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The first pot of coffee catches fire. Really, Jacob isn't even sure how that's possible.
He douses it quickly, throws open the window, and lets the pot sit on the windowsill for a while until the smoke has mostly dispersed. By some miracle he manages not to wake Ned in the process. For as sharp-eyed and alert as Ned is the rest of the time, he's a remarkably heavy sleeper, slow to rise in the morning if he doesn't have anything in particular to do. Even when Jacob gets out of bed, he stays curled up, cocooned in the blankets with only the top of his hair visible.
Jacob attempts a second pot of coffee.
When he dumps out the resulting liquid — which smells vile and tastes worse — Ned rolls over and blinks blearily over at the stove. Jacob is rather glad that Ned's glasses are sitting on the bedside table, and that Ned probably can't tell what he's doing. Trying to do. "What stinks?" Ned mutters, rubbing his eyes.
"Er — a train just went by. You must be smelling the exhaust."
"Smells like a train went through here."
"I would think you'd like the smell, then."
Ned pinches the bridge of his nose with a sleepy chuckle. "What the hell are you doing up?"
"Nothing. Go back to sleep."
"Jacob..."
"I'll be done in a minute."
When Jacob glances over, Ned is looking suspicious, but too tired to do anything about it. Eventually he rolls over and buries his face in the pillow again, without further comment. Jacob starts making a third pot of coffee.
He thinks Ned is asleep, but a minute later hears him murmur, "S'cold over here."
"Need a bit of warming up?"
Ned's voice cracks on a yawn. "That was the idea."
Jacob studies the coffee pot for a moment, determining that it's probably safe to leave it alone while it heats up. Just perhaps not for as long as he left it last time. He slips back to the bed, where Ned is spooned around a pillow, and cozies in. Ned nestles into him when Jacob wraps an arm around his waist, tucking his head against Jacob's shoulder without opening his eyes. He's surprisingly pliant when he's tired. One of his hands lands on Jacob's chest, petting absently at the dark, curly hair scattered across it. Jacob's heart gives a funny little jump when he thinks about Ned trusting him.
Jacob trusts him too, of course. But it's easy for Jacob to trust people; he follows his instincts, has liked Ned from the moment he met him and caught sight of his funny grin. He doesn't get the impression that it's so simple for Ned.
But it's been months now. Months since he stopped making excuses for the way he is around Ned and learned to live with Henry's always-gentle curiosity and Evie's teasing. It's gotten comfortable, though still exciting. Imposing himself on Ned's apartment and sleeping in his bed has become usual for an evening, and the only thing Jacob feels he hasn't done is show Ned just how much he likes him.
Hence the coffee.
He bends over and drops a kiss on Ned's cheek, the stubble on his chin scraping Ned's face. Ned cracks an eye open with a smirk and reaches up to catch Jacob as he starts to lean back. "C'mere."
He wraps his fingers around the back of Jacob's neck and pulls him directly to his mouth, kissing him lazily. Jacob's heart flutters. He presses deeper into the kiss, their noses rubbing together as Ned's fingers climb into his unruly hair, mussing it up even more. Ned is mostly naked underneath the sheets wrapped all around him — he claims that the heat Jacob gives off in his sleep makes it impossible to wear anything. Jacob skates a hand along Ned's bare shoulder and down his arm, finding the curve of his waist beneath the sheets, skin so much softer than his callused hands. He tightens his grip, and Ned groans low in his throat, pushing his hips up against Jacob's stomach with obvious interest.
Jacob is about to slide his hand distinctly lower when he hears a splash and a hiss from the stove. The coffee.
"Damn!" He scrambles free of Ned's arms and out of bed, snatching the pot from the heat. He can salvage this.
And in fact his previous mistakes seem to have paid off. Once rescued from the stove, the coffee seems to have a normal consistency and color. It isn't obviously flammable and it doesn't taste like tar, either. All in all, a success. Jacob pours two cups with a flourish and carries them both back to bed.
Ned is sprawled on his back where Jacob left him, looking — a little annoyed. Jacob nudges him until he accepts the coffee. "Breakfast in bed."
Ned takes a sip and gags slightly. "What's this?"
"It's fresh coffee, and you're welcome."
"There's nothing fresh about this." Ned sniffs the steam rising off his cup and grimaces, handing it back to Jacob.
"Don't you want some?"
"Tastes like poison."
"Ned," Jacob says, pained.
Ned smirks remorselessly. "Next time you want to know how to make something on my stove, try asking."
"Yes, well, excuse me for trying to give you a nice surprise."
"It was surprising." Ned waves the steam rising from the cups away from his face and scrunches his nose. "Is that why it smells like a bonfire in here? How'd you manage that?"
"There was a small fire."
"A fire."
"A small fire. It's the thought that counts."
Ned snorts. "And what, may I ask, was the thought?"
"That I'd like to wake you up nicely."
"Christ, Frye, you don't have to coddle me just because I take a little longer than you to jump out of bed in the morning."
"A little longer? I started a fire in here and you didn't even bat an eye. And that's not the point. I just wanted to do something because —" Jacob fumbles for the right words. "Because I like waking up next to you."
Ned looks bemused. Jacob wants to give him a shove, except he's afraid he'll spill the coffee everywhere. Ned has an incredible way of being smart about everything, except for when Jacob is trying to be romantic, when he's the densest man Jacob has ever met.
Jacob transfers both coffees to the bedside table, because now he's not particularly interested in drinking them either — in part because the coffee does taste the slightest bit strange but mostly because his feelings are hurt.
"Is it supposed to be romantic?" Ned asks, with a sigh in his voice. He sounds as though romantic gestures are something he's only ever heard about in a fictional context. "Because I preferred the kissing —"
Jacob gets out of bed. "I'll drink it by myself, then," he says coldly.
"Hang on, Frye. Let me just put on my glasses so I can see if you're sulking or not."
"I'm not sulking!" Jacob whirls around so that Ned, who's sliding his glasses onto his face, can see Jacob glare at him. "I just didn't realize you had such high standards for gifts."
Ned sighs, which isn't even a satisfying response to Jacob's anger. "Look, Frye. I'm not some society dame you're trying to sweep off her feet, so you can give it a rest with the courtship. I don't need flowers, I don't need breakfast in bed, and I don't need you to keep bringing me presents. I'd settle for a warm bed in the morning."
"What's wrong with flowers?" Jacob bursts out. Ned had kept the somewhat battered bouquet Jacob brought him to brighten up his drab apartment on his desk for a week or so.
Ned hesitates, and Jacob isn't sure he's being entirely honest when he says, "It's favors, Frye. I don't like people doing me favors."
"I don't mean it to be a favor, I'm just doing it because I like you."
Ned looks away. "Yeah, well. Ease up a bit, will you?"
Jacob doesn't know how to reply. He feels sort of like he'd prefer it if Ned had shot him with the pistol he keeps on his desk.
He clambers out the window and is gone too quickly to know if Ned calls after him.
-
Jacob is still fuming when he gets back to the train, and splashes himself with hot water as he's making a cup of tea. He's too impatient while drinking it and keeps burning his tongue. And even that doesn't distract him from feeling wounded.
Evie leans in on his compartment. "I thought I heard you stomping around," she says. "Is something the matter, or were you just enjoying being loud?"
"I wanted to make sure you and Henry knew I was here," Jacob shoots back, with a little too much bite in his voice. "Since I never want to repeat the experience of walking in when the two of you were —"
"I said I was sorry about that!" Evie almost always looks angry when she blushes, and this time is no exception. "But it needn't have happened if you had only knocked. Let that be a lesson to you."
"Everything's a lesson to you."
"Yes, it is, that's how I avoid making the same mistakes over and over again." Usually this would be the point where Evie turns her back in a huff and leaves Jacob alone. When she hangs around, he knows she has something she wants to say. He doesn't make it any easier for her, sipping mutinously at his tea, which is still too hot.
Evie picks up a few of his trophies and puts them down, pacing almost the length of his compartment before she sighs and turns around. "Jacob," she says, "are you — planning on leaving?"
Jacob blinks slowly at her. "Leaving?"
"Leaving the train. Moving out. And finding somewhere to live, with... with Mr. Wynert."
It's Jacob's turn to blush, hot and confused. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Oh, don't play stupid." Evie stares at the wall, looking almost as embarrassed to be asking the question as he feels having to answer it. "I'm not blind. I've seen how you are with each other. I swear I've been a few moments shy of walking in on something I didn't want to see — more than once. Half the time you don't even sleep on the train anymore, and unless I'm very much mistaken, you're with him."
"What's it to you where I am?"
"It's nothing! I just wondered. I like to know where I can find you if I need to." Evie seems to struggle for a moment, and then she adds, "And I'd like to know a little of what you're doing. Who you're doing it with."
"Evie, that's disgusting —"
"Not that kind of doing!" Evie slams her hand down on the table, her face scarlet. "Would you just tell me what's going on between the two of you?"
Jacob smirks bitterly down at his tea. "If I figure that out, dear sister, you'll be the first to know."
Evie folds her arms and gives him a critical look. "You mean you don't know what kind of a relationship you have with him?"
"No, I don't."
She lets out a rushed sigh. "That's so like you."
Jacob's temper flares. "Well, pardon me, Miss Frye, but we can't all have relationships as perfect as yours."
"I'm not saying things are perfect between me and Henry, but at least we know that we're together and we have some kind of plan for the future —"
Jacob scoffs. "You want me to plan for the future of my relationship with Ned?"
"As if I'd expect you to plan for anything in your life."
"What's there to plan for?"
Evie's face pinches. "You mean besides where you're going to live and who with? And for how long? And what it means?"
It's not Evie's fault that thinking about his own feelings for Ned stings at the moment. It's not her fault, but Jacob snaps anyway. "Perhaps you forgot, but courting a man is a little different when you are a man."
"Jacob." Something in Evie's face softens, although she looks no less frustrated with him. "Is that what this is about? You might have told me. You realize the world isn't exactly lining up to congratulate me and Henry either, don't you?"
Jacob does realize, but he often forgets, and feeling self-centered only makes him angrier. "So you want to sit around and swap stories about how miserable all our lives are destined to be? Sounds like fun. I'll invite Ned over. I'll tell him to bring whiskey."
Evie makes a disgusted noise. "You're impossible. Wallow if you like. I won't stop you." And she sweeps out of his compartment.
Jacob swallows the rest of his tea. It burns his throat. Throwing his teacup out the window makes him feel better for a moment, until he thinks about some poor child stepping on a sharp shard of pottery and cutting their foot open.
He spends the next hour trudging around under the train tracks, gathering up bits of teacup.
-
He stays away from Ned's apartment for a few days, and when he does go back it's on business.
Sort of.
"There's a train," he says. "Rumor says it's smuggling a Templar artifact. Evie wants me to track it down. I thought you could help me."
"Sure," Ned says, raising his eyebrows and looking perfectly bland, as if they hadn't had a fight the last time they saw each other. "What do you need? Shipment information? A crane?"
"I was actually hoping you could accompany me for the robbery itself. It might be a bit tricky. I could use a master thief to help me out."
It's really more of a date. At least, Jacob wants it to be. If Ned isn't interested in typical romance — being brought breakfast when he wakes up, or going out in the morning to eat together after a wonderful night in bed — Jacob hopes he'll at least accept being taken out for a little heist.
Ned agrees, although he looks skeptical. "What's the plan?"
Ah, that's the rub. Jacob doesn't have a plan. "I wondered if you could help me with that."
Ned hesitates. "You want to plan it together?"
Jacob leans over on Ned's desk and bats his eyes a little. "Well, you've far more experience than I have."
Ned leans back and folds his arms across his chest. "Well," he says. "That's true."
"I'd appreciate it very much, Mr. Wynert."
"Fine, fine." He glances away and mutters, "And I'm sure I'll find out why you look so pleased with yourself."
Ned takes everything Jacob knows – the timing of the train, how many Blighters are supposed to be on board, how the Templars like to disguise their valuables — and formulates it into a strategy. It bores Jacob tremendously to listen to him calculating their odds of success and debating between different points of entry, just as it does when Evie is the one planning every detail. But he also likes to watch Ned when he's working, the way his focus tightens down to the situation at hand.
They'll work together well, he thinks. Between Jacob's brawn and Ned's brains, the Templars won't stand a chance.
And perhaps, by the end of the raid, Ned will have been persuaded to want to spend more time with him.
Jacob can only hope.
-
"Well," he croaks. "That could've gone worse." He's even mostly stopped bleeding.
They burst in through the door of Ned's apartment, Ned trying to steady Jacob as if he expects him to collapse at any moment. Jacob does feel a little off kilter, but that's probably only the adrenaline of the mission fading. And perhaps the blood loss. At least he feels better than Ned looks, because Ned looks positively anxious, pale as he rips the stolen artifact out of Jacob's arms and throws it onto his desk. "Sit down," he snaps. "Take off your coat."
Jacob does as he says and struggles out of his armor, while Ned locates his medical supplies and boils water to sterilize them. Ned has a great aversion to doctors, so his apartment is equipped like a surgery.
"It's not so bad," Jacob says, though he grimaces when he stretches to remove his shirt. The place where the knife pierced his shoulder is a dull ache that sharpens to a point when he moves, nasty enough to set his teeth on edge. But he's had worse, and he's sure Ned must have too. "Do you think those Templars saw us coming?"
Ned shoots him an angry look. "Shut up, Frye."
"Is that your idea of a bedside manner? Because it could use some work."
Ned is beside him then, his hands steady and quick as he cleans the wound. He's not gentle, and Jacob hisses in pain as he removes a scrap of Jacob's shirt from the wound. At least he works fast, his face tight with concentration. "You damn idiot," he mutters. "What if that blade had been poisoned?"
"What if it had? Assassins cultivate a tolerance to most toxins. The Templars haven't yet designed a poison powerful enough to take down me or my sister."
"So you let them stab you to find out?"
"I didn't let them do anything —"
"You put yourself right in the way of that knife," Ned says, his voice low and sharp.
And, well, he's right. The knife had been aimed for Ned.
Jacob hadn't allowed it to find its mark.
"One of us is immune to most poisons and was wearing armor," Jacob says. "One of us might have died."
Ned bandages the wound, wrapping it tightly around Jacob's shoulder. It aches and burns, but the pressure of the gauze makes the wound feel contained, taken care of. Jacob lets out a slow breath of relief. But Ned is still quiet, still tense. When he speaks, he bites out the words. "Either of us could have died. You remember what I said about not wanting to be in anyone's debt?"
Jacob frowns, turning to face him. "I don't see what the problem is. You've just returned the favor by dressing the wound."
Ned grits his teeth. "Don't take any more hits for me, you got that?"
Jacob cocks his head at an angle, which he hopes conveys how ridiculous he thinks Ned is being. "And if I hadn't, were you going to get yourself out of the way of that knife? Which do you prefer, having to pay me back or being dead and quite unable to return any favors to anyone?"
Ned snatches up the excess bandages and stalks away from Jacob, stuffing his medical supplies back into their case with angry precision. "Look, you know what's harder than returning a favor? Paying somebody back if they die for you."
Jacob blinks slowly. He had been hearing the anger in Ned's voice, but not the fear. Not the way Ned's voice dips and shakes when he says die for you. Then he remembers that Ned isn't exactly in Jacob's line of work, never mind if they're both criminals. He doesn't expose himself to bloodshed the way Jacob does, and probably hasn't bandaged nearly so many wounds. "I'm not going to die, Ned."
Ned doesn't turn around. But Jacob can just as easily read his back as his face; Ned stands stock straight, his shoulders locked, his head ducked slightly toward his chest. He's breathing shallowly, like he doesn't want to give himself away. He reminds Jacob of a cornered cat, defensive out of panic, out of pain.
"Prove it," he says, acidly.
Jacob gets up slowly, testing the comfortable range of motion which the bandages allow him. It isn't much, but he can already tell he'll be all right. And for the moment he's more fixated on making sure that Ned is all right with what happened. Ned, who is lighting a cigarette, whose hands are only now starting to tremble.
He places a hand on the small of Ned's back. Ned flinches and takes a harsh drag off his cigarette. "I didn't mean to scare you," Jacob says, softly but playfully, trying to make a joke of it.
"Scare me," Ned repeats. "You scare me when you throw yourself off a rooftop. Putting yourself between me and a knife is—something else."
"You know I can look out for myself."
"Can you? Then who the hell did I just patch up?"
"Ned." Jacob ducks around to stand in front of him, catching Ned's shoulder in his hand so that Ned can't turn away again. He catches Ned's cheek in his other hand and tucks a curl of hair behind his ear, smiling at him. "Ned, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me."
He tries to kiss Ned, a warm and sweet kiss to push away the tension in the air, but Ned jerks his head to the side. "Get out, Frye."
Jacob draws back slightly, startled by how harsh his voice is. He waits for Ned to take it back, to relent, but instead Ned brushes his hands away and pushes past Jacob on his way to his desk.
"I've got work to do," he adds, without looking at Jacob. "And so do you, I can only imagine."
Jacob lingers, a dull and uncertain buzzing in his head. Ned has never told him to leave before. He's griped and groaned and pushed Jacob out of bed in the morning, complained about him hanging around, threatened to knock him out the window — but always with the undercurrent of a shared joke, an affection that exposes itself in the way Ned always angles toward Jacob when he's telling him to go.
This is different.
As if to confirm it, Ned throws a dismissive look over his shoulder. "You need directions to the window, Frye? Or you can leave by the door, for once."
On any other day, it would be playful, but now it's flat and unkind.
"All right," Jacob says, and even to his own ears, he sounds incredulous and hurt. He grabs his shirt and coat and pulls them on, all the while keeping his eyes on Ned, hoping that Ned will turn around again. He doesn't. So Jacob vaults the windowsill, his trajectory clear — except he's forgotten about his injured shoulder, and the moment his weight lands on it, the wound screams in protest and his arm buckles under him. He yelps, startled by the pain, catching himself on the other side of the window with his good arm. He hears Ned shout his name, loud and startled, but he's dangling outside the apartment and is more focused on hauling himself back up.
Ned is there, grabbing Jacob by his good arm and the back of his coat and dragging him through the window onto the floor. Jacob slumps against the wall, groaning when he grips his shoulder and the pain spikes, rolling over him.
He's expecting Ned to look angrier than ever when he looks up, but no, Ned is — terrified, and his hands are flighty on Jacob's jaw, mindlessly stroking his face and smoothing down his hair. "Jesus Christ," he says. "Jacob."
"I caught myself," Jacob breathes. He grabs one of Ned's hands and enfolds it in his own. "It's all right." His heart is beating quite fast.
Ned does not look reassured. He's paler than ever, almost deathly so. "If you'd fallen…"
"Why, Mr. Wynert, it almost sounds as if you care."
Ned's jaw clenches. He tries to pull his hand away, but Jacob isn't giving up his grip. He holds fast until Ned relents and looks at him again. Ned's glasses gleam like shields, but behind them his eyes are sharp with worry.
"Look, Frye," he mutters. "Look. I don't know how else to say this—I don't want you to die. So for my sake, could you try to keep yourself in one piece so I can sleep at night?"
Despite everything, Jacob feels warmth spread through his chest and he can't help smiling. He leans forward and presses his brow against Ned's forehead. "I've kept myself intact so far," he offers. "This is my line of work, you know."
"I know." Ned's shoulders slump. "Still, you don't have to be so reckless —"
"Sometimes I do. To protect the people I care about." Jacob pulls Ned's hand back to his chest, pressing it against his heart. Which may or may not be reassuring, because his heart hasn't quite gotten the message that he's safe, and is still thumping frantically against his ribs.
The pulse in Ned's wrist is equally fast.
"Once again," Jacob adds, "you're welcome. For getting in the way of that knife."
Ned ducks his head slightly. "Thank you," he mutters.
"Any time."
"I'd prefer 'never again'."
"Because you care."
"Of course I do," Ned snaps. "And you keep scaring the hell out of me." He frowns when Jacob beams at him. "Don't give me that look," he says.
"What look?"
"That... stray puppy look. You make me feel like I'm making you beg for scraps."
Jacob pulls Ned's hand to his lips and kisses it. "Well, if you'd let me make breakfast in bed…"
"… You wouldn't have to drag me into a train robbery?"
"I just wanted to spend time with you."
"Yeah, I got that. Why the hell do you think I said yes?" Ned tightens his grip on Jacob's hand unexpectedly, letting out an angry breath. "I thought that was an excuse to, I don't know, go on a train ride to the countryside. I didn't think you were actually going to get us in the middle of a bunch of murderous Blighters—"
"I wasn't expecting quite so many," Jacob murmurs. He brightens. "You thought I was taking you for a train ride? But that's so romantic."
Ned licks his lips. "Yeah. I guess it is."
"You hate it when things are romantic."
"I don't hate it. I —" Ned purses his lips. "The coffee tasted terrible. The flowers smelled great, but they got pollen all over my desk. And the last time somebody was bringing me flowers and trinkets, I was in New York and they were on the hunt for a young wife. So maybe those things don't have the best associations for me. They don't… strike me right."
The tension in Jacob's chest is unspooling like a skein of his grandmother's yarn. "But nobody ever took you on a countryside vacation?"
"You'd be the first." The corner of Ned's mouth quirks up in a wry smile. "I'm not trying to make this something it's not, but… we could even stay somewhere quiet. Drink wine and go to dinner. Avoid gunfire."
"That does sound nice."
"Yeah. It does."
"You'd like that? Doing normal things, like people do when they're —"
"When they're together? … Yeah, I guess that's what I'm saying."
Jacob lunges forward and kisses him, catching Ned's face in his hands. His shoulder twinges and he knocks Ned's glasses askew, but that doesn't matter, because Ned kisses him back. He's so relieved, so damnably happy.
His heart is hammering louder than ever when he draws back, smiling, his chest swelling like a hot air balloon.
"It could get a little boring," he says. "We might at least pickpocket someone on the train. Or hunt for some more relics for Evie."
"As long as it doesn't involve more knives in our backs —"
"Ned, the only way I'll leave you with debts unpaid is if I die of old age before you get me back. Of course, you'll probably die first, old man that you are."
Ned gives him a faint smirk, an undeniable spot of color in his cheeks. "You're planning to be around for my old age, huh?"
"I have no plans to miss it."
"That's reassuring." Ned cards his fingers through Jacob's hair, a gesture that seems almost possessive. "How's the shoulder?"
Jacob shifts and winces slightly. "Fine. But if it's all the same to you, I'd like to stay for a while. To rest."
"Good. I mean, yes, you can stay." Ned pauses, giving him one of his unreadable looks. Jacob doesn't know what he's thinking until his lips twitch and he asks, "Want some coffee?"
"Only if we can drink it together. In bed."
"Deal."
"Then yes, please."
Jacob accepts Ned's hand to help him to his feet, even though he doesn't really need it, and slumps onto the bed to remove his boots and hidden blades. He watches Ned brew the coffee and pull off his coat, left on in the rush to tend to Jacob's wound.
The apartment fills with a pleasing smell. Nothing catches fire. And Jacob has the covers warm by the time Ned joins him, two cups of fragrant coffee in hand.
Jacob tries a sip and makes a startled sound. "It does taste better when you make it."
Ned snorts. He leans against Jacob's good shoulder. He wraps one hand around his mug, but spares the other to hold Jacob's hand.
"I'll teach you," he says.