"We must be killers; children of the wild ones. Killers, where we got left to run?" –Mikky Ekko, "We Must Be Killers"

-o-

The crowd was surprisingly large. The night was balmy and the air electric. Jacqueline sat in the shadow of a window outlet, leaning against the shingles and observing the pre-funeral arrangements. Charles Lee was stirring below, his greasy form outlined against the whitewashed house behind him. A rifle with extra sights was propped under Jacqueline's arm, loaded and ready. Her skill with long-distance shooting was minimum to average, and she preferred the bow, but this way there was little room for error.

Sighing, she removed a tin from her pocket and put a pinch of tobacco in her mouth. It didn't feel the same as her pipe did, but it helped stop her hands from shaking. Below her, the crowd was quieting down to listen to Lee speak. Jacqueline shifted the rifle into a better position, being careful to keep it hidden in the small shadow of the outlet.

Lee began speaking. If nothing else, his loyalty to Haytham was respectable. His speech was honest, and would have been moving if he were anyone else. A few sentences in, Jacqueline watched a figure in white shoulder his way through the crowd. The startled mourners parted in his wake, and Lee stopped talking to focus on him. While the Templar was distracted, Jacqueline propped her elbow on her knee and levelled the crosshairs on Lee's grimy head. She didn't want to kill him, but would if he made a move toward Connor. Her job was support, cover from another angle.

Caught, her fellow Assassin was shoved toward his rival. One of the men behind him swung a pistol to the back of his knee, bringing him down. Jacqueline bristled, but held her fire. The two exchanged words, Lee yelling with such rage that Jacqueline could actually hear him across the square. The guards pulled Connor to his feet and turned him to face where he had entered.

A chill went down Jacqueline's spine when Lee pointed directly at her, crouched on the roof. Seven shots rang off, one of them from her rifle.

The boom the gun made sounded like an explosion in the relative silence of the rooftops. The recoil set her back on her rear end; her ears rang with tinnitus from the shot. Smoke bloomed up in front of her, and when she waved it away, saw an unfortunate redcoat had intercepted the bullet in the confusion.

Guards positioned on the rooftops around her began heading in. "Merde." Jacqueline ditched the rifle and slid backwards down the roof, landing with a huff in the back garden of the house. Holes popped in the dirt around her and pinged off the pavement as the guards continued shooting at her.

A bullet clipped through her shoulder; she knew, felt the cloth of her robe tear into the fresh hole and billow in a reverse crater of white and red on the other side. A yell of surprise and pain, dulled by adrenaline, escaped her mouth. When she got up to run, another shock of pain zapped up from her leg, like electricity up her spine. "Ah!" She held the wound and put two fingers in her mouth to whistle. Furie bounded from his hiding place in an alley, momentarily surprising the guards into a brief cease fire.

"Come, Furie. We must help Connor."

The pair dashed through the space between buildings and emerged on the main road. Now Jacqueline noticed her smaller wounds from the initial attack: a scrape here and there, a gouge in her calf where a bullet had grazed through the flesh, splinters of ceramic in her hands that had lodged there when she had slowed her fall off the house, a slight panging in an ankle that had been badly landed upon.

Jogging the short distance toward the square, Furie bounded into the throngs of bristling soldiers, keeping them distracted. It turned out to be unnecessary, however. Jacqueline bumped into Connor coming around the corner of a building, his knuckles scraped from fisticuffs, presumably.

"Connor!" Jacqueline stepped back and patted his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, but I must catch up to Lee. He should not be far." He looked around, nearly bouncing on his heels in anticipation. Turning his attention to her, he added, "You are injured."

Jacqueline held her bleeding shoulder tighter. "I will be fine."

"Find help. I will get to Lee myself."

"I want to come with you. God knows you need looking after."

"No." His tone was so final and almost stern, she was brought up short. "This is something I will do alone. I will not put you at risk again."

"Connor…" Jacqueline ran her free hand down her face. A blow to her pride though it was, she would honour his wishes. This was, true, something that was deeper than a kill. It was interwoven with Connor's preconceptions of honour and revenge, and to try and stop that was against the nature of man. "Very well. It's only right, I suppose. Just please be careful."

He touched her cheek, his hand smearing the red berry-paint that still stained her face. "Will you be safe here?"

"Yes. Furie will protect me. Now go, before you lose him." She removed his hand from her face, kissed it briefly, then turned to whistle to Furie. The beast turned to her, the fur on his breast and face matted and dripping scarlet. It was very unsettling. "Come. Help me."

He padded to her and patiently waited as she pulled herself up to lay between canine shoulder blades. "Go, now."

While she shifted and tried to stay balanced on Furie's back, a feat that was much easier said than done, Jacqueline reached down and dug her fingers into the hole in her leg. Her teeth dug deep into her lip until she tasted copper and her eyes burned, but she was able to remove the metal ball and toss it away. Her trouser leg was already soaked in blood, and she was beginning to feel dizzy. Her fingers went numb, the not unfamiliar lightheaded sensation as her blood pressure plummeted.

"Turn." She lifted her arm, feeling heavy, to signal Furie to turn, otherwise the damn animal would likely just run all the way to the Homestead.

Nearly sliding off at the sharp turn, she continued leading him around the city, stopping short at the doorway to a typical-looking house, crammed alongside a street of others that looked similar. Jacqueline stumbled off of Furie, waiting a moment while she adjusted to the head rush, nearly blacking out. Gaining some composure, she hobbled to the door and slapped her hand against the wood. The green paint was chipping to expose the rough timber underneath.

The door was opened by a baby-faced young man, who looked moderately bored and was holding a candlestick in one hand. Despite the hour, he was fully dressed. "Yes, how may I help you?"

"You're O'Callaghan's boy, oui? His assistant? We met at the Battle of Bunker Hill." She leaned against the doorframe, grimacing.

The boy looked her over again. "Yes, I remember you."

The candlelight flickered in the dark, and with it dark memories. Jacqueline hurriedly reached out and put the flame out before it triggered one of her unpleasant panics. "Sorry. Please. I am badly in need of help."

Glancing around the deserted street, the boy nodded. "Of course. Come in, quickly."

Jacqueline limped inside. Furie attempted to follow, but the set of his canine shoulders and the narrow doorway stopped him. The apprentice led her down the dark, claustrophobic hall. Their steps contrasted; one set was steady, the other staggering. When she slumped into the wall he patiently helped her stand.

"Come on now, take your time. There we go." They continued around a corner. "I'm afraid I don't remember your name. That was several years back, you remember. This place is mine now that the doctor's gone to live on that cosy spot of land with you lot. Hey, hey, careful. Okay. Can you walk? Come along. Take a seat over here. I'm Bernard, if you don't remember."

Bernard gathered some simple but moderately high-grade supplies: gauze, needle and thread, a bottle of what looked to be either wine or whiskey, and a leather chew. "Sit still. Drink this."

Jacqueline unsteadily accepted the bottle and threw back a few good swigs of it. The alcohol, with her pathetic tolerance, burned down to her stomach and didn't help her foggy vision. "Thank you." She yawned.

"Don't thank me yet. Hey!" He slapped her, hard. "Stay awake. You've lost a lot of blood. All these bullets…what in the blazes were you doing?"

"I was, I, uh…there, was…" Jacqueline lolled her head. The room spun. She tasted alcohol, copper, something bitter. "The, the. What?" She waved her hand at the bottle. "What, what?"

"It's whiskey. Good God, you're absolutely sloshed. Stay awake." Her eyelid was pulled open. A light smack on both sides of her face.

"Awake!" Jacqueline sat up straighter. "Connor. Find. Find…Connor."

"Right. We'll find Connor. Don't worry. Now, bite this."

A musty smell and taste and a rough texture in her mouth. Before she could protest, pain burst through her shoulder, up her neck and down her arm in a full radius like an explosion. The pain and alcohol mercifully spared her of the rest.

-o-

"Ugh…" A throbbing ache pulsed in Jacqueline's temples. She groaned, long a despairing. "Augh…"

"Please stop, we've all had a late night." A young Scottish voice to her side gave her something to focus on. Bernard was sitting in a chair beside her, eating a bowl of something bland-looking. "Morning. How do you feel?"

"How do you think I feel?" She countered grouchily. "Merde. What happened?"

"How much do you remember?" Bernard stood and gauged her temperature with the back of his hand, then grasped her wrist and measured to her pulse.

"I remember…finding this place. Walking down a hall. That's when it gets…difficult." Jacqueline stood carefully.

"Careful, careful. You took quite a beating. Two holes there and there," He gestured to her shoulder and ankle. "A sprained ankle, and a few minor cuts and bruises. You'll be fine, but you really should rest."

"I can't. I need to find—"

"Connor. I know." At her look, Bernard shrugged and continued eating. "You mentioned him several times. He was that hulking native man with you at Breed's Hill, right? The one you liked being nearby."

Jacqueline looked away, embarrassed at herself for being such an open book. "Oui."

The apprentice—doctor now, she supposed—chuckled. "I knew it. Mary! It's her lover!"

A female voice from somewhere else in the house called back, "Sod off, Bernard, I'm keeping my money!"

Bernard laughed loudly at the response, then again addressed the Assassin. "Well, if you really want to leave, I can't stop you. Not with that…whatever-it-is outside. Been waiting all night for you to…"

"All night! How long have I been out?" Jacqueline interrupted, standing and pulling her robes on over the tight bandaging.

"All night. It's…about early morning now."

Testing her weight on her bandaged leg, she stood up and strode into the hall as best she could. "Thank you for your help, truly. I expected I would find the doctor here when I arrived, but it is good to find someone I can trust." At the front door, she turned back to shake his hand. "If you want, you may join us on our Homestead."

"No thank you. It's a kind offer, but I enjoy living here." Bernard smiled and nodded to her. "Good luck."

Jacqueline stepped out the door. Furie was waiting for her, bounded out from behind the house. The blood in his fur had dried to a rusty crust. The wolf crouched to let her climb on. "Find Connor." She told him, and they tore off into the city.

Steering around the main streets, they tore off out of the radius of buildings. The suburbs dwindled away to become towering trees. Bugs flicked against Jacqueline's face with the wind. The pair bounded through the trees beside the trail for some time, wind rushing and paws padding heavily against the spongy earth. When her arse became sore from Furie's ill-equipped shoulder blades, they jogged side by side for the last leg of the quest. Leading, her companion stopped at the top of a small hill. An inn was nestled below, small and nondescript.

"Thank you, my friend." Jacqueline patted Furie's nose, then slid and limped down to the inn.

As she approached the door, Connor stumbled out. In the vermilion light of the setting sun, the scarlet in his robes shimmered like water. "Connor!" Jacqueline hurried up to him, keeping a wary eye out. It would be best not to attract unwanted attention in their conditions.

"Connor, oh, hell…" She knelt next to him, helping him to stand. Her hand was warm and slick, but she ignored it. "I knew I should have gone with you, I knew it."

"Jacqueline…" Connor wheezed. "It's done."

She hesitated. "You mean Lee…" He nodded. "Talk about it later. I need to help you. Come here."

In a series of short, shuffling bursts of movement, they inched around the side of the building. Connor hissed when Jacqueline sliced the front of his robes open. Bloodied splinters of wood slipped out around her fingers. Breathing steadily out her nose, she wiped them away and began wrapping the wound in bandaging. When she leaned in the roll the cloth around his back, she could hear his breathing, laboured but steady.

"Are you able to move?" She asked, sitting back on her heels and tying the knot off.

Connor sat up carefully, holding his middle. "Yes. Slowly." He allowed her to help him stand, though she was of little use because of the massive weight difference.

"Furie can take you to the Homestead," Jacqueline grunted, shouldering him while she limped on her own sprained ankle. "I will meet you there by tonight. You'll be there in just an hour or two if you ride fast."

"I will not leave you behind." He insisted, although he did accept the change of leader from Jacqueline to Furie, the latter of whom had bounded down the hill and stopped near them.

"Yes, you will." Jacqueline smiled lightly and ghosted her hand down the bald side of his head to rest on his cheek. "It's my turn to save you."

Connor put his hand over hers, warm but clammy from injury. Without anything more, he pulled himself onto the crouched Furie. Jacqueline snapped the order for returning home in French to her pet. With a rustle of late summer leaves and heavy paws, her closest friends tore away into the nearby woods and soon vanished into the thicket.

-o-

-Back in those days boys and girls smoked just as much as their parents, because smoking was considered healthy and beneficial, as it "dried" your body out. Chewing tobacco is really gross but I figured smoking would be a bad habit for assassins to pick up because smoke is pretty conspicuous.

-I just learned an incredibly stupidly obvious fact about bathing that I should have looked into, I learned it by chance just a bit too late. ;A; let's just overlook the bathing thing from last chapter, heheh... I may possibly edit it to be more historically accurate, actually. Whatever.

-This chapter was really hard to write for some reason?