Paris, July 1799 - Approximation

----------------------------------------- Paris, Île de la Cité, July 1799 -------

In the end, Adeláire had retired to the round Gallery in the Café above the training room, and was still pondering with anger in her stomach. Weapons and cloak lay behind her on the table. She had turned the chair in the room to the window with her feet supported on its ledge. The rocking and balancing seemed almost like a reflection of her thoughts. She rolled back and forth, trying to fathom the deeper cause of her rage.

Arno had done nothing wrong. So far, she had already prospered. Nevertheless, this aspect kept popping up as soon as she rethought breakfast. And over and over again, Arno's figure was superimposed in that fresh memory with the old one, which still hurt her sore heart. She felt tears once again shoot into her eyes and surly blinked them away. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around her wrist and clenched her hands in fists. She felt the ring, which she always wore under her glove on her left forefinger. Gerard, beloved brother. Why?

Before this chapter could be reopened too intensively, voices rose up from the exercise room. With a strained swallow, Adeláire wiped over her eyes once more, and stopped with her chair rocking. Silently like a gust of wind, she sneaked toward the voices and crouched into the Dark out of reach of Light and Sight.

"Believe me, a little training will do you good. Not only to wake up your rusted muscles, but also to avoid stupidities." Verne's voice; whose words were answered only by a derogatory snort and buzz. Adeláire could only suspect that it was probably Dorian.

"I'm not the one who stomped out of the café, pissed, and now the devil knows doing whatever hell else." Yes, clearly Arno. And an angry one at that.

"Now come back down on earth again, my friend. Adeláire is an adult and she was right to inform you that she knows very well what she is doing. And above all, what she can or not." A brief silence between the two while Adeláire could make out sounds that they were getting rid of their weapons and coats. 

Finally, it was Verne's voice again, which urged up to her:  "But just out of curiosity, what exactly do you know about Adeláire? In particular, what did she tell you about her family?"

Adeláire held her breath briefly. Verne wouldn’t dare to tell Arno all that he knew about her? And if this were the case, this would be equivalent to a breach of trust on an almost epic scale. Adeláire sensed how fierce emotions arose in her and she had to force herself not to rush down into the exercise room and to question Verne. She waited, silent and flatly breathing.

"Mhm, honestly not really much. I didn’t want to delve any further than what she told me about her parents' death. It didn’t appeared to me as if it were a particularly pleasant subject for her. How so, considering the manner in which her parents were killed." The characteristic noise of a rapier, which cut through the air, filled the following silence.

"This is not really much, considering what actually happened." Steel touched Steel and shortly thereafter followed a first strike exchange.

"And what exactly does that mean in detail?" Arno's voice sounded calm, concentrated. As if he were going to follow the fight more than the conversation.

"Did she ever tell you about her brother?"

"She has... what...? No..." Arno’s surprised answer was cut short with a dull sound. 

Verne had apparently broken Arno's cover and inflicted his opponent a noticeable jostle.  "Fighting and talking at the same time does not seem to be just one of your strengths, my friend." 

Arno's reply came a little grumbling at this teasing.  "If you take me out of step with such revelations."

"If life were fair, we would fight fairly. But the world is not fair. This is France."

 A short silence set on these words before Arno's characteristic, sarcastic sharpness returned to his voice.  "What kind of man plagiarizes the words of another to explain himself? I'm used to better things from you, mon ami." Whereupon for a while a violent strike exchange followed, again and again interspersed with audible Riposte, jostling, dodging. Just sounds that a training fight brought with him. It was only in a battle pause that Arno once again took the conversation up.

"So, a brother. What about him?"

Adeláire pushed forward cautiously. Ready to intervene at the right moment, if Verne should now make a wrong decision.

"Well, what happened exactly, she should rather tell you herself, if she wanted to. This topic is more of a concern to her than to deal with such feelings as affection or even… Love... "

Adeláire bit her lower lip and slid flat on the ground to catch a glimpse of the room beneath her. The two had stopped their exercise for the moment and stood at one of the tables with a wine glass in each hand. It was Verne, who spoke further.  "But as far as the latter issues are concerned, you are virtually on a par with each other."

As a result, Arno shortly turned away from him to replenish his glass. He left this statement uncommented.

"What I can tell you about her brother is just the following. He was older than Adeláire. And he also joined the Assassins after the death of their parents. As far as I remember, he was quite talented. And he had the habit of developing an excessive protector instinct, which was usually rather unpleasant for Adeláire." 

Arno looked up at Verne, and both of them sipped her wine before Verne set his own aside and slowly returned to the center of the practice room.

"They didn’t have a really simple relationship. But they were each other everything that remained of their family. Perhaps it also tells you a bit, why Adeláire reacts so violently onto >being protected<." Verne swung his rapier and went into position. "She could not really distinguish this need from >being patronized<." 

Arno followed him and reflected the posture of his friend. Still it was Verne, who once again took the floor.

"She was forced from the outside to grow up pretty fast. Master Trenet was less her mother, more her mentor. I assume that Adeláire took her as a role model, the embodiment of the strong, free, independent woman." The two Assassins sank, almost aside from their conversation, into a steady dance of battle.

"I can imagine how difficult it is for a young girl in these times to find her way, as an Assassin, as well as a woman. Strong, goal-oriented and also in a way ruthless on the one hand. And on the other hand probably the more feminine needs that make her weak from the Assassin's point of view." Verne interrupted his almost thoughtful speech for an evasive role in order to address Dorian with a smash attack.

"You know, sometimes I think, that we fellows have it easier, belonging to the Assassins. Our contradictions are not quite as strong." 

This earned him a short snort from Arno.  "Is that really one of your convictions? I can’t say, that I ever felt it was really easy to belong to the Brotherhood." A brief silence. "Or just not anymore." Steel rattled before Arno continued. "To truly understand the credo and live after it, I feel as it’s a challenge for everyone. Whether you're a man or a woman." An elbow, that didn’t reach its target, before the two opponents drifted apart." We’re making so many sacrifices every day. We lose brothers, sisters, beloved. And for what? For an often imaginative-looking fight against an opponent's side, which has to deal with the same problems, as we ourselves." The two of them stood facing each other and breathed heavily. "Believe me, my friend; this entire insanity is not easy for any of us."

Verne stepped again back to the table with the refreshments and took a towel on the path to wipe the sweat off his face. "Do you see now, what two characters are clashing here?" 

Arno followed his friend slowly and did the same. Silence followed the question so that Verne turned to Dorian and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You're both stubborn donkeys with each your very own agenda about experiences and foretime." He also put his second hand on Arnos other shoulder to fix him more intensely. "And believe me, I'm still not sure that you two are mutually good for each other. But at the moment we have really more important issues to consider. So clarify your dispute so that we can find a solution to our mission problem."

Adeláire felt everything in her endeavored to get away from this conversation. Deep within her it tore wounds, which she had sworn to never touch again. Her gaze blurred, and the figures beneath her became blurred lines. With a hard swallow, she got up and struggled back into the roof garden to get her things together. The noise that she caused, she didn’t register at all. No more than the exchanged words of the two men.

"What do you think, how long was she up there?" came thoughtfully from Arno.

"Probably the whole time since we entered the room." A silence began to fall between the two men before Verne interrupted Arno's approach.

"Leave her first. Give her a little time." They exchanged glances before Verne smiled softly. "And then you should go after her and talk with her. I think it's time for you both to clarify a few fundamental objects."

-------------------------------------

Adeláire's small apartment was sparingly but lovingly furnished. She didn’t need much, and often many days passed in which she was not even here. And since the last time was already some time ago, she first tore open all the windows and let fresh air into the lucid space. Sighing, she peeled out of her weapons and cloak and stowed both before she went into the search for something, with which she could become the master of the dust.

Strangely, the simple activity of apartment cleaning possesses almost something meditative. It calmed her confused thoughts and directed them to straighter, simpler paths. It gradually brought her to the point of thinking that she would have to get rid of her Past, if she didn’t want it to determine her future.

Gerard was dead. Nothing could change that. And it didn’t mean that any other man in her life, who had similar character traits, wanted to control her as much as her brother had always done. She had always been aware and sure that it was out of fraternal love and care. But what that had equally led to resulted in an eternal struggle with each other. He, who felt responsible for her and her survival. She who didn’t feel took serious and perceived.

The pain, as she thought of the hours before his death, still tore her heart as it had done at the time. The last words he had ever heard from her had been full of poison and anger. Nothing could’ve left him in the belief that she felt anything but rejection for him that day. And there were no last words on his part. According to his Assassinbrothers, who had accompanied and brought him back, he was instantly dead.

Adeláire caught herself crouching in the middle of the room and her hands rested powerlessly in her lap. Still and silent, she stared at the wall before she tore herself over and drove the back of her hand over her forehead. The more surprised she was about her working reflexes, when someone knocked on wood and her answer persisted in spreading the bow of the phantom blade.

The figure was more of a dark shadow against the sinking sun. But she could clearly make out the surrendering spread out arms.

"I should’ve officially used the door..."

Adeláire blinked the tears of her memories aside and it almost elicited her a gentle smile. Arno's voice sounded cautiously and deliberately gentle chosen. She let the Phantomblade snap together again and rattled to her feet.

"To surprise me has never been a particularly clever idea." She turned her back on him and tapped dust from the clothes.

"Hm, that sounds familiar to me." His voice still sounded reluctant, waiting. Once again Adeláire smiled.

"I can vividly imagine that."

The silence that arose between them has almost something unpleasant. Adeláire crossed the small room to the table, which she used for eating as well as for all other occasions. Mutely, she searched for two cups, and finally browsed through her supplies for the apple cider, which still had to be somewhere. Still silent, she turned to the door, which led out to the balcony, and studied the still waiting figure.

Arno wore the blue assassin coat, which she knew from before. Somehow it was good at this moment to see him like that. There was something old, familiar about him. But also something lost. His features were in the shadow, but his chin line showed his tension. Still silent, she pointed to the free chair facing her.

He seemed to give himself a jerk, leaving the room behind with a few steps. As he sat down on the chair, he pushed his hood back, then nearly carefully lay down the arms on the table. Adeláire smiled gently and turned to the fireplace in the room. Even though it was a lukewarm June night, it also was the only source of light that was available to her. She held her gaze on her activity when she finally took the floor.  "So, I suppose Verne has advised you to talk to me, am I right?" 

Arno seemed to shift his weight on the chair before he replied.  "Right, he did." 

Adeláire leaned over the piled-up wood to strike the glimmer of the beginning fire. "Good. I listen." She secretly wondered about the tranquility in her voice. As the silence stretched and the fire gained strength, she straightened and turned her gaze to Arno. He had leaned forward on the chair, and his arms were resting on his knees. He observed her in a way she had not yet noticed from him. His voice sounded cautiously chosen, when he finally started.

"I don’t know whether it is wise, what I am going to do now. But at least it is honest. And no less than what you deserve." He seemed to think before he continued. "Anyone else would probably apologize to you, and try to convince you, that he didn’t mean to patronize you, and that it all was not meant like it sounded." He raised his hand repentantly when Adeláire wanted to respond. "No, be so kind and let me finish."

She remained crouching in front of the fire, put her hands in her lap and closed her mouth. Waiting, and a bit curious, she looked at this man who was trying to find the right words. His dark eyes searched for her green as he continued to speak: "I admit, I wish I could patronize you. Tell you what you should do and what not. And I wish you would share my opinion and granted, that the possibly impending danger is too much for you alone. And yes, I admit, that I let myself be guided too much by my… failure… with Élise in such moments. And if I feel sorry about anything regarding our dispute today, then it’s this." He hesitated briefly. "And that I'm so often not able to separate you in thought from her." His gaze glided over her face. "You both are so incredibly similar in so many ways."

Adeláire swallowed and turned her gaze into the fire. His words had touched her heart and left her now in a sort of hovering state, in which she was not able to say whether she forgave him or not. Softly, almost gently, his voice continued to reach her ear.

"And there are a lot of things in which you both are infinitely dissimilar." A persistent silence was spreading, until she was ready to look him in the eye again. Apart from the peace, she felt his brokenness. His desire to follow her strength and to let her be free. And the profound need to protect her from all possible harm.

"Adeláire… I know you can do that all. You are a strong, wonderful woman who can take care of herself." He let Silence briefly let the words work. "But there are too many graves of brothers and sisters out there who were as well trained as you are. For every death there is a reason, circumstances why it happened. And perhaps it is evidence of pure egoism that I don’t want to be responsible for one of them again. And that, just because I haven’t taken enough care for someone else's life. Can you understand this?"

Adeláire turned her gaze from him back into the fire. It was blazing now and let her curls shimmer red. She tried to win time to clarify her confused thoughts and feelings. In principle, he just reflected what she had been thinking herself all day. She had contributed her share to this dispute, just as he did. How had Verne called it so beautifully? Their two agendas, which they brought into the togetherness. And neither his or hers was necessarily easy to describe. A soft smile finally moved around her mouth.  "That was a rather long and flowery apology… Monsieur Dorian..." She turned her gaze away from the fire and back at him, holding up her smile. She hesitated for her next thought, weighing him off, inspecting her opposite. 

The flicker of the fire softened his features as she asked, "Did you allow me a question?"

He smiled gently.  "Of course. If not now, then when?" 

She replied his smile before it left her features and feeling the seriousness of her question in her next words.  "Arno... what actually happened back then? With Élise? With you? We talked about so many things when you recovered in the hospital. But I'm still groping in the dark which has struck you such wounds. I would just like to avoid further clashes of this kind in the future and with regard to our mission. And I believe if I could understand..."

She fell silent as he turned away from her and sat back folding his arms in front of his chest. His inner struggle was only too clearly visible. And it was a while before he spoke quietly.  "I loved Élise since I could think. Since she had entered my life with her fiery nature. At that time, in Versailles. On the day my father was murdered, and hers took me into his family. The years of growing up with her were never easy. She had an unspeakable talent of getting us in trouble. Well, I admit, mostly out of them again. But she was never like the other girls I was so familiar with at the time. "

A soft smile played around the angles of his mouth as his eyes wandered into the fire. It seemed to have been good years, in spite of everything. Adeláire made it quietly in a tailoring seat, and waited until he went on.

"From the time of her education we did not see each other often. All the more I wanted to be with her when she was in Versailles. At that time I did not know that it was the event of her initiation in the Templar Order. I only had her in mind and I wanted to hold her in my arms. And I left my promise, to bring a letter to her father, thoughtlessly go." He paused briefly in his story, and the flames of the fire played with the shadows in his features.

"My carelessness cost Monsieur de la Serre life. And Élise made me an accomplice when I finally got it out of the Bastille."

"And that was the moment you joined the Brotherhood," Adeláire chose her tone deliberately gently and calmly. Arno nodded silently, his eyes fixed on the flames.

"I had met Bellec in the Bastille. At that time I did not know that he had already trained my father. And it did not interest me either. All I pursued was my path of redemption." His smile grew bitter.  "To this day I can’t even say with certainty whether it was not really revenge that drove me. How blindly I drifted through the tracks, which I gradually discovered. Buried me deeper and deeper in the dirt I was stirring up. Until my ways led me back to Élise." Arno was silent and turned his eyes away from the flames to her. All sorrow and pain in his features seemed to tear her heart, before he lowered his eyes and continued to speak.

"At the beginning, I did not realize how much Élise was devastated by hatred and retribution. For me she was as usual: fiery, full of temperament and driven by the search for truth. So I thought at least. We followed some traces together until we finally found and caught Germain." Arno swallowed hard and loosened the entanglement of the arms to grab the mug of cider. Only after a deep train did he continue.

"I let him escape. Fear for Élise's life and thought of wanting to protect her.  She thanked me with anger and rejection. Just like the Council of the Brotherhood. In their eyes I had repeatedly ignored the credo and had only joined the Brotherhood because of wish for revenge." He paused briefly again. "From today's point of view, I'm not even sure if they were even right with it. With her assessment and with the ensuing exile from the Brotherhood." He paused again. And Adeláire felt that this silence would last longer. She gave him the time. Until he finally leaned forward and put his arms on his knees. His head inclined, his gaze fixed on the ground, his voice nearly descended into a whisper.

"Of course, it was Élise, who got me out of Versailles from my boozing, and once more adjusted my head. She reminded me that we still had not dealt with her father's murderer and we had a duty to do. How could I have guessed it would end that way?" Erratic he ran a gloved hand over his face, before continuing. His voice sounded as if he had dig deep down for strength.

"We found Germain in the Temple of his Order. What we had not known until then was the fact that he was in possession of a... Artifact. A magic sword with special... and destructive... abilities." Arno turned his eyes back into the flames and his hands clenched into each other.

"One of these destructive explosions had buried me under debris. Élise was faced with the choice to free me and let Germain escape... or... to face him... alone." Again silence. Adeláire suspected what was missing in the narrative. She hardly dared a breath, nor to touch him. His whole attitude seemed like a strained bowstring.

"She ran after him. And was struck down by a last explosion of this magical sword. She was instantly dead." His voice broke and he hid his eyes behind one hand. It bounded Adeláire's throat, and she fervently regretted to have brought him to tell her all this. She could not find words that seemed to her to be nearly appropriate.

Arno finally lowered his hand from his eyes. They were red, but dry. Presumably he had already shed all the tears that had been available to him a long time ago. He let his head hang over and intertwined his fingers again. Apparently he knew nothing more to say.

Adeláire followed an inner impulse. She loosened her cross-legged sit and pushed herself cautiously to her knees. Delicate as a breath of wind in a summer breeze, she raised her hand to his temple. Like grazing flower petals caressing fingertips went over cheek, chin, to a wild throbbing carotid. Smoothly she rose a little in her squat and leaned towards him. She was not looking for a kiss. And she felt that he knew it. With a profound calm, her eyes met before she closed hers and touched his forehead with hers.

She could feel his right hand finding her neck and his breath, almost relieved, left his chest. She rose and snuggled herself in an innocent gesture, merely giving away proximity, between his knees. As they closed their arms around each other, they found shared rest on the shoulder of each other.

For a long time, they remained in this silent gesture before Adeláire felt his arms loosen a little. She picked up the impulse and let herself slowly sink back into a squat again. Her eyes held quietly until he finally smiled softly.  "I hope you're not angry at me when I now express the desire that I never want to talk about this time again." 

Adeláire replied his smile and felt the trace embarrassment.  "No, I'm not at all angry with you. On the contrary, I can understand it very well. I'm sorry to have inflicted these painful memories again. And yet I also thank you for allowing me to participate. I understand a lot better now. "

They exchanged a smile again before Adeláire rose smoothly from the ground and let herself slip into the chair. Again, she filled her cups with the cider and watched him straighten up on his chair. She gave her dry throat a little bit of her drink before she spoke.

"Back to the reason you came here for. I have quite contributed my part to the situation, and as it escalated. And certainly with backgrounds, which are simply not known to you." She smiled gently. "You stumbled into a metaphorical hidden blade. And you even survived it." 

Arno replied again her soft smile, leaned back in his chair and seemed to relax a little.  "Then I can be very lucky." 

Adeláire smiled again and stole some time thinking, sipping at her Cider. She finally set the mug off and began to twist it between her fingertips.  "You're right. It was not even the regulations you wanted to make to me that hurt me." She didn’t dare to look into his eyes at the moment. It would have confused her words and these were too important for her. "It was the moment you put me in the same corner with Élise." She continued to rotate the mug and watched the liquid in him. "I don’t want, will not and can’t replace her. And I know that a great part of your heart will be lost forever. But at least I would like to get the chance, to be perceived as myself." She breathed deeply, but still didn’t turn her gaze to her counterpart.

"And I think I was not quite fair to you. For how can I ask to be perceived for myself, if I reveal you so little of this self?" She took her hands away from him, as his rights reached for them. "Not… otherwise I don’t get the point here..." She wrapped her arms around her waist while Arno sat back and continued to keep silent.

"I listened to your conversation with Verne in the exercise room. I know one does not listen. But… well..." She rubbed embarrassed over her right upper arm. "I didn’t tell you all the details about the death of my parents and… the death… of my brother." A de novo breath, this time she felt the deep trembling. "My parents were not simply killed by Templars. They took us captive. All four of us. And they tortured my father to elicit information from my Mother about the Brotherhood. This went on until my father fell victim to the torture. And when my mother fell into an iron silence, they wanted to proceed with my brother. That eventually led her to tell them everything they wanted to know. To protect us. Because she loved us." Adeláire forced her right leg, which had begun to jiggle nervously at the story, to rest again. "She died in the name of this love with the lied promise that nothing would happen to us." She reached for the cider and emptied it in one draft before she forced herself to continue.

"My brother and I were saved and trained by the Assassins. Three and a half years separated us from each other. And from the moment Gerard got his blade, he arose as if we were not siblings, but spouses. It led so far that we couldn’t meet for a second without getting into conflict. And he was absolutely against my Assassin-Training. He didn’t want me to put myself in the same dangers as Mother. He was convinced that women are generally too weak for the life of an Assassin. And me, quite specifically." She swallowed hard and blinked away the tears. She was more than grateful that Arno was so quiet.

"On the day of his death, we had such an argument that we threw the ugliest words at each other. The last thing he heard from me was that I wanted him to die." Almost furiously, she wiped the tear from her cheekbones. "I had hated his way of protecting and being patronizing. And he knew that. But I could never have hated him. How could I? He was my brother ... " After a long moment of common silence, she breathed deeply and deliberately released the protective posture of her arms to put them on the table. With a soft smile, she finally raised her eyes to Arno.

"You and him, you two are damn similar in many things. And in at least as many again not." She smiled mischievously. "You see, you are not the only one who is reminded of his past by a counterpart."

Arno was still silent on her speech, as though waiting to see if she had really come to an end. Almost a little unsure, Adeláire rubbed a strand of hair behind her ear and lowered her eyes again into the cider. She didn’t know what to say. And much less was her feeling clear and pure. The words had helped a bit. But she sensed that the confusion was still there. This did not improve when Dorian finally started again to pick up one of her hands and gently hold her like a wounded bird.

"I think we still have a lot to learn about each other,” he said softly. “And we chose the worst possible moment for it." Adeláire raised her eyes and met his, which were somewhat mischievous, as he continued to speak: “The others and I, we were already a good team back then. We know each other well enough to be able to interpret the statements and impulses of the other. You and I, however, must still be working on this status. And we do not have much time for that." Gently his hand pressed hers, so she replied this gesture.

"Maybe we should start by holding, that you do not want to patronize me and I...", she really had to think. And she met his young charming grin.

"... and that you don’t want to impale me with metaphorically hidden blades." This actually made her laugh softly and drove away the dark mind clouds, which had been hanging over her all day long. She let her fingertips glide over the leather of his glove and smiled gently at herself.  "Even if we both are two stubborn pigheads, I feel it as pleasant that we still find a basis for talking. Then maybe not everything is hopeless." 

His hand squeezed her until she turned to him again. The brown of his eyes radiated warmth, as did his smile.  "I can’t promise you much. But that you always can talk to me, you can count on it." He grinned briefly and playfully. "But in what way this will turn out, I can give less a guarantee." 

Adeláire smirked. If nothing else, she had to give him at least this; honest he was.

Again warmth returned to Arnos smile.  "What do you think about it when we return to the cafe and organize something decent to eat? At least I'm slowly starving."

Adeláire nodded mutely.  "Let me see briefly what is suitable for Joséphine's household. Then I just have to pick it up when it's time to go." 

Arno nodded silently, letting her hand go almost a little reluctant, and took his mug of cider instead.  "If it's not enough, we'll probably have to go shopping."  A short grin flashed before he let it disappear behind the mug with a deep cider sip. 

Adeláire smiled down at him.  "Believe me, you want to do everything possible, but go shopping clothes with me." 

Surprised eyebrows were pulled up.  "Oh, oui?"

“Oui, tout à fait[1]! I am an absolute nag in buying clothes. Under no circumstances would anyone do this." Adeláire's voice chuckled at her own words as she turned to her wardrobe.

The few clothes that she possessed were quickly sorted through, and underwent the observation that there was really little of what would fit her story. Adeláire sighed softly. She hated shopping.

When finally everything was stowed away in a travel chest, she looked around again in her clear room and nodded to herself silently. So you could leave it here for a while. As she turned to the fire to extinguish it, Dorian glanced at her. She hesitated and stopped in the movement. He leaned his back against the wall and laid his right arm loosely on the chair back, his legs crossed over each other. His gaze rested with a gentle, thoughtful smile on her. Inquiring, she merely raised her eyebrows.

Silently, he reached out for her. When her hand found his, his grip was gentle but unambiguously with pulling in his direction. Almost like a shy deer, she followed his direction, until she realized where this should lead. She paused briefly before she softened and slid down to him. His free arm snuggled around her waist, and the guiding of his hand pushed into her neck to continue with leading the way. Her lips almost greedily met as if weeks had passed since the last time. As his exploration descended her neck and her blouse was pulled from her shoulder, she eased a low sigh.

"Not here. The walls are thin as paper and my housekeeper reacts extremely displeasing at male visitors." Her voice had already assumed this characteristic hoarseness. She sensed how intensely she reacted to him. How her breath deepened when his caresses found their way under the fabric.

"Then maybe we should be very... very... quiet,” he whispered very close to her ear. She retaliated by reflecting on his exploration. Almost with a certain kind of satisfaction she registered his reaction to it. Her whisper was scarcely louder than his.

"I do not think we'll get this put into practice." Provocatively, she let her hand slide down on him, down below his belt. With a smirking grin she registered his deeply drawn-in and then stopped breath. She answered the hunger in the passionately divided kiss without reservation.

It took another time for them to separate from each other and look breathing heavily in their eyes.

"We should go."

"Yes, absolutely, we should."

A faint laugh as they sorted themselves and Adeláire finally rose. She still felt the heat in her face as she straightened her blouse and looked around for her coat and arms. 

She smiled at Arno's deep determination with which he emptied his cider, before turning to the still open balcony door.  "I think the movement will do us good. Yes, most certainly."

Adeláire stood still smiling beside him and pulled her hood in the forehead.  "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

He did the same, and his hood overshadowed his facial expression, but not his flashing grin.  “You always know precisely what to say.” His grin became a little wider, while they stepped out onto the balcony and Adeláire locked the door.  "Race to the cafe?"

Adeláire returned the grin and set to the first jump from the balcony to the next rooftop first, before he could say any more words.

Arno was fast. Damned fast. Especially when you consider that he still had to struggle with his injury. Suddenly, Adeláire was no longer astonished at all the rumors and whispered obeisance in the sanctuary. As an Assassin, Arno was a deadly combination of different talents. Adeláire was able to retain her touch of lead only with the utmost effort.

And even this she lost, when she arrived at a rooftop, from which she saw no way at first, to get to the other side. She was all the more frightened when Arno hovered past her in full spurt. He thrust himself off the edge of the roof and spread his arms wide in a kind of leap-of-faith-Moment to keep his balance. His cloak fluttered wildly in the much too rapid descend, and calmed down only when Arno had found grip on the opposite house. Smoothly he pulled himself onto the holder, which was normally intended for decorative flowers, and turned to Adeláire in a crouching position. At his encouraging waving, she just shook her head silently. That would be impossible for her to do in her entire lifetime.

"Come on. Try it. I know you can do this." His voice sounded cheerful to her, and Adeláire felt the sweat erupt.

Was it pride, ego or madness, which slowly led her to step back a few steps to take a run-up, she did not know. She could only pray silently and hope she did not break her neck. With a last exhale, she went briefly to her knees and then to the sprint. She hit the roof, but she immediately realized that she had not taken enough strength and drive. She saw Arno's figure approaching and filling her field of vision before she focused on the hold she had to hit. Ice-cold fear made her lose her balance, and she could feel how only one hand find what she was looking for. And even this turned out almost immediately slipping.

With a will hard as steel, her free, wildly rowing wrist was seized and offered her additional support while her body crashed inelegantly and painfully against the house wall. For a moment, it pressed the air out of her lungs before it returned to her, painfully gasping. The suppressed pain curse by Arno she only registered half, very careful not to slip off.

Finally, her feet found grip and groaning she drew herself next to Arno onto the ledge, in order to continue climbing without a trace and only stopped on the safe roof. Like a fish on land, she sank on her back, stared into the night sky and tried to soothe her beating heart by breathing evenly. Arno huddled beside her in a crouch and held his wounded side breathing heavily. His corner of his mouth hovered around a relieved smile.  "That... we'd better practice it one or more times."

Adeláire snorted incredulously.  "You are crazy. That would have almost cost us our lives. And you want to continue practicing that?" She turned her gaze at him and studied his visible features. "How the hell are you doing things like that?"

"What?"

"Well, that! These neck breaking jumps over impossible abysses. And then with an acrobatic lightness as if you were bouncing in the garden puddle."

He pushed the hood back and rubbed embarrassedly over his neck.  "I don't know. It's like with the visions. I could do that somehow always without thinking much of them. As if it were... in my blood."

Adeláire stared and rattled to pick herself up to sit. Again she looked intensely at her opposite.  "Visions? What visions?"

Arno's gaze seemed puzzled before he frowned. "Mhm, I thought you knew that. You also possess that strange gift. And yet you do not know about visions?" He paused for another, patrolling moment, before continuing his searching investigation. "Are you sure you've never seen anything when you've eliminated an important target? Scenes from his life, conversations, important events?" 

Adeláire shook her head silently.  "I can feel if someone is friend or foe. Special things that others cannot see; traces. If I am extremely focused on information and conversations, which I should actually not be able to listen to. Like this. But visions? No, never."

Arno looked interested, almost curious. Thoughtfully, he finally pulled his hood back to his forehead and stood silent. Only when he handed her a hand to help her pick up did he speak again.  "Well, this secret we should perhaps save ourselves for another time. Let's see that we finally get something to eat."

Relieved, Adeláire took the offered help, not without approaching him and palpating his side.  "We should have a sister take look at this again." 

Arno's hand once again caught hers and a soft smile played around the corners of his mouth.  "I'm fine. Don’t worry." 

She returned his smile and tugged around bashfully on the cuffs of his coat.  "Blue is much better for you, by the way, than that gloomy leather." 

A short pain twitched his chin line before the smile returned.  "Well, the gloomy cloak, as you call him, is quite ruined. And this was all I had at hand." 

Adeláire smirked slightly and pulled him closer at his Jabot to her.  "I like blue." The kiss was as soft as a wing beat, before she nimbly loosened and resumed their racing. "Whoever is first at the café gets the dessert."

The grin and muttered >Bitch< she did not register anymore, but she could imagine it. How much she wished it could be always so free and untroubled. If she had guessed what was in store for them all, perhaps she would have made her steps in another direction.

---

[1] Franz. for „Yes, absolutly“

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