( unwanted tea and fake names )
★
CHLOE GLARED AT Henry Green's hand as he slid a cup of tea over the wooden table.
The woman was honest with herself― waking up in a sealed off room with windows too high for her to look out of and seeing three (almost) strangers stare at her was disorientating. The foggy feeling in her brain disappeared quickly when she saw the glass behind the twins.
She stared at the cup with a blank look before meeting Henry's eyes head on. "I don't like tea."
"Told you."
Jacob winced when his sister's elbow sharply met his ribs.
"We only wish to make you comfortable, Miss...?"
Chloe's eyes flew over the three of them. Henry was sitting across from her, and the twins were standing guard by the door. At least, that's what it looked like.
Different names flew across her mind before landing on two. "Rebecca Rogers."
She couldn't help the hesitation and mental wince. Sorry, guys.
"Miss Rogers," Henry nodded. He gestured to himself and the two other Assassins. "I'm―"
"―I know who you are," she scoffed, itching to cross her arms if it wasn't for the pesky handcuff. At their bewildered looks, Chloe quickly came up with an explanation. "The American Bureau isn't oblivious, you know. There's this thing called a message―"
"Forgive us, Miss Rogers," Evie quickly intervened― ever the diplomat― and placed a hand on Henry's shoulder. "We simply mean that we were under the impression that the only people who knew of Crawford Starrick's death were... well... us."
Jacob raised a new topic of interest altogether. "You're an Assassin?"
"Got a problem?"
Her ancestor raised his hands in defense.
"News travels fast, especially news like this," Chloe answered the woman. "Not every day the big-bad-wolf drops dead in a secret cave."
The beats of silence that followed made the hair stand on the back of her neck. The Assassin needed to get out of this interrogation and fast. She needed to find a way back home. How she was to do so was the next thing on her bucket list.
"Look," Chloe started, folding her hands and leaning to the trio. "I was just sent here by the higher-ups to investigate. Don't shoot the messenger, right?"
Jacob stepped forwards behind his sister. "We wouldn't dream of it, Miss Rogers, it's just that what you are saying doesn't make sense with the occupation we found you in and the information Mrs. Nightingale provided us after your little, ah, episode."
If looks could kill, Jacob Frye would've been six feet under.
Pulling a page out of Natasha's book, Chloe tried her best to recover quickly. "Temporary amnesia. Must've been robbed. Cognitive recalibration brought me back."
"Taken by surprise then?" the not-buying-your-bullshit look Jacob gave her made the twenty-one-year-old feel like a child being scolded by a teacher.
"We would be happy to give you the resources for your investigation, Miss Rogers," Henry said, ignoring the glaring look Evie was giving her brother. "Do you need a place to stay?"
Chloe's gaze met Jacob's. A stare off between ancestor and descendant.
"I'll manage."
★
The only good thing about the past was the natural trust strangers gave to each other. In the twenty-first-century, Chloe never would've gotten away with a fake name, a fake occupation, and lying through her teeth without a thorough investigation of her name and job.
Thank God for slow response time.
Once the British Assassins had returned her items, Chloe was off like a shot, grabbing her gear and not staying to exchange pleasantries with the people she left behind.
She made a mental note in her head: money, clothes, shelter.
Carrying around her red clothes and folded equipment, walking around nineteenth-century London in nothing but black clothes considered scandalous brought many weird looks.
Suddenly, the offer for a place to stay and unquestioned funds sounded ideal.
Call her what you will, but the woman hated pickpocketing, and everything to do with it. She wasn't bad at it by any means― it was a staple of the Brotherhood since the fifteenth-century, after all― but stealing from innocents didn't sit right in her gut.
Yet she was all right with ending a life with a flick of a blade.
Funny how morals work.
"Excuse me, could you tell me where I am?"
If my friends could see me now, Chloe thought, taking on the role of uber-confused tourist to the citizens of London. At the end of a few hours, the twenty-one-year-old had what she thought to be enough money for a wardrobe change and a hotel room if her calculations were correct.
A couple more hours later, and the Assassin stepped out of a store with the closest thing she could find to jeans, a button-up shirt, and a leather jacket― if leather jackets were actually trench coats.
Walking around London was immensely easier, ignoring the looks about a woman wearing pants.
The horror.
Gear neatly stuffed into a messenger bag, Chloe soon located the cheapest hotel around the block and settled into a room on the second floor― right next to the fire escape.
As soon as the door was locked behind her, the Assassin slid to the ground and buried her head in her knees, taking deep breaths to avoid a full-blown panic attack.
Humans aren't meant to process so much in so little time, Rebecca's words once said filtered through her mind. Imagine computers overloading― everything ends in smoke and flames.
God, Chloe missed computers. And modern transportation. And her―
Her phone. Chloe's pity-party blew to a standstill. She remembered now. When she left Wakanda (death didn't seem like the right verb), how much gear went with her?
Grabbing her bag, Chloe rummaged around, standing up in the process to set her loot on the bed. Along with her red tac gear, black clothes, and hidden blade― why did they ask if she was an Assassin if they had her blade?― all Chloe could find was the stolen money, a key for her room, and the letter Tony wrote her.
Until an empty quiver came tumbling out of the bag.
Shit.
Checking the pocket, the burner phone Chloe kept on her at all times was missing.
Double shit.
The woman didn't have time for a panic attack. Right now, she needed to track down the missing technology stolen from her and get it back before it fell into the wrong hands. Twenty-first-century tech mixed with mad scientists made her stomach churn, especially when mad Templar scientists came to mind.
And the people who she knew could help her were across town, riding in their train with the wrong idea of her.
Triple shit.
★
Jacob Frye sat on his sofa with his hat in hand, staring down at the black fabric as the day slowly shifted to dusk outside the safety of his home.
The same color as the clothes Rebecca Rogers wore.
The youngest Frye wasn't going to lie to himself. Yellow flags went off in his head multiple times during that odd meeting.
The small hesitation before revealing a name (if it was hers, he wasn't totally sure just yet), the confusion when he asked if she was an Assassin (Evie wanted to make sure the blade wasn't stolen), and the almost sheepish posture when Jacob caught the mixed information (almost like it was familiar) didn't exactly give off Templar-vibes― it just told the story that this Rebecca Rogers wasn't giving them the whole story.
Evie told him not to worry about it. That Miss Rogers was from the American Brotherhood, and they were to show her all the properties of guest rights. That even if they did defeat Starrick three days ago, that news would travel as fast as it could to notify the world.
That no, Jacob, they have never seen that woman before, because Evie would've surely remembered―
Three quick knocks tugged the man out of his thoughts. Twirling his hat in his hands, Jacob put the accessory back on his head before sliding open the door.
"It's after hours, what on Earth is―"
The word "wrong" died on his lips as he peered upon the utterly sheepish and sorry look Miss Rebecca Rogers was giving the British Assassin. A mix of confusion and smugness and― oddly enough― fierce protection made his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.
Miss Rogers cleared her throat. "So, about that help you offered?"
And, like the suave, confident man that he is, Jacob Frye could only manage one response.
"How the bloody hell did you find out where we live?"
★
the hillllllssss are aliveee, with my lack of knowing what im actually dooiiinnngg
lol hi guys. so, short chapter, i know, but the next four are gonna be hella long as they focus on the different relationships between (surprise surprise) chloe and the trio.
also 'rebecca rogers' is obviously credited to rebecca crane and steve rogers, but also to rebecca proctor (bucky's lil sis in the comics) bc i just found out about her and im in love.
happy almost valintines day, i guess? lmao who's joining me on the single-pringle train this year?
anyway. school's back up in full swing (i have a vocab/subjunctive quiz in spanish tomorrow― im gonna die), so i'll probably start a rough draft for the next three chapters asap.
i know jacob's chapter(s) is/are gonna be in two parts (probably the last two), so is there any preference for how you all want me to set up evie's and henry's? like who goes first?
happy february!
peace,
aidan.