You knew he was stubborn to a fault. When aren't Irish men? But as you watched him buckle his belt and fasten his weapons to his person, an overwhelming anxiety crawled at you from the inside of your ribcage; your heart hammered profusely, your teeth relentlessly gnawed at your bottom lip, your breathing was as uneven as your balance as you gripped Shay's desk for support.

Infiltrating the Assassins; the mission was suicide and you both knew it.

His stiff figure wasn't the one you became accustomed to; he moved tensely with a locked jaw and cold eyes you've only ever seen on him when he killed. You couldn't take your eyes off of him; you couldn't help but think this would be the last time you ever saw him.

And frankly, that scared the shit out of you.

"Shay," you mumble out his name. The tension in the room lingers around your neck and seems to pull tighter and burns your skin the more you talk, the more you wait. He ignores you, doesn't acknowledge you; the noose around your neck tightens and your eyes sting. Hot tears stain your cheeks as they trail down and fall to the cabin floor.

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat doesn't go away. All you hear through the stagnant air is his movements of leather and metal being adjusted and your body trying to suppress the sobs it desperately wishes to let out, to scream at him not to do this; do this to you.

Shay adjusts the collar of his leather jacket and marches slowly past you. You grip the desk harder when you hear the door opening.

"Shay!" you yell as loudly as you can, not daring to look up at him and see his back turned towards you and the door shutting in your face.

You expect to hear the door shut, but all you hear is silence.

And then you cry.

All you do is cry.

And bawl out, "Don't go, Shay…please."

You hear his footsteps sound against the wood floorboards and squeeze your eyes shut. It was foolish to try and talk him out of going; it was Shay, after all.

The warmth you suddenly feel in front of you followed by an arm roughly bringing you forward made you bring your head up just in time for your mouth to be broken apart by his brashly. His hands are roaming everywhere; your back, through your hair, down your arms. You grab at him just as harshly in an attempt to bring him closer to you than he already was.

The air from your lungs burned and your mind was spinning. Any attempt at a sob was abruptly silenced by Shay's mouth as he continued to kiss your roughly and demandingly. The two of you finally broke apart from your frenzy. Both of you were left gasping for air and lightheaded. The room seemed to be spinning off keel. Shay cupped your face with both of his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt yourself on the brink of crying again.

He chuckled.

"Hey, don't you cry now, Love," he murmured endearingly. You looked up at him with tear glistened eyes. "You know I always come back," he added with a halfhearted laugh.

You breathed a whimper of a laugh in response, tightly pursing your lips and trying to stop the tears from coming out again. "You better," you scold. "I won't forgive you if you don't," you add with as much malice as you can muster, which isn't a lot. You feel pathetic.

"I will, a grá. Don't worry that pretty head of yours," he laughs and pokes your forehead. You don't even realize that he's gotten you to stop crying.

Shay grabs hold of your hand and brings it to his lips, giving you that charming smile as always. You can help but stare in awe at him, cheeks flushed and lips swollen; he always manages to put you in a daze whenever he does that.

You're more confident in his word than you ever were before.