Chapter Text
Between Eli’s constant rescue missions and Tammy’s insistence that Rook prove she’s not a traitor, she’s been busy. It’s almost impossible to find a moment to herself, it’d be selfish to take a break, she doesn’t have the luxury to lie back and rest. Each moment she’s not out there fighting, another person dies.
So really she shouldn’t be doing this. If anyone found out, if Tammy found out, the militia would throw her out on her ass and disown her. Or kill her for knowing too much. Either way this is a bad idea. She might be able to explain it away, because right now the arts and crafts project tucked in her lap doesn’t resemble much.
Three weeks in however, working when she should be sleeping, it’s suspicious.
She stands and fans the knitted yarn out to lie flat on the floor. It’s probably the biggest one she’s done yet. A full, proper blanket. She runs an appraising eye over her work, hands on her hips.
Her lips twist, picking out imperfections. She sighs and grabs the bridge of her nose. She knows what the problem is—she’s been looking at it for too long. She’s finding faults where there are none, only because she wants this to be nothing less than perfect.
He deserves it.
Lots of people might not agree with her. They’d tell her he deserves death. Others say he should suffer, pay for all the atrocities he’s committed, have those same horrid things done to him tenfold.
She thinks he needs a little love. Some kindness where it isn’t obliged by blood. He has his brothers and sister, she’s seen first hand behind the bars of a cage how much Joseph loves Jacob. And though she’s never seen John and Jacob in the same room outside of that fateful day in the church, she knows they have an unbreakable bond. But she also knows too well how easy it is for doubts to fester. For someone to wonder if a relative's love is a necessity. If they feel like they have to show how much they love you.
He needs this. It won’t soften him, she doesn’t think it’ll be that easy to break down Jacob’s walls. But it’s a start.
So she gazes at the knitted blanket she’s spent nearly a month on and decides that it’s as good as it’ll ever be. She just needs to find a way to get it to him.
Which is easier said than done. Really she’s not too sure why she thought it’d be simple. But it’s when she’s tracking Jacob’s calculated routine that she realizes this might get her killed.
It’s only when, by chance, with her watching him later than she should’ve, that she finds her chance. The sun’s down and Eli is expecting her for a debriefing on tomorrow’s plans, but she’s been spying on Jacob for days now and the longer she waits the more nervous she gets. Eventually she’ll create enough reasons in her mind to not give it to him.
He drives off away from the veteran center—a place she scratched off her list as to where to leave his gift because the place has speakers all over and she isn’t looking to go through his trials sooner than she has to, and he heads South.
Rook has never given it much thought as to where Jacob sleeps. In fact she assumed he didn’t sleep much at all. Too concerned about keeping an eye on her and the Whitetails. So when he pulls up to a dark cabin, she thinks it’s a lucky find on his part. Someplace quiet that belonged to a most likely dead citizen.
Then he pulls out a key from his pocket and she gets a small peek into the cabin and her mouth goes dry. It’s his own little home.
It’s perfect.
She waits as long as she can, hoping for him to be asleep before she goes in. She lasts two hours before she breaks and says screw it.
His windows are all locked and so is his door, not quite a surprise but it still makes the bitter taste of defeat form on her tongue.
She ends up wiggling a Bobby pin in his lock and sliding the door open. She slips inside soundlessly and gives her eyes a moment to adjust.
As she pads across the wooden floor, careful for any creaky boards, she slips the blanket out from her bag and into her hands.
Even in the darkness of the room the blanket seems impossibly bright. The red color she picked was a good choice, it’s the closest hue she could kind that matches the hilt of his knife. She wants it to be personal, for him to treasure it, so she prays that red really is his favorite color and not just some intimidation, psychological bullshit on what colors do to the brain.
And if he hates the color, the small embellishments she added should help.
Rook stops in the middle of the room and decides to leave the blanket on the kitchen table. Unless he does something crazy like leave through his bedroom window, he won’t be able to miss this.
She folds it neatly, making sure that his initials, the large J.S. that took forever to knit, are showing on top.
Her hands smooth it down one last time before she dashes out the door, scared to test her luck anymore than she had.
*****
Jacob’s been staring at it for a while now, hand resting on his knife like he expects something more than a fleece blanket. Or maybe it’s knitted. He’s not sure, what the fuck does he know about this kind of stuff?
He considers calling John, have him do a search of the perimeter. Then he realizes how goddamn stupid he’s being and steps forward.
It's soft to the touch, clean too, both things strange for Hope County. Things that only serve to make him more suspicious. But when he lifts the blanket and shakes it out, he huffs slightly, lips quirking.
It’s just a blanket.
And...it’s meant for him.
He tosses it back down on the kitchen table where it was left, only this time he leaves it unfurled. The deep red is almost identical to his knife—his rifle. That could be thrown away as a coincidence, but the initials were not. Nor were the tiny, scattered wolf heads. All tipping their heads up as if howling. If he were standing any further back he would’ve missed this tiny detail.
“Now who sent you?” He murmurs to himself, lifting the blanket up, cradling it close before he tosses it over his shoulder. That’s when he breathes in and really smells the thing.
*****
“Deputy Rook. You there?”
She freezes where she’s kneeling down, busy cupping water into her mouth. Jacob doesn’t have to say anything more than a simple greeting for her to tense. There’s only one reason why he’d call her. And right now she’s exposed and vulnerable. Jacob could come for her and she wouldn’t be able to do a thing.
“Jacob. It’s been a while since you last called me.”
“It has.” He sounds distant, not angry or threatening like she’s so used to.
She breathes deep, wiping water droplets off her chin. “And that’s usually when I piss you off.” She winces, quick to continue, “I’ve been good, not sure what I did this time, if I’m being honest.”
He laughs, a sound that makes her brows furrow. “Not calling to reprimand you, take a breath.”
“So...didja just want to chat?”
“No. No, I wanted to thank you for your gift. Never took you much for the artsy type, yet I’ve got a nice looking blanket in my lap.”
She doesn’t miss a beat, “what are you talking about?”
“This blanket that just showed up inside my cabin. You gave it to me, spent time to make it yourself. Makes me wonder…”
She stands on shaky legs and fights to keep her voice straight. “What gives you the idea that I’d risk my life like that? For you of all people? Anyone could’ve done something like that.”
“I’d be more likely to accept that answer if it didn’t smell like you.”
She’s speechless. She never thought she’d have nothing to say when confronted with one of the Seeds. Her heart stutters in her chest and Jacob laughs. It’s hearty and warm, something she had wanted to hear for a long while now. That had been the point of this, hadn’t it?
So why does his deep laugh make her feel so sick? Like she just signed herself away?