Author's Notes:

This work is a sequel to my other work, In Trutina: /s/12165549/1/

It picks up immediately after Chapter 14 of that work. I don't think it's so complex that it couldn't be read alone, but it will make much more sense if you read the other piece first.

Days and days of empty darkness had sapped him of his strength. When he emerged, broken and bloodied, Jacob found that the world looked a much grimmer place than he had left it.

The list of things that he had failed during the Terror was long and painful, a prickling thing that lodged in the back of his skull and refused to budge: Jack, his apprentices, London, the Brotherhood, his son. There was so much that he needed to atone for, so much that was now far beyond atoning for.

The weight of that knowledge was so heavy that it paralyzed.

And yet, and yet, insistent and gentle, she pulled him along from the moment that she found him. She compelled him outwards; out of sickness, out of bed, out of his rooms, out of his own head. She even coaxed laughter from him, the sound rusty in his throat when it first happened.

And then she kissed him.

I think I'll stay.

He wasn't sure that he deserved happiness, not when he had caused so much pain, but she didn't give him a choice. Like a long-lost swallow migrating back home, she flooded his world with song.

Whitechapel was teeming with life.

Perched on grimy tiles and resting on her heels, Evie's eyes tracked the movement on the street far below. Watching it was like trying to follow a swarm of bees, only possible if viewed as one chaotic whole.

Mostly, she looked for change.

And it was there, in superficial differences. Dresses were much curvier, suit jackets straighter. The occasional motorcar trundled through the streets, enough of a novelty that it still drew stares. The man running ahead of it waving his flag and blowing his horn inevitably looked ridiculous. Surely that would never catch on.

But on the edges of the crowd, two children fought with a dog over scraps of food. A pickpocket worked efficiently when people's heads were turned the other way. Costermongers sang their wares and women carried heavy baskets of laundry back and forth, looking tired and broken. The smog hung thick in the air, leaving a fine and gritty residue that coated itself on everything.

Not so different, then, from what she remembered. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Leaning back, she drew out her pocket watch and flipped it open. Nearly half an hour since she had left Jacob; she would have to return soon. Any longer and he would start to pace, antsy and irritable until she returned.

She knew that he didn't like her leaving at all. He was vulnerable and bristling in turns, an open wound that begged for care and flinched away from it all at once. But as much as she wanted to help, she occasionally needed time alone to compose her thoughts.

Especially today.

It had taken some convincing, but she had finally persuaded Jacob that it was time to face one of the things he had been avoiding. There were some things that were important enough that his fragile sense of security would have to be pushed. That her own sense of comfort came second.

She took one last look at the street as she slipped the watch back into her pocket. Unfolding herself, she climbed up until she reached the trap door to the attic of Jacob's building, prying it open and lowering herself back inside.

He reminded himself for the twenty-third time in as many minutes that she was safe. She was just out to stretch her legs. She would return momentarily.

Taking deep breaths, Jacob tried to centre and calm himself, leaning into the stretching routine that Evie had showed him, something that she had picked up in India.

Jack was gone. Evie could take care of herself. She would be along any moment. She probably hadn't even gone far.

It was ironic, really, that while he had actually been trapped in that godforsaken cell, he had barely worried about her. Carried along by some sort of delusional confidence probably born of exhaustion and delirium, he had never questioned for a moment that Evie would find him and crush anything that got in her way.

For whatever reason, once he was out and she was a physical, tangible thing, the worry had set in. Never mind that he'd been right enough in the cell.

He tested his knees, settling into a crouch. Still sore, but better than yesterday, the daily improvement slow but steady. Moving to the floor, he stretched out and tried to touch his toes, willing his back to unclench.

Soft footsteps padded along the hallway, and Jacob recognized them as hers long before they reached his door. Relief uncoiled in his stomach, relaxing him enough that he pushed forward and his fingertips finally made contact with the edge of his boots.

"Oh, good," she said, when she spotted him on the floor. "You're doing your stretches."

"Just as prescribed," he muttered, holding the pose. "Still can't put my leg behind my head, though."

"To be fair, most people can't. I'm a bit of an exception that way."

"You just wait. I'll put you to shame yet."

She smiled and the relief curled into a happy, tender feeling, one that made him smile at her in return. Moving to the cabinet, she quickly pulled out the somewhat battered selection of crockery that he had for tea, picking out more than their usual two cups. "You haven't forgotten about our visitors?"

Jacob gestured to himself, drawing attention to his tie and eyepatch. "Do I look like I've forgotten? Wouldn't have bothered with this otherwise." He'd barely been able to get out of his nightshirt at first. At Evie's urging, he'd graduated to shirts and trousers, but the tie rarely seemed worth it.

The eyepatch, for its part, was more about not alarming others. His physician insisted that he would likely regain full vision in time, but regardless, it looked horrific: bloodshot, swollen, and filled with puss. Jacob didn't consider himself a vain man, but he still grimaced at it whenever he looked in the mirror.

"Twenty years and you still don't properly know how to put on a tie," Evie muttered, shaking her head. "Are you nervous?"

He did a few slow sit ups. "Nervous to effectively return from the dead for my only son and mother of my child after they had given up on ever seeing me on this side of the abyss?"

She paused to turn around and raise her eyebrows at him, her gaze appraising.

"No, of course not."

Snorting, she went back to setting the table. "Are you sure you're ready?"

The sit ups were starting to make the wound across his stomach ache, so he slumped back on the floor. "It's been ten days since they learned that I'm alive. Like you implied when you invited them in the first place, I don't think it matters if I'm ready."

For all their years apart, Jacob had spoken very little of Anne. It meant that Evie wasn't sure about what to expect; she had actively tried not to think about it, if she was honest with herself, with a moderate amount of success.

Whatever she had expected, it wasn't what she found.

Anne had barely made it over the threshold of the flat before she rushed at Jacob, skirts whirling, throwing her arms up and around his neck. She promptly burst into sobs, bawling into his chest as he patted her on the back.

Even with the obstructed view, Evie could see that everything about Anne was… Dainty. She was small, barely reaching Evie's chin, and her features were delicate even when screwed up in tears. Her hair was blond and curled in ringlets, mostly piled up on the top of her head in the way that seemed to be the current fashion.

For a moment, Evie saw herself and Anne in her mind's eye, standing side by side. It was hard to imagine a greater contrast in two women.

When Emmett followed her in, footsteps heavy, Evie felt her chest grow tight for a moment. He was the spitting image of Jacob. Evie battled déjà vu as she looked back and forth between the crooked noses and stocky frames, the son a carbon copy of his father at fifteen.

Emmett looked faintly embarrassed at his mother, and his first words were a question. "Is the eyepatch forever?"

"Hopefully not," Jacob said, now fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket for Anne. "It's mostly cosmetic, at the moment."

"How do you mean?"

"The eye doesn't exactly look attractive."

Emmett leaned forward, interested. "Can I see?"

Anne pulled away to cluck disapprovingly at him, but Jacob just smiled. Putting a hand up to Anne's head to keep her from seeing, he flipped the eyepatch up.

"Gross," Emmett breathed, clearly impressed.

Ah yes, Evie thought. Definitely Jacob's son.

As soon as Jack's spree had started, Jacob had sent Emmett and Anne out to Crawley. They were too obvious as targets, too well known to Jack and his associates. If he couldn't watch over them himself, he could send them somewhere where they would be watched by someone else, somewhere beyond the reaches of Jack's influence. Anne had been upset about leaving but accepted that it was for the best. Emmett had kicked and screamed the whole way, insisting that he would rather stay in London to help, but Jacob simply wouldn't risk it.

He had already lost too much.

When Jacob had eventually regained consciousness back in his rooms, Jack apparently vanquished and London safe again, Evie had assured him that she had already been in touch with the Council. Who, in turn, had informed Anne and Emmett that he was alive. It was just so like her to have thought that far that he had slipped back into sleep, relieved that things were resting in her capable hands.

He knew that they would want to visit as soon as possible. He initially flat out forbade it. The thought of Emmett seeing him as a cripple, struggling to breathe through bruised lungs and barely able to walk, was repulsive.

And if he was honest, he wasn't ready to share Evie. It was still too wonderful and terrible and astonishing that she was here, drinking his tea, mending his socks, humming as she worked at his desk. He had pushed forward in the intervening years, yes, but the distance had never stopped aching like an abscessed tooth. So when she returned, still recognizably the person that he had left in India, he wasn't sure if he was quite ready to have those two distinct parts of his life- the before and the after- tangle together.

But as Evie had pointed out, denying Anne and Emmett reassurance became cruel at some point.

It took a while for Anne to calm down against his chest, his shirt now damp from her tears. He wasn't exactly surprised by any of this; she had a tendency towards waterworks when emotions were running high, regardless of whether they were positive or negative.

Poor Emmett looked mortified. It wasn't something that Jacob could quite identify with, never having had a mother to be embarrassed by.

Awkwardness between a father and son, though, he knew a lot about that.

Once the tears had receded into sniffles, Jacob put a hand on one of her shoulders and gestured to Evie. "Anne, I'd like you to meet my sister, Evie." He waved towards his son to include him in the introduction. "Emmett, your aunt."

Evie looked uncomfortable. It was easy to imagine why, and for a moment he felt a twinge of sympathy. He remembered the disorienting sensation of seeing Evie in India, Henry's hand on her shoulder, wedding band on her finger.

It occurred to him that he hadn't seen that ring since her return.

Pulling away from him, Anne flew at Evie and grabbed her hands, holding them close to her chest. If Evie had looked uncomfortable before, she now looked alarmed.

"Thank you," Anne said, voice tremulous. "We thought we'd lost him. The Council told us about how you saved him from that monster- thank you. Thank you for keeping us informed, for watching him, for… For everything."

He could see Evie responding to Anne's sincerity. That was the thing about Anne, as he had discovered so many years ago: she was simply sogenuine that her enthusiasm eventually wore you down. He had tried, gruff and broken at the time, to keep her at an arm's length when they had first met. She wouldn't have it, and that was that.

Anne stepped away and quickly gestured to Emmett. "Here, come here, don't be shy, give your aunt a hug. We owe her your Father's life."

Emmett obeyed, shuffling over and extending one arm in an awkward half-embrace. "Nice to meet you," he said quickly, eyes down. "I always liked getting the presents you sent," he added, voice a bit shy, and Evie brightened a fraction at that.

Jacob thought she was handling this quite well, all things considered.

"Lovely to meet you both." She awkwardly waved towards the battered table in the room, trying to smooth over the interaction. "I made tea."

"Wonderful," Anne said, beaming now even as she hiccoughed. "Let's have tea."

It was easy for her to see that nights were the hardest for him.

During the day, Jacob was mostly composed, other than the occasional flickers of panic that she saw rippling under the surface. She knew that he grieved, but he also attempted to move forward, steadily putting one foot in front of the other. It was like a clumsy dance where she led, distracting him from the noise around them, keeping his focus only on what immediately came next.

At night, though, his demons came home to roost. Nightmares plagued him constantly, the mess of emotions making him toss and turn as he slept. For a while, she had tried letting him be, hoping that the nightmares would pass. She eventually learned that it was easiest to wake him and let him gradually fall back asleep.

"Jacob," she whispered, as he moaned wordlessly against her back, his shoulders tense. "Jacob, wake up." She twisted around and shook his shoulder, keeping her hands on his chest as he startled awake and rasped deep breaths, his heartbeat gradually slowing as he remembered where he was.

He shifted up against the pillows, stiff and awkward. "Sorry," he said gruffly, voice thick with sleep. "Did I wake you?"

"I was already up," she promised.

The lamps outside cast a flickering glow against the bed, letting her dimly see half of his disgruntled face as he ran his hands through his hair. "I fucking hate this."

"I know." She reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "Give it time. You're doing so much better already; you did well today, remember?"

The visit had lasted almost an hour before she saw the dark circles deepening under Jacob's eyes, his energy spent. She had shepherded Anne and Emmett out, promising that they could visit again soon. They were returning to Anne's house in London, so it would be an easy thing from now on.

Jacob squeezed her hand. "Was it strange for you?"

She thought of the way her stomach dropped when Anne had embraced him. "It's hardly fair for me to find anything strange, I should think."

"But?"

"… Yes, a little strange." She propped herself up as well, shifting to face him. A question had been haunting her all day, one that she really ought to have addressed much sooner. "Jacob, when I said I would stay- when- when I kissed you- I didn't pay a single thought to what your life might already be like here." The thought made her flush with shame. "If you don't want me here, I can leave once you're healed- or if you want to be faithful, I'll get another room, I won't bother you that way again-"

He moved faster than she thought possible while still half asleep, his hands snapping to her arms and his fingers digging into her skin like iron, like he planned to physically prevent her from leaving. "No," he rasped. "No. Don't you dare go anywhere. Don't even think about it."

"All right," she said gently, a little taken aback. He wouldn't let go of her, so she nudged herself over until she was lying against his chest, waiting for him to calm. "Won't Anne think it a little strange if you stop…" the words were hard to form, the thought sliding against her skin like sandpaper. "Visiting her?" she settled on, the euphemism most comfortable.

"I've just spent a month being brutally tortured, I think I get a bit of leeway." The humour in his voice was bitter. "I'll face that when it comes, don't make it your concern."

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. "If you're sure."

The kiss had been so easy, so natural. They hadn't talked about it, but they hadn't repeated it, and she wasn't sure what that meant. What any of this meant.

"Jacob," she finally started hesitantly, pulling away to face him. "Do you think-"

He had fallen back asleep.

Sighing, Evie plumped the pillows around him, propping his neck up so he wouldn't be sore the next morning. He looked much more peaceful when he slept, the frown of his concentration and frustration eased at least until the nightmares started.

Oh well, she thought, leaning back and settling in to resume her vigil. They had the luxury of time. From now on, there would always be tomorrow.

Author's Notes:

The Locomotive Act of 1865 required vehicles on public roads in the UK to be preceded by a man waving a little red flag and blowing a horn. It was effectively so silly that it halted the development of cars for the rest of the century.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose = the more things change, the more they stay the same. Originally coined by Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr in his satirical piece for Les Guêpes, published in 1849.