"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." –J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

-o-

The cell that she was tossed into was, in a word, vile. The only opening it had was the barred door, and that just gave her a good view of the cells across from her. The light was dim, barely there at all. She had been forced to change into rags that were originally meant for a man, as they hung on her shoulders and hardly fit at all. She found that somewhere along the way her hair had been knocked loose, and she began the arduous task of braiding it back together.

Across from her, Hickey wasn't looking very worried. "'Ello, love."

"You don't look very worried." She noted coldly. "Once the other prisoners learn what you were planning to do, they will tear you apart."

"Don't worry 'bout me, beau'iful. The cavalry's comin'." He smirked.

In the cell next to his, and diagonal from Jacqueline, Connor stirred. He had been unconscious since they'd been caught, and she was relieved he was waking up. For a while, she thought he'd actually been injured. "You." He stood unsteadily at the night of Hickey, through a hole in the wall.

"You miss me, swee'heart?" Hickey's taunts got no response. "What? Nothin' to say?"

"If you are here then Washington is safe."

"True, true. Thing is, I believe I've just been pardoned."

A small party walked down the hall toward them, led by a prison guard. Among them were none other then Charles Lee and Haytham Kenway, Connor's father. The guard opened the door to Hickey's cell and he stepped out, brushing himself off. "Thank you kindly for the rescue, gents."

"There can be no further mistakes, Thomas." Haytham ordered with imperial authority. "Am I understood?"

"What about this—these Assassins?" That made both Lee and Haytham stop and turn. "That's right. They're here, both of 'em. Guess we didn't catch 'em all, eh?"

"Deal with this, Charles." Haytham said firmly, and walked away.

"At once, sir." Lee nodded, and then slowly turned to face Connor. "You're that boy from the Continental Congress. Adams' little lapdog." He looked back at Jacqueline. "And the woman who follows him. How fortuitous." He paused. "I think I have an idea. Yes…two birds with one stone."

"Do tell." Hickey urged eagerly.

"In due time. It's not like the Assassins are going anywhere." He addressed Hickey once more. "For now, we should see about getting you better accommodations here.

"What're you on about?" Hickey stopped. "I thought I was gettin' out!"

"You can thank Benjamin Tallmadge for that. He's been running his mouth, saying all sorts of things. You're being investigated for plotting to assassinate George Washington."

"What a load of bullocks!"

"We'll discuss this later." Lee said it with a tone of finality. The Templars left, presumably off to find Hickey more suitable quarters.

Jacqueline pressed her face against the bars to look down the hall. "Are they gone?" Connor didn't answer, and she didn't press him, because he was likely stewing in anger. From somewhere in the mess that was now her hair, she produced a little splinter of metal—a lockpick.

That was when Connor noticed her. "Where did you get that?"

"Never doubt a woman's resourcefulness, Ratonhnhaké:ton." She patted herself down. "Now, where did that…ah, here." From down her shirt she produced a shiv-like companion to the lockpick. "Keep a look out."

Though dubious, Connor looked down the hall while she twisted her arms outside the bars to pick the lock. It was easy, since it only took her maybe thirty seconds to pick even with her hands at odd angles. "Ha!" The door sprung open, and she stepped out. "Now let's get you out of here."

When she stooped to pick Connor's cell, however, a guard rounded the corner and saw her. "Oi! Stop right there!"

For some reason, she actually did freeze for a moment. But she turned and ran down the hall the other way, slipping and skidding on the damp floor, her bare feet getting scratched up. That turned out to be a bad decision, because it ended in a brick wall. She whirled around to run back the other way, but that guard was a lot closer than she had thought, and he grabbed her before she could take another step. There had been a chance, but she wasn't going to kill anyone in prison, even though it was laughably easy. So she let him drag her back to their cellblock.

"Looks like we got a restless one on our hands," He said to another guard that he rendezvoused with on the way back. They reached her cell, but that wasn't the one they opened. "Wanna bunk down with the native, then? Maybe this'll cool those coals under your feet, girl."

They threw her hard enough that she almost fell, but Connor caught her before she hit the ground. "Are you okay?"

"I really want to kill something, but other than that, I think I'll live." Jacqueline brushed herself off and looked around. "What now?"

He thought about it for a moment. "We find a way to escape. Then we kill Thomas Hickey before he can get to Washington."

Jacqueline nodded, then looked up at him. "You look terrible." She held his chin and turned his head a little. There was a huge purple bruise swelling around his right eye, originating from a scabbed cut. The front of the shirt he had been given was stained with old blood.

"It's just a scratch." He leaned away.

"Nothing we can do about it here." She sighed. "Dieu…how are we going to get out of here?"

The rest of the day was spent sitting on their bed, which was just a slab of chipped stone with a straw pillow. It certainly gave them plenty of time to talk. Some of the talk was about escape, but after a couple hours they got off topic. Jacqueline mused aloud on what Achilles would think of their getting caught. That thought made them both cringe and it was quickly dropped. They listened in on a conversation between their prison mates next door about a man named "Weems" who was carving a key to escape. Eventually, however, the inevitable came about.

"So…" Jacqueline pursed her lips to one side. "We're not going to talk about it, are we?"

He glanced sideways at her. "Talk about what?"

"Don't play dumb. You know what."

There was a moment of silence, and she could tell he was thinking hard about his choice of words. "I am…unsure what you want me to say."

"Alors, neither do I, that's why I asked you."

He rubbed his brow. "It was…unexpected. I have never pursued a relationship."

"I know."

"Was that your intention?"

"My intention was camouflage. The unintended side effect is that we're now in an awkward position."

"So what now?"

"Good question."

There was another long pause, this one considerably more awkward. It lasted a long time, until the sun outside the barred, fogged over window faded into darkness and she felt fatigue crawl up and settle in her eyes. "It's getting late." Connor noted.

"Do you have a coin to flip for the bed?"

"No."

"Thought not. You take it, then."

"No."

"Oh, no you don't. We aren't going to do this again." Jacqueline scooted back on the bed. "We can both have the bed."

Even from a bit behind him, she could see his skin darken with a blush. "Are you…?"

"No. It's just so we are not doing the same song and dance about who gets the bed." She smirked. "But if you're so eager, I suppose…"

The look he shot her—somewhere between "are you serious?" and pure panic—whirling his whole torso around to do so, made her break down laughing. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding."

Connor visibly relaxed and sat back to lie down on their "bed". Jacqueline scooted back against his chest and closed her eyes. The beat of his heart against her ear lulled her into an uneasy sleep.

-o-

The clashing of metal on metal made Jacqueline's years of twitchy sleeping kick in, and she jerked up with a gasp. "Get up!" A guard yelled at them. The cell door was open and Connor was floundering for her since she had flopped off the stone slab and was sitting on the moldy floor.

"Where are we going?" Connor asked, a touch of drowsiness to his voice.

"Stay out of trouble or you'll wind up in the pit." Was the guard's only warning before he started leading them out to the yard.

"Connor," Jacqueline muttered as they walked out. "Put your arm. Around my waist. Now."

He frowned and glanced sideways at her. "Why?"

"I'm likely one of the only women here. It's territorial, trust me."

It was awkward and stiff, but he did as she asked. As they were paraded before the other prisoners, the inmates shouted jeers to them. "What're you lookin' at, half-breed?" "You don't understand English, that it?" "Oi, darling, why don't you come over here?" "Let's show 'er how a real man does it, eh?"

"We should try to find this Weems fellow." Connor told her when they reached the bottom level of the yard. "If he intends to escape, perhaps he can help us."

Jacqueline pulled herself closer to him at the looks some of the other prisoners were giving her. "Let's find him fast, then."

"There." He guided her through the crowd of dirty, foul-smelling inmates to one young man sitting at a table by himself. If this was Weems, he certainly wasn't what Jacqueline had expected. He was possibly younger than her, with a narrow face and short black hair. He didn't look up at them. Connor glanced around and leaned in. "Mason Weems?"

"Could be." Weems placed a white playing piece down on the board.

Connor pulled out the other chair and sat in it. Jacqueline, seeing no other seats, simply sat on his lap. He gave her a look, but continued. "They say you have a way out of here."

"They say a lot of things…" He replied cryptically, the corner of his mouth turning up. He was toying with them.

Before he could put another piece down on the board, Connor grabbed his hand. "I do not have time for games."

"Shame, as I was hoping you might play one with me." He glanced between them. "One of you."

Connor was the player, and Jacqueline watched the game. It was something like chess, or checkers, without the different pieces. In fact, it was a lot closer to checkers. The board had only certain places you could set your piece, however, and so it became a game of strategy. While they played, Jacqueline was their ambassador, so Connor could focus on playing. "Seeing as you already know mine—what're your names?"

"I'm Jacqueline. This is Connor."

"Pleased to meet you both." Weems watched as Connor placed a white circle on one of the little teaspoon-sized dents in the wooden board. "Well played! So, what brings you to Bridewell?"

"We have been falsely accused of counterfeiting."

"Sure you have…" He nodded sarcastically.

"You don't believe me?"

"Why should I? You have the look of a brothel girl—take that as a compliment—and your companion has that of a brute."

"You would be wrong. We are not criminals."

"And yet imprisoned. Tell me how you found yourselves in this place."

"That's…confidential."

"As is what you ask of me…"

Jacqueline exhaled through her nose. "Our plans went awry. We're trying to stop a murder."

"Oh?" Weems looked impishly amused again, breaking his focused stare from the board for a brief second to look them over again. "Anyone I know?"

"George Washington." She confided, a little reluctantly.

The smirk on his face dropped instantly, to be replaced with anger. The game was clearly over. "The others put you up to this, didn't they? Thought it might be fun to have another laugh at Mason's expense? Fools, the lot of them, to make light of something like this."

He stood in his outrage and paced in an irritated circle before facing them again. "George Washington is brave beyond measure, loyal like a brother, peerless in character, and unshakeable in his convictions!" The Assassins exchanged a short glance, and Jacqueline leaned back against Connor's shoulder while Weems continued his rant. "That man is our Jupiter Conservator, destined to lead us not just to freedom, but greatness. Anyone who says otherwise is either a simpleton or a traitor."

"Then you understand why we need to get out of here." Connor pointed out. "If I don't help him, he is going to die."

Weems stared at them, but the anger was slowly draining from him. As though his aggravation had been all that was holding him up, he sank back into his chair. "You're serious, aren't you?" Their faces left no room for jest. "Very well. But it's going to take some doing. See, everything hinges on the key I forged. But that lout Finch stole it! Took me three months to make that thing, too. You need to get it back or we're not going anywhere."

Connor stood, letting Jacqueline slide off his lap and plop into the chair. "Consider it done." He pointed at her. "Stay here."

Jacqueline made a face at his retreating back. Weems sat back in his chair, content to wait. "You aren't really his lover, are you?" It wasn't a question; it was an observation.

She raised an eyebrow. "Who says I'm not?"

He shrugged. "I have a way with people. I'll keep this our little secret; don't worry. You're smart for doing what you are. Without him you'd be in trouble in this place."

"I thought as much." Jacqueline anxiously rubbed the loose tip of her braid, the hair greasy under her fingers. "What did you do to get in here?"

"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. It catches up with you, you know. I've been here a few months already. It's not too bad, once you get used to the food."

She smiled and nodded. "I don't think there's much worse than prison food."

-o-

-coughforshadowingcough

-Also super fast update! Confetti, it's a parade!

-I imagine that it wouldn't really matter who you were because after some research into prisons, I concluded that they sucked. There wasn't much on women in prison…I kind of assumed that in those times everyone was kinda tossed in the same place.

-There will be more prison, of course, though it will only be for the next chapter. I considered stretching it out, but then this chapter would have been really long.

-WEEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMSSSS

-I bloody adore Weems and his Washington fanboying. And Colin Morgan would be my ideal Weems.

-Review for Weems!