Bennet Drake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thegentlemanthug) wrote2013-01-15 09:36 pm
thegentlemanthug) wrote2013-01-15 09:36 pm
Entry tags:
Ripper Street/Jack's Alley
Bennet Drake isn't as young as he used to be.
When he was no more than a boy, but wore the uniform of a man, Drake could outmatch any private in his unit in a sprint or in the ring. While he's still got his boxing fists, his legs aren't up to scratch and that's why their suspect is getting away.
The Inspector took the right fork when Drake took the left, and their maverick doctor with a gun is somewhere nearby. And while Drake thinks Homer Jackson is a law unto himself that no self-respecting copper would touch with a barge pole, he's grateful for another man on their side this night.
Whitechapel is cloaked in fog and Drake is running blind.
Right into the lad he's chasing.
One minute later, he's on the ground. He doesn't remember the fall, as he watches the lad disappear into the fog.
But his hand is clasped tightly to his side and, when he lifts it away, his palm is red.
When he was no more than a boy, but wore the uniform of a man, Drake could outmatch any private in his unit in a sprint or in the ring. While he's still got his boxing fists, his legs aren't up to scratch and that's why their suspect is getting away.
The Inspector took the right fork when Drake took the left, and their maverick doctor with a gun is somewhere nearby. And while Drake thinks Homer Jackson is a law unto himself that no self-respecting copper would touch with a barge pole, he's grateful for another man on their side this night.
Whitechapel is cloaked in fog and Drake is running blind.
Right into the lad he's chasing.
One minute later, he's on the ground. He doesn't remember the fall, as he watches the lad disappear into the fog.
But his hand is clasped tightly to his side and, when he lifts it away, his palm is red.
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"I don't need no protecting, Sergeant."
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Drake looks down at his hands. They're shaking.
"If ain't strong, I'm no good to anyone. The Inspector. You."
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"You'll be back on your feet in no time, I guarantee it."
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"Don't matter. I'm still a coward."
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"I had to stop you running after that crook with your guts hanging out of you, remember?"
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Drake has to make him understand.
"When the going gets tough, I run. You can't trust me."
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"You've always been a professional, to my eyes. Even if you're a grouch of one." And with that, he kisses the Sergeant. He can't think of anything more reassuring than that.
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And then repulsed.
He grabs Jackson's shirt and shoves him away, as hard as he can.
"You're...one of them."
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"What does it matter, anyway?"
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"I don't know about your Yankee law, but here that's a crime."
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"Don't be so close-minded. I'm not what you think I am, and even if I was, I don't see the problem with it."
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"I'm a good Christian, Doctor." Drake slowly swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Think I should sleep somewhere else."
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"We'll forget anything happened here, but I'm still your doctor."
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"Don't touch me."
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"We'll forget anything that happened," he repeats slowly.
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"I won't tell the Inspector," he finds himself saying, "if that's what concerns you. But I don't like it."
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Jackson wraps the blankets back around Drake before stepping away, voice gruff. "You should rest up."
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He knows he did the right thing.
But it's left him cold. And alone.