A/N: Two things:
1) I AM SO SORRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY! :'( /0\ -_-
I've been really busy lately and posting the chapter skipped my mind... in fact, one of my friend's was the one who reminded me of the fact that I hadn't posted last week's chapter. As you can imagine, my response was firstly, denial, secondly, slightly crazed laughter as I look up my fanfic to see that in fact I hadn't posted (cue mental swearing,) followed swiftly by me looking for this chapter in doc manager, to realising I hadn't finished the chapter (cue more swearing, verbal this time) to me then coming home and frantically trying to get my homework done only to then be bombarded with housework... and then finally, FINALLY, posting *phew*
I am a terrible author... you may proceed to scold me... apologies once again.
2) This chapter... ATR*&RTfT^Tftr! Let me tell you, I struggled writing this chapter and honestly I don't know why... maybe it was just getting the words out onto the page, like I knew what I wanted to say but when I typed it up it just didn't sound right, you know what I mean?
But it's done and the next chapter will be up as scheduled this week - unless I get eaten by a zombie or hit by a meteor
Enjoy my lovelies,
- AshTree13 xoxo
Chapter 12:
"Captain Kenway?"
Edward's fast – like, seriously, that boy can move. More often than not, I had been witness to his startling abilities. He could take down an opponent almost as swiftly as a snake could strike their prey; a blue-grey blur armed with lethal rapiers that gleamed silver even when layered with fresh blood, a pair of pistols that he could fire with merely the twitch of his fingers and the hidden blades that were a staple for any Assassin regardless of the mission they were sent to carry out. Fast, deadly, exotic - yet still no match for a experienced, trained Assassin.
I knew that the hooded man would been just as swift, if not swifter, than the blonde-haired pirate yet the speed at which the average-height male moved stunned me into momentarily stillness.
I watch Edward attempt to arm himself; whipping out a pistol ready to shoot, only to have the assassin grasp that very arm, twisting it round Edwards' lean back in such a way which causes Edward to drop his firearm in pain, before the man tosses Edward aside as if the usually capable and without a doubt, strong, man weighed nothing more than a few pound. Although it was not the first time I had seen Edward caught off guard - the first being in Havana with Torres's big brute of a bodyguard - the ease to which the man effectively carried out his own defensive actions startled me, particularly upon observing Edward stumbling over his usual nimble feet, struggling to regain his balance after the force of the throw.
It was then I realised that I had to do something, lest we be taken captive by men that would hardly be reasoned with. So, shaking myself out of my momentary daze, I take a step forward and finger the small, needle-like blades that I procured a few weeks ago - on a complete whim, may I add... it was driven by this primal instinct to protect and defend myself in the event that Edward would not be there to assist me - only to find myself halted by Kidd.
"Don't," he warns, grabbing my hand when he notices my digits twitch, ready to draw one of my concealed blades. His eyes widen when he notices the tiny, razor-sharp knives strapped to my wrist, nestled safely in a tiny leather pouch as if he could hardly believe that I was smart enough to hide a potential weapon. I make attempt to arm myself, managing to twist Kidd's arm as I reach for one of the silver knives, my fingers grazing the hilt of one small blade before Kidd comes to his senses through his own pain. Twisting my arm behind my back the moment he has a distinct advantage, he pulls my body to his chest, securing me one of my own knives - carefully removed from my person without my noticing during the course of the struggle - the sharp edge pressed against my throat, right at my jugular and with an arm wrapped around my torso.
"Please don't make this more difficult then it needs to be," Kidd says and in following his line of sight, I notice that Edward has stilled and is watching the pair of us with a hawklike intensity. Therefore, the plea was to the two of us; not that I could really do anything now, considering that I couldn't move my arms, not even to slap the vulgar boy.
"Kidd," Edward grounds out, his hands curling into fists at his side, "you Bastard! Leave her out of this-"
"I'm not going to hurt her, I would never hurt Tessie... I just want you to hear my mentor out," Kidd interrupts, tilting his head to one side as if he was a perplexed cat, studying Edward's reaction closely as he flips the blade to it's flat edge and removes it's deadly presence from my jugular and instead rests it just over my collarbone. "See? I won't hurt her but I need you to participate and not cause a scene."
I confess that I too am watching Edward's reaction, and when the pirate unfurls his fists and straightens up, no longer stunned from his momentarily lack of balance, folding his arms over his chest my heart flutters. Edward, I think, touched by the knowledge that he cared about my safety, that he was willing to listen to Kidd to keep me from harm, thank you...
"Where is the Assassin Duncan Walpole?" the hooded man suddenly enquires, obviously unamused by the situation at hand and I don't blame him. Edward and I are trespassing, we were a potential threat - screw that, we are a threat being that both of us are armed with some sort of weapon and we initiated the attack on our captors. It was in defence but that didn't excuse the fact that we had drawn weapons in the vicinity of Assassins...
Which was incredibly stupid, I realise upon looking back at our actions, I should know better than that. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
"Dead and buried," spat Edward in response, "after he tried to kill me."
Kidd, perhaps realising that this was going to take longer then he originally thought, looks down at me struggling against his body with a wry but amused smile. "Didn't know you knew how to fight, Tessie," he teases, steering the conversation in another direction, waving my silver knife in front of my eyes, curling the blade expertly in his hands - which suggested that he knew how to handle the minute daggers, probably with an ease that I have never possessed. "I mean," he continues when I don't answer, obviously enjoying the one way discussion, "you're just so small and dainty... fighting isn't something I would associate you with."
"Yeah, well... it's not like you really knew me before," I snarl, resuming the struggle to detach myself from his constructing grasp.
"And Edward does?" Kidd whispers, his warm breath tickling the shell of my ear, his hold tightening, "does he know you? Do you know him?"
"I-"
"We are not sorry to see him gone," the hooded man continues, once more drawing our attention, effectively ending the short exchange, "but it was you who carried out his final betrayal. Why?"
Final betrayal? What an odd choice of words...
"I'm sorry," I apologise, directing my query to the man squaring off against Edward; it was obvious that he was the one running the show and thus the only one who would probably be able to answer my question. Kidd would go about it in a round-about way and Edward would attempt to steer the conversation in another direction, evading my enquiry as he often did.
"For what?"
"For not comprehending," I specify, "what do you mean by 'final betrayal?'"
"You don't know what he did?" Kidd asks, turning my face towards his so I can watch a startled expression make its way across his somewhat handsome face.
And my confusion continues to grow.
"Duh, dimwit," I drawl, resuming my struggle, "why else would ask?"
"I thought-" James begins, furrowing his brow.
"James," the Assassin warns, face expressionless as he briefly turns his attention to the younger male.
"Shut up, Kidd," Edward says at the same time, his face flushing red with anger, shooting metaphorical daggers at the man he once called a comrade.
"Can someone just tell me what the fuck is going on?" I yell, startling all three of the perplexing and dangerous men before me.
"Why?" the Assassin reiterates, either bored or fed up - hard to tell, he had such a blank expression on his face - with the course the conversation had taken, steering it back into focus.
"Money was my only aim," Edward replies, tilting his head and curling his lips into that familiar devil-may-care smirk.
What is happening right now? I think, watching the first real expression cross the Assassin's face - fury.
"Should I find comfort in that?" the man bellows, "you murdered our brothers and sisters in Havana!"
It felt as if the man had just dunked a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.
You murdered our brothers and sisters in Havana! It's one of those statements that will remain forever imprinted upon your mind. In fact, the sentence swirls around and around in my mind, causing my head to pound as I try to unscramble the uncomplicated words from the complicated mess that my brain had become. Murdered... Edward had killed before, but it was always in defence - from the moment I had met him, I had realised that fact; Edward was simply trying to survive and unfortunately his survival meant that he must become judge, jury and executioner for a number of people.
It had always bothered me; I wasn't a person who condoned bloody actions such as murder, despite the fact that as an Assassin, it was a major factor of my life. I was a person who firmly stuck to the belief that violence was never the right path to take but was a necessary step towards reaching ones goal and ultimately returning to the 'correct' pathway. It was why I was so judgemental of Edward's actions from the very beginning but as time had worn on, it became less a concern and more an understanding - this was how he lived, this was how most pirates lived and I had no doubt it was how Kidd and the rest of the assassin's lived too.
So then why? Why did I feel so cold hearing those chilling words?
"I don't understand," I say and I have to take a momentary break when I realise that my voice comes out as a croak, rather than the steady tonality I wanted to achieve. "I don't understand," I repeat, shaking my head as if to clear the horrifying accusation from the very depths of my consciousness, "what you're implying is that Edward-"
"Killed in cold blood," Kidd finishes, "he's saying exactly that, Tessie. No more, no less."
"No," I reply, a breathless chuckle escaping from between my rosy lips, "no, that's impossible. Edward wouldn't just - ha - he wouldn't just kill someone for no reason."
"We're pirates, Theresa," Kidd reminds me, the words turning my body numb with doubt and horror, "we take what we like, when we like... we kill when we want to kill, for survival... for gain..."
"No."
"Tess." That was Edward.
"No," I recapitulate, trying to remove the tremor from my voice, shaking my head in disbelief, still skeptical - or maybe stubborn is the correct term from my current attitude - of what Kidd and the Assassin had just revealed to me.
"Tess, stop."
"It's not true," I whisper, desperate now that Edward's voice has joined the fray.
"Tess-"
"Tell me it's not true," I interrupt, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall down my cheeks, my heart beating wildly - and not in a good way - as my gaze finds Edward, desperately trying to read his grey-blue eyes in the hope of finding answers, "tell me it's not true... tell them it's not true! Tell me that Kidd is lying! That he is lying!"
"I can't, Tessa."
"Lies."
"Tess." It was then that I noticed Edwards' refusal to look the three of us in the eye and it hit me... Oh God, the Assassin was telling the truth, Kidd was telling the truth. Edward had - Edward had k - Edward had kill - Edward had... killed members of the Assassin's Order back in Havana. Oh God, oh God... The only consolation, and it really couldn't even be described as that, was the fact that Edward wore his guilt as clear as day on his handsome face, his eyes solemn and sorrowful as if he had realised the cost of his actions too little too late. Those familiar eyes were focused on me, wide and desperate, hoping that I could understand his actions but we both knew I wouldn't.
This wasn't a matter of survival.
This was cold-blooded murder. A taboo in my eyes. A line that Edward had crossed, blurred and erased.
I felt sick... physically ill and it took everything in me not to hurl what little food remained in my near-empty stomach onto the vibrant green, foliage covered floor.
"When?" I don't even recognise the sound of my voice as I ask Edward - it sounds lifeless, cold, empty. Like all the energy had been drained from it making the tone colourless and bland.
"As he said... in Havana."
I didn't know whether I should scream, cry or simply curl up into a little ball with my hands clamped firmly over my ears - the pitiful notion that as if by doing that, I could block out the revelations poisoning my mind.
I remember; the days in Havana when it was just me and then Bonnet strolling down the poorly paved, dusty roads, discussing sugar trade and the weather whilst Edward was off galavanting, doing who knows what with God knows who. I remember shopping for muslin and silk dresses in varying shades of blue, green, yellow and pink, trying on dainty heels and admiring finely beaded purses and elaborate jewellery whilst Edward strolled about town at the heels of Torres and his men, murdering members of a dying Order. Drinking that night away, Edward turning up some time into our third bottle of rum, complaining about his 'pittance' - that same night, we had sauntered off towards Torres's manor, gotten captured and then thrown onto a Spanish Convoy. How did I not question the sudden increase in his wealth? Why did I not enquire as to how his day had been? Why wasn't I suspicious of his activities to which Bonnet and I had not been privy too?
It was funny; these people weren't even remotely close to the family I had left behind - they were foreigners to me, the only similarity being that they shared two things with me; the close knit family ties of the Order - after all, we were a small group generally which usually meant that we often came to know each other well - and the Creed, the Assassin's Creed to which we all lived by.
Yet, maybe it was the startling similarities - the notion of each member being family - that made hearing his admittance of guilt all the more difficult to hear. It was as if in some way Edward had landed a blow on my family by destroying a part of theirs.
Yes... I felt physically and undeniably ill.
"Tess, please, don't-" Edward begins, taking a step toward me - to comfort me, to explain his actions - but the distance does not decrease; it remains the same as I move to take a step away from the unfamiliar man before me, my eyes glued on the jungle floor, unable to bear looking into his face.
When did Kidd let me, I wonder, wrapping my arms around my body to stop it from trembling. "Please don't," I whisper but I know, despite the distance, that Edward can hear me loud and clear, "just... don't, Edward. I don't want to hear it."
"Tess..."
"Please... Don't," I moan, turning to bury my face in Kidd's chest, seeking comfort from the one person I knew wouldn't stab me in the back.
"You disgust me," the Assassin growls.
"He has the sense, mentor," Kidd interrupts and immediately the atmosphere becomes so tense, I swear that I could cut through it with any ordinary, blunt blade.
"Impossible," I murmur after a brief respite, now certain that I had heard Kidd incorrectly or that my brain had interpreted it inaccurately, since it was still recovering from the earlier revelation.
A dormant sixth sense that humans possess, the sense was a powerful tool passed on through a genetic trait - one could utilise this sense, also known as 'Eagle Vision,' through an intense and very long training period, however, there are some gifted individuals who display a greater concentration and are often found to be more likely naturally susceptible to the 'gift.' Those who possess the gift are able to instinctively sense how people and objects relate to them, which manifests in a sort of coloured glow - an aura, if you will. Red indicates enemies, blue allies, white sources of information or hiding spots and finally gold, which indicates targets or objects of interest. Of course, the sixth sense is not entirely infallible and there are also some individuals who develop exotic variations of the gift, some could even evolve the Eagle Vision into a more advanced ability; Eagle Sense, which is, in theory, able to heighten all the sense of its users, allowing them to detect details as minute as a heartbeat of a target within the area or even a prediction of target's part. The point being, only Assassin's with their special links to the First Civilisation and only those of extensive potential, were thought to possess The Sense.
Desmond possessed it, as did his ancestors. I didn't - I wasn't born with the gene for it, nor did I have the patience to learn such an art - or so Shaun, Rebecca and Desmond often teased. All in all, the concept of the Sense was no joke, and the Assassin's who stood around us in a small but constricting circle were obviously aware of that fact.
Was Kidd covering for Edward? If so, that was one Hell of a cover-up - 'the Sense' was a huge deal... it wasn't a joke and upon glancing up at Kidd's round, slightly feminine face, I could tell that the man before me was dead serious.
Well shit.
If the mentor was surprised, he didn't show it. He merely looked Edward up and down as if he were some sort of alien object that he had no clue how to dissect, or that Edward was bomb, thrown into his lap with a detonation time of 10 seconds that he couldn't work out how to dismantle.
"James tells me that you treated with the Templars there," the Assassin says, as if the very mention of the Sense hadn't just arisen in conversation but moments ago. "Did you see the man they call the Sage?" he continues.
"Aye," came Edwards' hesitant response before his azure eyes briefly flicker over to me.
I immediately look away - confused by the mess of emotions that wriggled and squirmed within the pit of my stomach.
"Would you recognise his face if you saw it again?"
"I reckon so..." Edward responds, "but I don't-"
"I must be certain," the man interrupts, his gaze drawn to where Kidd and I stand, side by side in mutual confusion, "Kidd... you will take Kenway and follow through with your plan... I will take the girl with me."
"Says who?" I snarl, folding my arms over my chest.
"Fuck no," Edward growls at the same time, moving to put himself between me and the very skilled, very strong and very efficient Assassin, "like I'm going to let you just take her and-"
"Not another word, Kenway," Kidd intrudes.
"You can't be serious? You're just going to let him go-"
"I'll go," I interrupt this time, yelling over Edward and Kidd's bickering just to be heard by the one who needed to hear it the most. I try to ignore the almost satisfied smirk on Kidd's face - just because he was the most trustworthy in the group didn't mean that I trusted him - and avoid looking at Edward altogether as I push past him and face the man who asked for me in the first place. "I don't understand your reasons for wanting me on my own," I continue, ignoring Edward's soft growls as I continue to stride forward, a confidence in my step that I didn't know I possessed until now, face to face with a man whose abilities I could pretty much predict. Despite this, I knew I was defenceless against a master such as him, "but I'll go."
"Tessa, what are you doing?" Edward demands, grabbing my arm in order to halt my advance as the Assassin's begin to move off, the mentor at the rear waiting me to follow, which I would do if Edward's iron grip did not hold me perfectly still as if I were a statute.
He was upset - probably confused. I knew that because he only used my real nickname when he wasn't impressed with my decisions. Desmond and Shaun used to do it as well, but for them, the warning signs were always when they said my full-name; Theresa Elizabeth North Hastings - mouthful, right?
I tense at the feel of Edward's hand against the skin of my wrist, rough but at the same time delicate, sending the familiar warm tingle of emotion that had been rearing it's head for a while now - yet, that warm, fuzzy emotion was also laced with a sickening dread that numbed me to my core. It took all of my effort to keep the bile rising in my throat down and for me to remain still, to not throw off Edward's arm and run for it.
I would hear him out. I always will. I just... couldn't look at him the same way... not now, not for a while.
"You trust Kidd," I point out, still avoiding looking directly in those haunting azure-grey eyes, fearful that upon looking into their depths I wouldn't be able to recognise the man before me any longer. The question was, in considering that fact, did I really know the man before me at all?
No.
Not really.
"That's different," Edward persists, "and I'm not even sure I do trust him."
"Edward," I say, finally meeting his gaze, my mouth set in a firm line as I look upon the man who saved my life that day one year ago on that fateful beach, the man who cared for me in Havana despite his original promise ending the moment we pulled into the harbour. The man who rescued me from the slimy clutches of Spanish solider, who held me in his arms when the weight of the world was to much for me to bear on my shoulders alone, who laughed and teased with me, who made me feel safe.
It's funny, I can see all of those things but it's now tinted by the lie, obscured by the truth that is hard for me to comprehend.
Maybe I was being a hypocrite; Shaun and Rebecca, Lucy and Desmond, they had lied to me in the past yet I had forgiven them for worse things. Shaun used me as a scapegoat, Rebecca for her own personal gain, Desmond had point blank lied to my face on more than one occasion... Lucy... Lucy had been a Templar all along. So then why? Why was I able to forgive them? Why was I able to accept their actions but condone Edward's? Why couldn't I move past it.
Because you put him up on a pedestal, a small whispers into my ear.
And maybe it's right... maybe that's why I find it so hard now to hold his gaze, to look him deadset in the eye, to automatically forgive him like I did in the past.
"Edward," I repeat, gently removing my arm from his grasp, surprised when he lets go without a fuss.
"You're going to go with him." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I answer anyway, already taking a few steps backwards toward where the small gang of Assassin's await, "I am going to go."
"I don't trust them," Edward says, his face taking on a look that seems almost desperate.
"I trust them more than I trust you."
The words just came out.
And I immediately regret them when I see Edward's face darken.
Still, I turn away and follow the skilful Assassins' down into the depths of the jungle, biting back the apology that begins to form on my lips the moment that sentence left my mouth.
I don't look back.