A/N: Hello everyone, welcome to the next instalment of Down The Rabbit Hole... now, I must apologise for my rather late upload... I just finished my trials (which is an obvious cause for celebration) but unfortunately I had some matters to attend to which prevented me from completing this chapter and uploading it Friday night... but as I like to say, better late than never, right?
I will admit that writing this chapter was a little harder than I thought but once I got it out (and to a standard I approved of) I must say that I quite enjoyed the way it turned out and upon saying that, I hope you do too :)
Enjoy! ^_^
- AshTree13 xoxo
Chapter 11:
Temptation is a different kind of torture.
It's a bitch.
Nestled in the safety of Edward's arms, I struggle to keep my breathing steady as my erratic heartbeat thumps heavily within my chest. Leaning the majority of my weight against his chest, I raise my arms out before me, slightly bent at the elbows and position the common flintlock pistol to take aim at the horizon and the endless stretch of sea before me.
"You need to keep your grip steady," Edward murmurs into my ear, reaching around my body in order to adjust my failing hold on the firearm. His toughened yet gentle fingers curling around my own, lingering for but a moment after which he pulls away and realigns himself into his original, distracting position just behind me.
"I'm trying," I grunt, chewing the inside of my cheek – a nasty habit I've never really been able to shake, one that only comes out when I'm focused on a specific task at hand – as a rush of emotions hits me, causing my stomach to curl up in knots.
Fuck emotions.
"Try harder."
"Just because you've had years of practice, jackass, doesn't mean that everyone can load and fire a pistol as easy as you," I snap back rather peevishly, although the anger is directed at myself rather than at him.
I knew that from where he was standing, he could examine my entire profile at his leisure and although it was necessary from him to do so – considering the fact that I was handling a potentially dangerous weapon, without any real experience – I could tell that every now and then, from the way my body tingled each time I retook my stance, that he was taking the chance to study my appearance and figure.
It was frustrating.
Is he looking at me or is he just waiting to see me screw up?
Does he think that I'm beautiful or does he think me hideous?
Does he like my general appearance or does it turn him away?
Questions like these were something that I used to concern myself with when I was a girl fresh out of high school already in the middle of tackling a degree in computer science yet intelligent enough to hack into a variety of high security mainframes - age, after all, doesn't define intelligence. Even when Lucy Stillman recruited Shaun, Rebecca and myself for the specific mission of programing the animus in order to transform Desmond from a klutz of a bartender into the ultimate assassin, there had been moments when I could indulge in those selfish, conceited questions. Moments when we were simply young adults who went out on Friday and Saturday nights to bars and drank ourselves into a stupor, playing ridiculous games like 'truth or dare' or 'never have I ever' with endless rounds of shots.
In those snapshots of spare time, we weren't a group of fledging assassins attempting to keep balance in a disordered world, trying to stop those who wished the world harm from enacting their plans; we weren't trying to survive in a world that no longer made much sense except when you looked at it in the perspective of good vs. evil.
They were the moments when we were free, when we could be just Desmond, Shaun, Rebecca, Lucy and Tessa.
Of course, once Desmond's father came into the mix, the fun and games mostly ended, but we could still have our fun and I could still sit there and grapple, each time he would look my way, with those conceited questions.
Though, since arriving in the 18th century, I found myself far less concerned with my general appearance, especially considering that it was a grade A standard in comparison with basically everyone I had come to meet. Those shallow minded concerns were no longer at the forefront of my mind; silly nonsense like how I should wear my hair, if the colour of that dress really suited my skin tone, weren't as pressing as they had once been when I was a 19 year old girl, trying to impress the boy of her dreams.
Yet, somehow Edwards' analysing, curious gaze was enough to make me reconsider that opinion.
Fuck this shit, why should you care? I berate myself, pressing down on the trigger and firing at the empty space looming before me, jumping as the flintlock goes off with a loud bang.
Why did I care?
I shouldn't care.
I do care.
Fuck.
"Try not to jump when you fire," came Edward's laughing observation, jolting me out of my internal struggle and daydreams about my previous life. Spinning around quickly on my heel to face him, I watch with a mixture of contempt and amazement as his eyes twinkle with barely concealed mirth. At the same time, I try to keep my face blank from the shock that hits me hard as I come to the realisation that, in my reminiscing, I had forgotten that the very source of all my problems stood right behind me, watching my every move.
How could I forget he was standing right there?
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I answer stoutly, shaking my head to clear my thoughts, "just a little…"
"Distracted?" he offers up, taking the flintlock out of my hands and returning it to it's rightful place; in Edward's second holster located on his hip.
"Yeah," I repeat, chewing once more at the inside of my cheek.
"You're always distracted, Tess."
"No I'm - urgh! - it's Tessa," I finally snap, unwilling to admit that he was more or less right - definitely more, only to see the pirate burst into loud guffaws at my half-hearted and no doubt flustered outburst. Throwing my arms in the air and rolling my eyes, I then dodge his friendly attempt to ruffle my hair, reluctant to have him lay a hand on me as I knew that, no matter how light the touch, it would bring on a whole new wave of uncomfortable, tingling sensations.
"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?" he inquires, marching up the stairs to the Upper Deck to relieve Adéwalé from his position at the helm, upon realising that I was not in the mood to play games. Looking back at me, he allows his familiar devilish smirk to light his features which instantly puts me on edge. "Better turn that frown upside down or you're going to age fifty years in fifty seconds," he continues, despite the glare I had aimed his way.
"Did you just imply that I have frown lines?" I ask in complete disbelief.
"No... I was suggesting that you're forming them."
"Asshole," I mutter, flipping him the finger to the amusement of both the man in question and his quartermaster.
"How did learning to fire a flintlock turn into this?" Adéwalé asks.
"You tell me, I was only trying to help," Edward replies innocently, thereby implying that it was my fault.
Which it probably was but there was no way in Hell that I was going to openly admit that.
"Screw you," I yell and when both men give me benignant, amused grins in reply, it takes everything in me not to throw something at the frustrating pair, "the both of you! just... ugh!"
"Boys!" I mutter to myself, as if by summarising this situation with that one word explained everything.
"Captain!"
"What is it?" Edward calls back to the distressed crew member, instantly slipping back into the rigid role of a pirate captain in charge of the safety of his crew and the success of his ship, losing the wry amusement that was previously in his attractive grey-blue eyes. Those very eyes narrow as he takes in the dishevelled - well, more dishevelled than normal - appearance of the young sailor whose hazel eyes are alight with terror and urgency. "Spit it out," Edward growls, frustrated by the lack of response from his lackey, grabbing the front of the man's worn shirt, "we don't have all day, mate."
"Sir, Briggs in the lookout order me to inform you of our fast approach to a Spanish occupied fort," the man hastily explains, shrinking away from his captain as Edwards' eyes widen in horror at the news, as if the man expected to be beaten for relaying the news.
"Heavily armed?"
"Yes... cannons and everything," the crewman reports back grimly, sweat trickling down the side of his face.
"Shit," Adéwalé curses, grabbing the boys shoulder and throwing him down the stairs to the Gun-deck, barking out orders as he does, "ready the cannons, alert the crew! Don't just stand here and whimper like an abandoned puppy... are you a man or not?!"
"Y-y-yes, quartermaster," the man squeaks, raising his arm in a partial salute before scurrying off at Adéwalé's returning glare, yelling at the rest of the crew the orders of which were assigned to him by the larger and somewhat intimidating man.
"A fort?" I enquire, squealing in surpise when Edward grabs my arm and essentially tosses my body to Adéwalé, his own expression tight and grim as he studies my now disorganised appearance and slightly panicked expression.
"A heavily armed garrison manned by a large selection of either the British or Spanish navy," Edward quickly explains, taking the wheel of the Jackdaw. His handsome face twists in pain, as if the mere thought of going up against such a monstrosity was a physical blow that he had to endure, "in other words, we're about to stroll right into Hell."
"What?!"
"Adéwalé, I need to you take Tessa into my quarters-"
"No," I cut in, struggling in Adéwalés' iron grip, trying to bring my heel down on his feet when the jerky, hurried movements didn't work, but it's obvious that the pirate noted my motives since he easily sidesteps the attempt. "I won't let you tuck me away, nice and safe, from the danger!"
"Tessa," Edward groans, shooting me a brief glare since the matter at hand forces him to commit his attention elsewhere, "please do not argue and go with Adé-"
"No," I scream, kicking my legs and thrashing my arms, "I'm not going to just sit aside while you attempt to stroll straight into the depths of Hell!"
"Tess, please, just do it," Edward pleads, grabbing my chin with his one free hand, forcing me to look into his eyes which were clouded by... by...
"I can help," I reply, begging almost.
Edward sighs.
"Adéwalé."
Although Edward does not give a specific command, Adéwalé acts according to his captains wishes. Despite my frequent and outraged protests, the much stronger man adeptly lifts me into the air and promptly throws my feeble body over his shoulder, the violent movement knocking the air out of me when my chest and stomach hit his body with a hard, definite thump. Nodding at the captain in reassurance, he begins to make his way down the stairs, barely flinching as I shriek shrilly into his ear and pound his back with clenched fists, kicking out at his chest with my leather-clad feet.
"Put me, Adéwalé! Put. Me. DOWN!"
"Please, fair lady," he pleads upon opening the door to the Captain's Quarters, "can't you just make my job easier?"
"No! I won't stay in here!" I yell the moment Adéwalé has tossed me - and I mean literally tossed - my body into the crimson coloured room, struggling to get to my feet from my crumpled position on the floor, my head pounding with a vicious headache as I do which prevents me from making any coordinated movement.
"The Captain wants to keep you safe."
"The Captain wants to keep out of the way!"
How can he still not want me to get involved? I think, the thought irritatingly causing my eyes to burn with the desire to cry.
Adéwalé frowns, shaking his head as if there was something wrong with my observation. "No, Tessa," he says and the use of my name - because I can't think of a time prior to this moment in which Adéwalé had actually used my name - stops me in my tracks... well, it silences my avid protests but not my limbs from moving on their own, stubbornly propelling my body towards the doorway.
"No?"
"He wants you safe."
"Bullshit!" I cry just as the Jackdaw fires their first round of cannon-fire.
"What the Hell is that blasted man doing?!" Adéwalé grumbles, looking over his shoulder to watch the crew prepare the next round of artillery fire, "there's no way we can survive a fight with a f - no you don't." Pushing my body back into the confines of the luxurious room, Adéwalé frowns at my crumpled form, trying to retain a sigh, "can't you just accept that there's no way I'll let you out?"
"You can't stand in that doorway forever," I retort, frustrated with the failure of my plan - and here I thought it would be easy to sneak past the muscular, dark-skinned, former slave.
"You're right," Adéwalé humbly agrees before promptly slamming the door of the cabin in my face, the unmistakable sound of a lock being turned echoing in my head, "but I can lock you in."
"You bastard!" I howl, throwing myself at the study door, my fists beating out a steady rhythm, "let me out!"
"Trust Edward, fair lady," came his reply, before the sound of gunfire drowns out every sound except the frantic thump of my heart.
0-0-0-0-0-0
He had expected her to pissed.
Hell, he expected her to punch him square in the jaw, just as she had all those months ago on the shores of the fateful Cape Bonavista Beach, azure-green eyes alit with a fierce determination to act, backed with a strong desire to prove herself capable of such violence.
He had at least expected her to scream obscenities at him.
He had not expected this.
"Tess," Edward starts, remaining in the safety of the doorway to his quarters, ready to bolt if she suddenly threw her tiny body at him, fists and teeth bared in fury. When it does not come, he continues, keeping his voice low and calming as to not provoke the violently beautiful woman, "we've reached the coordinates Kidd gave... Tulum."
No reply.
"Please don't be angry at me... it wasn't safe for you out on the deck."
Nothing. Again.
"Tess... talk to me."
"Why?" her voice sounded lifeless, empty. It was painful to hear.
"Because I don't want it to seem as if I'm conversing with myself," Edward patiently explains, inching slowly into the room and allowing the door to his chambers to close with a soft click, his eyes trained on the woman curled up on her side on the luxurious bed.
"Why?"
"Tessa, please don't play games with me."
"I'm not," she argues feebly, her voice muffled by the sheets of the bed in which she had twisted around her fingers to make a makeshift pillow.
"Then answer me with replies consisting of something other than 'why,'" Edward growls, sitting on the edge of the mattress, resisting the persistent urge to run his fingers throw her blood-red ringlets. Eventually he gives into the temptation, reaching out and curling his digits into the soft locks, admittedly a habit he had picked up just by being in her company - he'd never continually had the desire to play with another's hair before. Not even his wife's fiery waves had brought up the urge yet, somehow, Tess's was just a habit he could not shake. He wasn't even sure if she liked it but she didn't shake his hand off, so he took it as a positive sign.
"There was no way we could've held our own against the Chinchorro fort... not yet, the ship's not armed enough for such a feat," he continues, lying down on the cot himself, the soft mattress a soothing relief from the horror that had been his life for a brief yet somehow agonisingly long moment up on deck. "We have three injuries within the crew, damage to ship that's going to need major repairs the moment I get the chance to dock the ship somewhere safe... one man, dead. All that damage and I merely skirted around the edge of the forts border... I didn't want you to be in the middle of that shit."
"Why." It wasn't even a question; a statement of sorts.
"Because I can't - don't - want to see you get-" he broke off, unable to resist answering the small girl. No... he was being too forward and besides he shouldn't care.
She was just a responsibility, that was what he had told Kidd a couple weeks back. Was that still true?
No.
Not entirely, at least.
"I don't want to see you get hurt for something so pointless," he finishes, deciding that was the safest explanation for his actions - showing too much concern meant he cared more than he did, showing none meant that he couldn't care less for the dazzling girl. He didn't - couldn't - love her but he didn't - couldn't - hate her, he was in that awkward in-between.
Of course, he wasn't going to admit that he was leaning more towards lov - no!
"I should have been allowed to make that call for myself," she whispers, sitting upright on the bunk, her forest-green-yet-still-somehow-always-blue eyes floating over his lounging form, red hair falling around her face like a curtain of bloodstained water. The soft ends of her curls tickle his face as she then chooses to lean over him, straddling his middle, hands splayed across his chest, those tempting rose-red lips looming close as she bends her head towards him, concealing them both in the waterfall of blood that was her luscious hair. "You promised that you'd stop treating me as a child, that you would let me help you... you said we were in this together," she continues in a low, bordering on seductive, voice.
And even though there was nothing particularly heart-racing about those words, Edward could feel his heart speeding up, thudding against his chest as her hands tightening their grip on his worn tunic, her eyes lazily studying his (hopefully) blank expression. Damn - why...? Why did she make him feel like this? Like he was a nervous schoolboy? Shit! He was nothing of the sort - he was a cold, battle worn killer - a pirate!
"I know and I keep my word, Tess," he manages to get out steadily.
"Then why? Why did you lock me up in here as if I was some troublesome child?" she quietly demanded, loosening her grip at his answer, obviously somewhat contented by his reply.
"Because I don't want you to get hurt!" He yells, startling both her and himself.
Yet, as he says it again out loud, the image of Tessa injured, white from blood loss and effectively dying on the deck of his ship, made his heart and stomach clench painfully.
Yes, that was the truth.
That was all there was too it.
"Adéwalé said that you wanted to keep me safe," she admits after a brief respite.
"Adé told you the truth."
"I could've helped," Tessa stubbornly persists, narrowing her haunting yet unmistakably beautiful eyes.
"I know," he agrees, reaching up to cup her face, tracing the planes of her face - particularly her sharp but delicate cheekbone structure - and then her lips, trying to suppress the urge to shiver in pleasure when she kisses his fingers, closing her eyes as she does.
God help me.
"Sorry, I don't mean to overreact."
"You want to be helpful," he replies, sitting up on the bed, as he does, her body wavers with the sudden movement. To steady her petite form, Edward splays his hands against her hips, focusing on that action rather than the notable tightening in his pants.
Shit, how am I turned on by this?
It really didn't help that she was, in every way, dazzling - at least, she was to him. Fuck. Just... fuck.
"There are times when I need you to help me, Tess," he roughly continues, hoping that Tessa was oblivious to his growing desire, trying to focus on the apology at hand rather than his strong need to do everything that was undeniably wrong to the innocent girl before him, "but that was not one of them. Please understand that I was not tossing you aside like I have done in the past, I was simply trying to protect you."
"I'm sorry," she repeats, resting her head against his chest, looping her arms around his neck as she did.
Fuck.
"Tulum," Edward murmurs, attempting to focus on the other reason for which he had come to retrieve Tessa from his private chambers. Wrapping his arms around her small body, Edward desperately prays that she cannot feel the frantic thumping of his heart with their close proximity before continuing with his earlier remark, "is heavily guarded, the beaches patrolled by men and women armed to the teeth - at least, I presume they are. Adéwalé may have been correct in assuming that Kidd may have set us up."
"Are we still going to risk it?" she inquires, glancing up at him from under thick, long and dark eyelashes, her eyes wide and innocent.
"I want to believe he's not tricking us into something we won't be able to get out of," he admits, resuming his habit of playing with her glossy hair as he does, "and what do you mean by 'we?'"
"Edward," Tessa warns, pulling away from albeit briefly, deciding that it was far more comfortably to be nestled against his chest than leaning away from him.
"I know, I know... we're in this together."
"Exactly," she agrees, nodding her head.
"You up for an adventure, Tess?"
"Yes," she answers with what could only be described as an impish grin, "let's go, straight to Hell and back... and this time, we do it together."
"Agreed," he murmurs, leaning back against the beds mattress, this time with Tessa curled in his arms, ready to face whatever lay ahead in the Mayan settlement of Tulum, confident in his abilities and, strangely enough, in the skills of the very woman who lay in his embrace.
"You're hurt," she suddenly exclaims, sitting up right so she could investigate a notable gash on his upper arm, her kind eyes widening in alarm as she takes in the sight of the minor wound.
"I'm okay, it's nothing that can't be easily taken care of," he assures her, reluctant to move from their very comfortable position on his bed.
"Are you sure?" she inquires, her long, graceful fingers pushing back the torn fabric of his shirt in order to examine the small injury, gently probing the torn flesh as she does, "I can bind it for you."
He wanted to reply, he really did. However, his blood had rushed down south - fast - and it took every effort for him to keep his head clear of the barrage of dirty thoughts circulating his brain, to keep him from doing something he knew he would regret later, no matter how much he desired to do it.
Instead, Edward leaned back and settled for a grunt as a means to reply.
Lucky Tessa took the hint otherwise he was certain he was going to fuck everything up.
Temptation was indeed a bitch.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Stupid.
I was so stupid!
What was I thinking? Agreeing to take part in an adventure that was proving to be more or less a death sentence.
"Edward!" I hiss, struggling to keep up with the agile pirate as we made our way through the maze that was the Tulum jungle, searching for the very man who led us into Hells depths, whilst at the same time attempting to avoid the men and women - assassins, I now realised - who lined the trail leading deeper and deeper into the humid vegetation, "please... wait up."
"Keep moving, Tess," he hisses in reply, briefly glancing over his shoulder to make sure that I was indeed on his tail before returning to his quick, light-stepped pace, his much heavier body making very little sound in comparison to me as he took out each assassin one by one from a variety of hiding spaces.
Something, which I freely admit, took a lot from me to not negatively respond to.
I had always been taught that assassin's = good guys whilst everyone else either = bad guy or someone you shouldn't openly trust. Watching Edward take out members of an order that I had faithfully served since I was a small child was almost unbearable to watch and made me undeniably sick to my stomach. Yet, at the same time I understood his need to eliminate those who posed a threat to us and to remove from the situation those who would otherwise get in the way of our overall goal. It was a combination of understanding and acceptance, of adjustment to this era, that allowed me to stomach Edward's actions and remain silent, dragging the unconscious bodies into the undergrowth - out of sight, out of mind.
It was only after trudging through this mess of jungle for what seemed like another hour that we located James Kidd, casually leaning against a mass of solid stone as if he were on a vacation and not surrounded by heavily armed assassins.
Edward, obviously pissed off with the young pirate, hastily made his way through the undergrowth before - after checking that the cost was clear - marching straight up his 'friend' and gripping the front of his shirt, pushing his face close to Kidd's as his temper and frustrations took hold. "What the fuck Kidd? what have you gotten us into?!"
"Easy, Kenway," Kidd replies, completely at ease, as if Edward potentially threatening his life was something he saw everyday - for all I knew, it could be. "Hello, Tessie, how's life treating you?" he asks me, spying me as I move out from under the protection of the extensive jungle.
"Now's not the time, Kidd," I rebuke, honestly fed-up with the man yet still not as angry as Edward.
"Are these Monks guarding the treasure you promised me?" Edward growls, finally releasing the front of Kidd's shirt once his anger begins to dissipate and the prospect of immediate wealth dawns upon him.
Kidd doesn't reply.
Instead he turns to the cliff behind him - which I can now see is some ornate door - and turns what appears to be an inlaid golden head, pressing it into a hidden slot of the door which allows it to spin on it's own accord, revealing the passage way the door hid from view.
"We're onto something," Edward breathes, taking a hesitant step forward, "I can feel it."
And, as it always does when things just start to go our way, the situation undeniably decides to take a turn for the worse.
"Captain Kenway?"
Fuck.