Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)

Obvious

New York, 1775 (Six years ago)

Naomi

"I don't understand how you do it," Dobby starts. "Do you ever sleep?"

Beside her, Jacob roars with laughter. "You mean the kind you do on your own, or with women?"

Failing to hide a blush, Dobby whacks Jacob hard on the arm. "You know that's not what I meant!"

I can barely suppress a laugh at Connor's discomfort. He squirms in his seat, and I imagine his eyes darting around, looking for someone to come along and spare him the need to answer. But instead of rushing to his aid, I hang back a little, curious to hear his reply.

"I try not to think about it," he says, giving the most Connor-like answer possible.

But Dobby is unsatisfied, and continues her prodding. "A strong man, stronger than any I've ever met. And that includes you, ya' lout," she adds, elbowing Jacob, who yelps indignantly. "How is it that you have no wife?" she adds, incredulous.

In all the years that I've lived with him, I've come to learn that Connor can perfectly embody the phrase "still as a statue". So when he shoots a brief glance over his shoulder, as if looking for someone, it is a huge crack in his usual impassive mask. The action is slight, almost imperceptible, so Dobby and Jacob don't notice. But I do. Maybe he was looking for me.

Don't be an idiot, Naomi.

"I do not have the time to give a woman what she deserves," I hear Connor say. The wistfulness in his voice, slight as it may be, makes my skin prickle. "Perhaps when all this is over I will be able to settle and have a family. I hope."

Dobby scoffs out a laugh. "Of all the deceitful men out there who are fathers you'd be a godsend. But I suppose that's how it is. The good ones are too busy for it, and the arses have nothing better to do. In any case," she adds, a wide grin spreading across her face, "if you ever change your mind, make sure I get first crack!"

Smiling stiffly, Connor manages a nod. He almost sags with relief when the two leave him for more drinks, arguing on the way.

"She fancies you," I tease, sidling up to him with two mugs in my hands. Connor decides to play dumb, and raises an eyebrow at me.

The jibe comes naturally, but my smirk feels forced. "I don't suppose you talk to many women."

He takes a swig of the drink, unaffected. "As if you fare better with men. Besides," he adds, eyes glinting mischievously, "talking to you is like talking to ten women at the same time."

"Well, someone has to fill in the silences you leave."

He shakes his head, laughing in the soft, quiet manner that I know so well. "Clearly, there is no one better suited to the task."

We sit in silence for a moment, content to just be. The beer seems to ignite my lungs, making my every breath sing with energy. So when the next few words fall from my lips, I tell myself it's because of the drink. "Did you mean what you said back there? About a family?"

The question catches him off guard, making him hesitate. Then he angles forward, intrigued. "I have thought of it before, though only once or twice. It seems so distant. Unreal. Impossible." His lips curve into a lopsided smile. "Even then, I will need to have someone to love."

More words tumble from my mouth of their own will. Again, I blame it on the beer. "And do you? Want to have someone to love?"

His eyebrows furrow slightly, as if he's about to shake his head and shrug off the question. But then his expression changes, and he looks thoughtful. Amused, even. As if the answer to my question is obvious, and always has been.

"Don't you?"