Shrugging off your beige shawl, you straightened the skirts of your modest white dress and threw on the linen apron that had served you well enough at home for a long time.  Your bags could wait, you figured. It was getting to a decent time in the morning, so you decided it might be a good idea to surprise your new employer with a hearty breakfast. That would surely make amends if nothing else could!
                              
Heading up the worn old staircase, you pinched your skirts in your hands and ascended nervously towards the lions den. It was still fairly early and you didn't think Jacob would be awake just yet, and how could he ever be in a bad mood with you if he woke up to a good breakfast. You always prided yourself on your ability to cook bacon (and you restraint not to eat it). 
                              
The door to Jacob's apartment clicked softly open, and you tip-toed quietly inside. Whatever sunlight there was, was streaming through the windows in dusty bars of light – stretching in long shapes over the bookcases and basking the floorboards in a blaze of white. 
                              
Pacing quietly, you crossed the space into the kitchenette area by the table – where Evie had left her note as discussed, as well as a spare set of key's to Jacob's apartment, something you would surely be needing. You palmed the note and the key, sliding them into your apron pocket as you began exploring the kitchen. 
                              
As a final thank you gesture, Evie must have stocked up on the groceries in anticipation for your arrival. You found the eggs, a loaf of bread – important components of your special breakfast surprise. 
                              
Hoping the good finds continued, you left the apartment headed back downstairs, and then down to the end of the corridor and through to the cellar of the building. In there you found the pantry, the cool space stocked with some of the other items like butter and the bacon and a few other bits you figured you could pull together to create a good breakfast. 
                              
With arms bundled full with ingredients, you returned upstairs with some breathlessness and got to work straight away. Clamouring about in the kitchen quietly was a task in itself, and you kept anxiously eyeing the other side of the room to see if there was any sign of movement or noise coming from behind that wall partition where Jacob's bed was. 
                              
-
                              
After a rocky start, trying to locate where the cutlery, plate and cookware was – you had filled the apartment with all sorts of delicious smells – so alluring they could awake even the grumpiest of creatures. 
                              
The delicious smell of the bacon was proving hard for you to try and resist, as you fought past the own rumbling of your tummy that your bowl of porridge earlier that morning had not quite filled. 
                              
Beyond the appetising sizzle of the bacon frying away in the pan, you sensed some creaking in the floorboards beneath your feet and the sounds of life beginning to rouse. Keen to make yourself look as nonchalant and casual as possible, you kept attentively cooking and waited for your 'patient' to come to you. 
                              
Some minutes later, the man in question rose from his bed. Barely dressed, the assassin had thrown on his white shirt and black trousers but had done little else beyond that. His dark hair was sleepily unkempt, a ruffled mess the product of a night tossing and turning. 
                              
His dark eyes surveyed you at the stove, and then looked to the set table, and then back to you again. As much as he did want to remain angry at Evie for taking too much control over his life – he had to admit that the smells in the apartment were proving far too persuasive for him. 
                              
"Good morning, Mr Frye." You turned to smile with all the radiance and warmth of a spring morning. "I thought we'd start the day with a nice breakfast, considering we perhaps got off on the wrong foot yesterday." Your bright voice simmered down a little, lacking in the same confident in conviction as the older man moved wordlessly to the breakfast table just behind you. A little voice in your head was screaming not to say anything else wrong.
                              
Plating up, you proudly passed the plate down onto the table and began to decant some of the freshly brewed tea from the pot into one of the cups you had found in the cupboard, clearly not from the best set of china as the thing's hand painted decoration was somewhat faded and there was a large chip out of the handle. 
                              
"It's not you I have the issue with." Jacob suddenly said, almost a low mumble that it caused you to stop what you were doing – having not heard him properly.
                              
"I beg your pardon, sir?" you asked politely with all the manners that had been whipped into you over the last five years. 
                              
Jacob's glare fixated onto yours, the usual despondent looking glare about him all too abundant. 
                              
"It's not you I have an issue with. It's my sister." He said clearly, the tiresome tone of his voice making it rather hard to believe his words. 
                              
"I have an issue with the fact she brought you here without consulting me. I am fine on my own." He said with a more assertive force, his timbre low as he picked up his fork in one hand, and went to pass it to his other – which was of course, supported in the sling he had put on upon waking. 
                              
You took a step back, biting your lip anxiously as you could see the irritation rising in the Frye brother. He began hissing curses to himself quietly, trying to figure how best to approach the ordeal. It was uncomfortable to witness, to say the least. 
                              
"Mr Frye, would you like me to...?" you could not help but offer after a few more moments of watching him fumbling, trying to pass the fork over to no avail. You thought maybe even hand feeding him yourself may have been easier than watching him struggle. 
                              
Your obvious offer for help sent Jacob into a bit of a rage, his eyes flying up from the plate as he stared at you with such a seething frustration. 
                              
"I'm fine! I can take care of myself!" he barked, more of a release of animosity towards his situation than a personal attack on you. You reminded yourself of this, silencing yourself and trying to stay in your place. 
                              
Some more moments passed by slowly, the tableware antagonising Jacob each more with every minute that passed where the cutlery was not where he desired it to be. 
                              
"To hell with this!" he cried out, lashing out to grab the fork with his injured arm. The sharp, jerked movement caused him to cry out in pain – the pain itself shooting through his muscles and ultimately causing his hand to release the fork anyway. 
                              
Which tumbled down and clattered into the plate, breaking the yolk of the egg which now oozed across the plate like a golden sap. 
                              
What you witnessed was an act of pure defeat, a desperate man who was once so clearly independent reduced to the level of capability someone three times his age had. Jacob slumped back in his chair and let his head hang down, the picture of a fallen man who tired of trying and exhausting himself to no end for what felt like no reason. 
                              
Silently, you tepidly reached and drew out the chair beside his at the table. Your backside met the flat seat of the chair, and you pulled the plate over – picked up the egg covered fork, grabbed the knife and began cutting into the food – reducing it to manageable, bitesize pieces that could be handled with a fork alone. 
                              
There were no desperate pleas for further attempts, no overly positive or unwelcome motivational speeches – you simply returned the plate back in front of Jacob, left the chair and returned to the kitchenette to begin to process of washing the pots and pans. 
                              
With your back turned to him, you were subconsciously frowning in concern for the poor brother of Evie Frye. He seemed an absolute lost cause, and as of right now you were finding it hard to imagine he could have even been as chipper and amusing as Evie had described him in the olden days. 
                              
However, whilst scrubbing the pots and pondering just how you were going to manage to bring this man back around – you heard the delightful chink of silverware against the pottery plate, a sign that the conquered soldier had finally got back on his horse and given the mighty breakfast a second try. 
                              
It may not have been the way he wanted to eat it, but in the silent approval of the breakfast – you surely picked up on a grateful semblance of 'thank you'.