dog from the bed, Jacqueline crunched her eyes and wrinkled the bridge of her nose. "Connor," She groaned. "Why does my head hurt?"

"You drank a lot of champagne. Most of a bottle."

"Oh." She smirked dryly, and then grimaced. "It feels like a horse kicked me."

"Perhaps you should stay away from alcohol for a while." He advised, flipping her pillow over and setting her in bed. "Get some sleep."

Jacqueline chuckled quietly, tugging her blankets around herself. "Since when did you become the voice of reason, and I the reckless one?"

"Since you tried hosting an entire Christmas party last night."

At that, she sat up with a gasp. "It's Christmas morning!" The pillows sighed as she sank back into them. "I didn't get you or Achilles anything."

"If it helps, we did not get you anything either." He smiled briefly and turned to go.

"Connor, wait." She reached out and grabbed his arm before he could leave. "I forgot to tell you. Bisou…" She yawned and winced at the same time. "It means 'kiss.'" And she dropped back into slumber.