Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)

Thirty One: Whatever It Takes

Davenport Homestead, 1781

Naomi

"I'm told you're not eating," I chide, settling onto the chair beside Achilles' bed, a bowl of soup in my hands.

"Ah, what can food do for my wasting body?" he waves a hand in the air. But the old man drinks when I feed him the soup, coughing slightly.

"You seem troubled," he manages after his coughs subside. His frown seems to add more wrinkles to his lined face, if that were even possible. The sight tugs at my heart fiercely. Even lying on his sickbed, Achilles never fails to care for me.

"How can I not be?" I force my best smirk, but I can tell Achilles is unconvinced. "Ever since you fell ill, you don't lecture me anymore."

He grins at that, but his smile is quickly replaced by a rack of coughs. "You and I both know that my illness is not the only thing on your mind."

I sigh in admission. Achilles can read me like a children's book, so there's no point in lying. He's stopped coughing now, and fixes me with an intent gaze, urging me to speak.

"Charles Lee still lives," I say quietly.

"And Connor will do whatever it takes to pursue him."

"Yes."

"But not you." His eyes are full of meaning. It isn't a question.

"I..." A flash of guilt claws at my insides, forcing my mouth to fumble for the words. "I will go with him. You know that."

"I do," he replies, his tone neutral. "But I also know that you're only going because of him."

The implication stings, and Achilles knows it. I look away as I draw out a long breath, unable to hold the old man's gaze. Afraid to see the disappointment there. "I suppose you think I'm selfish."

"Yes," Achilles says, matter-of-factly. I feel my teeth grinding against each other. "Yes, it is selfish that you no longer serve the Assassins' cause. That your fight is no longer against the Templars." His words are harsh, razor-edged, though I cannot deny the truth there.

"But I will not condemn you for that."

The last line comes out as a whisper, like a hushed secret. It draws my eyes to his, and the wistfulness I see there surprises me. I swallow once, hard, but still my voice tightens with emotion. "Would you have done the same?"

I watch him carefully as he ponders my question, regret and uncertainty chasing across his features. They remind me that he is no stranger to pain, and has endured enough heartache to last a few lifetimes. Shay's betrayal, the death of his family, the loss of his Brotherhood—I wonder if the memories are flashing before his eyes right now. Would he have given everything in exchange for his loved ones? Or am I alone in my selfishness?

It seems I am not.

"I would now," he breathes.

I take his hand in mine and squeeze it, conveying a thousand words that I cannot form. We sit there in silence, content to be in each others' presence.

Diana, the kind woman who cares for Achilles when we're away, enters the room. "Oh, you managed to get him to eat," she notes in surprise. "The old man's been especially stubborn before you returned."

"I am right here, Diana, you don't have to speak across me," he retorts, not unkindly. "Actually, your arrival is most opportune. Could you get Connor for me?"

Diana looks irritated at being sent off, but obeys. I flash her a sympathetic smile before she leaves. "I'll leave you two to it, then," I pat Achilles' hand, and rise to leave.