Only Human

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Assassin's Creed Syndicate
Summary: Evie continues to work through dealing with re-learning how to deal with her ridiculous brother.  (He has ADHD, though it's not like they had that terminology back then.)
Word Count: 2219
Rating: Teen
Warning: Very short you might almost miss it mention of abuse.  Because I don't read Ethan Frye as a good father.

          It’s not easy.  Whenever Jacob gets that faraway, broken look in his eyes, he’s begun to remember, and he’s impossible to get to focus then.  Fortunately, the one thing he can always concentrate for is fighting and climbing, skills they’ll always need more practice for as Assassins.  No matter how badly he’d done under their Father’s tutelage, with her he’s nothing but eager, hungry to prove that he is every bit her equal.  With George, he’s bristly, distrustful, but then, the man had been Father’s friend, hadn’t he?  Eventually, George allows her to take the reins in showing her little brother the ropes.  What he lacks for in technique, he makes up for in sheer brutish force.  That’s not to say that he’s incapable—when he’s showing off, his form is impeccable, and he can move with the same deadly grace as she.  He loves the freedom of getting places he shouldn’t and seeing the world from above, and one of the easiest ways of getting him to try when he’s not in the mood is to challenge him to a race.  When he doesn’t apply himself, he’s no less effective, though it doesn’t appear half as impressive.  It appears that one of the things he was doing whenever he skipped out was dirty fighting from the streets.  She has him teach her a few of the techniques and he doesn’t stop beaming like a lunatic the entire night.  She explains to him that she’d worried at first before realizing that if the Templars wouldn’t expect them to fight like that, it might give them the advantage, and for once, Jacob actually listens, mouth set in a grim line.
          He doesn’t want to be an Assassin, he confesses, incapable of meeting her eyes like it’s some sort of grave sin—and, of course, it had been not two months ago.  But, he continues, finally looking up into her gaze, she does, and he never wants to be parted from her again.  She feels a little warm at that, the fact that her ridiculous brother would allow her to dictate the course of their entire lives, and it’s certainly a privilege, not that she’ll ever say that.  Instead, she primly tells him he’d miss the fighting (which is true) and that it’s better than being a soldier (also true, particularly because she couldn’t accompany him that way—she has no intention of hiding her sex to put others at ease) and that if he’s going to continue to be ridiculous, he might as well finish their tea, brother dearest.
          He grins that irrepressible grin at her, all the more dear for the fact that she knows it has been repressed, so its every appearance is a blessing no matter the headache that will follow, throws a salute with a ‘yes m’lady’ and proceeds to practically inhale the last of their tea and wolf down the rest of the cake.  He has no idea how to eat with manners, but then, if their Father had regularly been starving him, then of course he would have no idea.
          He certainly never appeared like some of the waifs in Crawley.  He explains one night, sleepily, that he’d stolen—earned many a beating too, he adds wryly, completely oblivious to how he’s making her heart hurt—but he had managed to muddle by.  It’d been easier to steal from other families than from their own—they weren’t Assassins and therefore weren’t as vigilant, and when caught Father knew best how to inflict pain.  She lies awake for hours after.  Fortunately, his pride isn’t hurt at all by her insistence he eat.  With the instinctual understanding that they’d both feared was lost, he reads it as the gesture it is, and knows that whenever he’s annoyed her and she offers him food despite his actions, it’s speaking to his desire, as good as a vow, that neither of them wish to be parted.  If she doesn’t, well, he knows to make himself scarce, for he’s not the only Frye with a temper, and she likewise needs to cool her anger at times.
          He has a love for children, particularly the orphans, as long as they don’t steal his purse.  It’s a bit of an odd contradiction, but the best she can guess is that since he usually buys them all food anyway or shares what he has, it insults his intentions.  She can’t help but smile as he gently plays with a flock of children squealing in delight.  They’re supposed to act as adults do, and even so he’s one of few who treats their problems as gravely as the difficulties of their parents (and, in some cases, even more so, given his default sarcasm).
          Anyone telling him what to do, rather than asking, is an easy path to his rage.  It’s easy to read where that came from.
          Strategy, on the other hand, is, well.  It’s not a complete loss, as he does manage to incorporate it on occasion, but it’s impossible to tell how much he absorbs, as he’s always twitchy when she attempts to teach him, tapping his foot or drumming his fingers.  Chess, on the other hand, is a total failure—he cannot, no matter how or when she attempts to teach him, keep the boredom at bay.  They’re barely a few moves in before he begins to whine like a small child desiring to go outside.  She promises him delicacies, and though it’s usually enough to get him to concentrate for an hour or so, he cannot even manage that.  Doing so after or before a fight likewise doesn’t help.  After a fight Jacob paradoxically has an excess of energy, but is also better capable of concentrating, a state of affairs that easily allows for reading or studying, despite the fact that he can’t remain sitting in the exact same position for more than two minutes in such a situation.  Before a fight he’s distracted, but has more motivation to do well, which is why she tends to schedule the other subjects that cause him trouble before sparring matches.  He just grows more restless and despondent every time they attempt to play chess, though.  He’s better with other games—cards, mostly, and even these require some degree of strategy and skill, which is why they end up replacing chess with those eventually.  Perhaps, like much else, it’s been tainted by Father’s hand.  She doesn’t ask.
          She does know, thanks to the graveyard confession, that it hurts him, deeply, when he can’t manage to focus, that it’s like torture to him, wrestling his mind for control and being unable to best himself.  He has them both laughing hysterically, the once that he gives up entirely and begins picking up the pieces one by one, naming them and telling their utterly ridiculous stories of how they’d come to the battlefield.  Soon after, she gives up trying, for as much as she’d wished for a chess partner, she can find another among the Assassins, and she doesn’t want to continue to hurt her brother as her Father had.  Jacob is equally parts guilty and secretly relieved.
          It’s unfortunate that between him and Father they have managed to utterly ruin his reputation.  He always gets a pinched look in his eyes whenever he’s referred to as simply Evie’s brother, the other Frye twin, the bad influence, and she knows he longs equally to regain the closeness of childhood and to establish himself a separate identity from her.  It’s part of why he acts out, she knows.  It’s easy to tell when that’s occurring, because there’s no sign of frustration or panic, so she knows to step in if he’s being too problematic at such times (or at least express her disapproval, which has less effect as time goes on and he realizes she’s not going to walk away forever if he aggravates her too badly).
          It’s difficult for him to read if he’s uninterested, but he can force himself, at least for short stretches of time.  She asks him to read from the books he’s least likely to enjoy for at least one hour a day, though this might be broken up however he likes.  He does usually manage it, to his credit, though if it’s a particularly difficult day he makes her read it out loud to him.  She’s a little reluctant, since he usually picks up at least a little if he attempts to do so himself, but he doesn’t abuse the request, so she allows it.  On some days she wonders if, on occasion, he just needs to hear her voice, to have her in the room. 
          He loves arithmetic, but then, he immediately sees the practical nature of it, such as counting his coinpurse, and he also usually only needs to read the material once to understand it.  He always does love the more practical side of things, and when he can immediately put to use what he’s learned, all the better.  Writing is an exception—he can do it, sulking all the while, but other than Assassin’s reports (which he equally hates), he doesn’t see the use.  History is spotty.  If he’s interested, he’ll instantly memorize facts.  If not, he will never remember it even occurred.  Assassin history, particularly that involving the Pieces of Eden, leaves him bored or defensive—and while it is likely due to the actions of Father, this could get him killed.  They have their most arguments about that.  His attention span when it comes to literature is similar, though it is less likely to get him killed and therefore more easily tolerated.
          She had thought he would never absorb the lessons about manners, since he never appears to be paying attention, but on one occasion where a noble Assassin visits and they’re meant to at least act properly, Jacob is the very picture of a true gentleman, which leaves her utterly speechless for most of the day until she spots him hesitating and watching keenly when it comes to dinner.  No one else would have noticed, but he would wait until others had chosen, for example, the correct fork before doing so himself.  If he’s not employing the lessons on manners in such a fashion, he tends to forget they exist, and it’s impossible to tell how much of the work is being done by observation rather than memory, but it’s clear that it’s not that he doesn’t value it.  (She would have wondered about that, too, if not for how smugly he preened at the compliment on his manners, and realizes that he delights at the thought of a tattooed gentleman Assassin.)  He does take to dancing much easier, but then, it’s a physical skill, and he’s usually good with those.
          She’d never seen a penny dreadful, besides on the streets, until Jacob, glowing with pride and satisfaction, brings a handful home and proceeds to read them all out loud, disrupting her plans for the day.  His voice is well-suited, and at least it’s something he utterly enjoys reading, so she allows it.  His favorites are those with pirates and detectives, and he gleefully tries to guess how the criminal will be caught, or the perpetrator, before the tale finishes.
          He’d shown no interest in music before, when Father was alive, but now he grins widely at her presenting him with a new violin, unsure how he will react, given that he’d smashed the last on the ground.  For the next few weeks, he disappears at night, telling her he’ll be out, and once, when practicing her stealth at night, she hears strings from atop one of the factory roofs, and smiles to herself.  Already, he doesn’t sound like he’s torturing a cat—not that he would.  
          He shyly requests they play a duet, one day, and she smiles and moves to the piano.  It transpires that he is utterly incapable of reading sheet music, which she’d begun to be frustrated by (because Jacob can still be utterly frustrating, particularly when he’s also frustrated).  She’s taken aback when he whistles the exact tune she’d just played on the piano.  From then on, she first plays his part, then her own, with him accompanying her, and he seems settled and happy in a way that usually only occurs following a fight, and unlike most of the rest of his education, it’s something she enjoys thoroughly herself.  It’s worthwhile, learning her brother anew and how to properly motivate him and get him to work, but it’s exhausting, annoying, and sometimes thankless as well.
          He’s certainly a difficult student, and hadn’t been entirely blameless when it came to his fights with Father, but when she’d learned a few tricks (like bribery, like patience, like how his mind reacted to their sparring, like it wasn’t always willful, like it hurt him just as much when he couldn’t get his mind to behave as desired) he’s certainly not unmanageable.
          At least he does appreciate it, even if sometimes that only shows in his eyes because he doesn’t know how to properly say it, and on occasion he brings her gifts, usually stolen and often entirely ridiculous, but he means well.  Like a cat, she muses idly, bringing its owners birds, it’s more a problem of understanding than intention.