April 29, 2022
Faith was not good with blunt weapons. Nor was she good with guns. She did do well with a bow. But other projectiles, blades, melee weapons; with those she only showed a bit of skill. Nowhere near the level of a full-fledged Assassin. Her hand-to-hand skill was amazing, though. Pete was positive Faith's fighting abilities outmatched his own. And he had been training in martial arts since he was four. It was incredible, really. The way she managed to best him at every turn…
"Where'd you learn Jujitsu?"
Faith only looked at him with an uncertain expression at the question. She had no idea of her potential. The style she used was a combination of many techniques, some she should not have possessed. But she did. Pete doubted very much that all her training had come from Connor. He had sparred with the Native before. Connor was good. But Faith had knowledge that even the famous Colonial Assassin lacked.
Faith shrugged as she took a sip of water. They were taking a break. Pete's idea. He was tired, to be honest. More taxed than he should have been. Keeping up with his sister took a lot out of him. She was almost as good a fighter as their father was. Almost.
"Who knows what Achilles taught Connor," she spoke in reply.
That answer was expected. It was the one Faith always gave when Pete inquired about her skill. But it wasn't the truth. About that he was certain. Faith had no idea just how much she knew. Or where she had learned it. It would be best to keep it that way.
Pete hoped again that his father knew what he was doing as he got to his feet and prepared for another round. Faith rose slowly, as if she were weak. He doubted it was the sparring that had exhausted her. More likely it was her sleeping on the uncomfortable couch for the last few nights.
"You okay?" he ask.
"Fine." Faith was not a good liar.
"What's the deal with you and Connor?"
Faith sighed loudly. She had not said a word about the fact that her and her husband were avoiding each other like the plague to anyone. Pete didn't expect a detailed account of their relationship problems, but he had thought she would confide in him a little. He thought women loved to talk about everything going wrong in their lives. His girlfriend certainly did. Constantly. Most of the time he tuned her out and thought instead about cars or sports or what his name would be if he had superpowers. He was torn between Impenetrable Pete and Storm Surge. The latter helped protect his secret identity, but he really wanted the notoriety that went along with being a superhero.
"There's no deal," Faith lied. Pete didn't even pretend to believe her. He only stared at her until she looked away. "It's complicated."
"Faith, I have an IQ of 138. I think I can understand your reason for being pissed at your husband."
"I'm not pissed," she murmured.
Pete had to agree with that. Faith did not look angry, she looked hurt. "You wanna talk about it?"
She shook her head. "I just think it's best if we concentrate on the future."
"You mean your future apart?"
Letting out a deep breath, Faith moved to the wall and stood with her back to Pete. "Too much has happened. We can't just pick up where we left off."
Not sure what to say to that, Pete just nodded. "You ready to go again?"
With a shrug, Faith turned to him. "I'm really not in the mood."
He couldn't hold back a chuckle at the way she had phrased her reply. "How many times have you said that to Connor?"
Faith rolled her eyes at him. She was very good at that. If eye rolling were an Olympic sport, she would definitely be a contender for the gold medal. "How many times has Kayla said that to you?" she returned.
"Never," he lied. "I'm irresistible."
Faith did smile at that. "You're an idiot."
"I work at it," he told her. "Go again?"
"Fine," she groaned.
Pete was not ready for her advance. Faith was much faster than she looked. And agile. He was barely able to block the kick she aimed for his knee. It was a smart first move. Designed to take your opponent down quickly and gain an advantage. He recognized it as being kickboxing. Another form of fighting that Faith should not have known.
After about twenty minutes, Pete managed to pen his sister. He knew it was because she was tired and not performing to her full potential, but he took the win gladly. It was the first. Faith was indifferent to his bragging. She didn't comment when he told her how bad she sucked at fighting. She only ask if they could stop now.
As Faith headed to the bathroom, Pete made his way to the firing range where Desmond and Edward were practicing with throwing knives. Edward was very good at those. He was teaching Desmond how to put a spin on the knife without changing its trajectory.
"Sup, guys?"
Edward looked at Pete. "Sup?" he replied.
It amazed Pete how quickly the pirate was picking up the lingo and adapting to the modern times. He had a thirst for knowledge unlike anyone Pete had ever met. Connor was doing okay with the changes, but he wasn't accepting them the way his grandfather was. Connor preferred to keep his distance from technology. Edward wanted to know how to master every device they had. Pete had given him the old laptop that he had in high school. After only a little coaching, Edward was a wiz at using the computer. Even though he had mastered the microwave weeks ago, Jack still refused to give him a cell phone. So, Edward contented himself with the laptop.
"That was quick," Desmond stated. "I thought Faith would be kicking your ass for the rest of the afternoon."
Pete had thought so as well. He didn't refrain from tormenting his sister even though they had only met recently. He treated her just like a brother should. And she usually responded in kind. Which Pete liked. He had grown up alone, but knowing he had a sibling. He had spent years planning his methods of torture and was glad to finally get to execute his plots.
"She's tired."
"That couch sucks," Desmond admitted. He knew from experience. When he had first joined Jack, the warehouse was only sparsely furnished and the only bed it contained was Jack's. It had taken a few months to get one for Desmond.
"Why don't you be a gentleman and let her have your bed?" Pete ask him.
Desmond scoffed. "Let Connor be the gentleman. I like my bed."
"I'd let her use mine," Edward said. "Provided she shared it with me."
"Of course, you would," Pete muttered.
Edward looked at him. "Think what you want about me, boy, but even I have morals. I'd never try to bed a woman who was in love with another man."
Pete started to express his relief at that, given that Edward was Faith's grandfather-in-law. But he quickly clamped his mouth shut when he remembered the pirate knew nothing about his kinship to Connor. Pete did not want to be the one who cracked that nut. Although, he had a feeling Edward knew more than he let on. He thought the pirate was just playing along with the rest of them, waiting for someone to confirm his hunch before admitting his knowledge.
Desmond met Pete's gaze and spoke cryptically. "Is she doing okay? With the training?"
The other man looked relieved when Pete nodded. Desmond more than the rest of them was worried about Faith recovering memories from her years at Abstergo. They had no idea exactly what had been done to her in all that time, but it could not have been good. Pete only knew a bit about what his sister had done for the Templars. Even knowing that little bit was enough for him to hope she never recovered from her drug-induced amnesia.
"I guess Dad knows what he'd doing."
Yet again Pete felt the sinking sensation of dread taking root in the back of his mind. They hoped Connor would be able to help if Faith reverted. But if she and her husband were estranged, there wasn't much chance of that happening. Without Connor, they had no one to control Faith. Pete sincerely hoped he was not around if she went rogue. He did not want to have to kill his sister.
Pete was on his way home when he got Faith's text. He read it twice before finally replying in the affirmative. Things just kept getting stranger for him.
It didn't help his mood any when he noticed the brand new BMW parked in the driveway of the townhouse he shared with his mother. The car meant he was there. And Pete did not want to have to deal with him. He hated Patrick Winters.
Pete intentionally pulled his Focus close to the driver's side of the car. That would force Patrick to have to crawl in from the passenger door. It wasn't nearly what the man deserved, but Pete had to pick his battles. For now. He took solace in the fact that this would all be over in a few short months. Then he would never have to see his mother's boss again.
"I'm home," he called as he entered the foyer and tossed his keys on the table. He hoped the warning would give them time to make themselves decent before he entered the living room. Fortunately, Clair and Patrick were not in the living room. They were in the dining room, empty plates on the table in front of them. Patrick had been holding Clair's hand when Pete came into the room. She quickly pulled away from him at the sight of her son. He could see the displeasure on Clair's face as she looked up at him. She hated the CEO of Abstergo as much as he did.
"How was your study group?" she ask.
Pete shrugged. "It was an uninteresting session."
He went to the kitchen and got a beer out of the refrigerator. He noticed Patrick frown at him. "You should be careful about drinking, Peter. Alcoholism is hereditary."
Pete forced himself to stay calm at the implication of the man's words. He wanted to argue that his father was not an alcoholic. But he was not supposed to be in contact with Jack. So, he gritted his teeth and said he would be careful instead.
After a few more minutes of idle conversation, Clair coaxed Patrick into leaving. Pete followed them to the door, barely hiding a scowl as that man kissed his mother before exiting the house.
When he was gone, Clair looked at Pete. "I know what I'm doing," she spoke firmly.
Pete just nodded. He had given up arguing with her. Clair was just trying to keep them all safe. What she was forced to do in that respect almost made him want to hate his father for putting her in such a position. But it had been her choice. Clair had agreed to the terms willingly.
"How was class?"
Pete knew what she meant. She was asking how everything was going at the compound. He shrugged. "One of my buddies got dumped."
Clair frowned. "That's terrible. Maybe they can work things out."
"I hope so. They belong together."
"Is all of your homework done?"
That meant exactly how it sounded. Clair was serious about her son's grades. His scholarship demanded him to be studious. As did his hope of getting into Harvard. "I got a paper to finish."
Clair nodded and motioned for him to go do that. Pete paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at her. "I love you."
Pete didn't say that to his mother much. She didn't take it for granted when he did.
"I love you, too, Petey."
He scoffed at the childhood nickname. "Seriously, Mom. I'm not a kid anymore."
Clair only grinned at him. Pete went to his room thinking how much he liked it when his mother treated him like a little boy. He had never really had the luxury of being a kid. He had been forced to live secretly as an Assassin. All his extracurricular activities had been chosen to benefit his skill. He had only ever done one thing he really loved. And his time in the junior hockey league had been far too brief. That was because of Clair. She had freaked the first time he had broken his nose and pulled him from the sport because it was too violent. She was trying to protect him. He knew that. She was just going about it the wrong way.