Ripper Street/Jack's Alley

[thegentlemanthug]

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.

Comments

[thirstforvice]

Jackson's been dozing, fitfully, in his desk chair, microscopes and beakers pushed aside to give him a place to rest his head. He's wide awake, however, at the first sounds from Drake, and he's at his side at once.

"Whoa there, steady now," he places a comforting hand on the Sergeant's shoulder. "Keep things slow."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake focusses on Jackson's face, consciously trying to match his breaths. He takes short, halting breaths at first, the hand at his shoulder grounding him as he fights against the pain in his side.

His head is thick and musty and he feels like he's freezing, but he's in one piece. Thanks to Homer Jackson.

"Not dead then," he rasps.

[thirstforvice]

"'Course you're not," Jackson shakes his head, offering a smug smile.

"You've got the best doctor in all of London town at your personal beck and call. You've got just nothing to worry about, darling."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake feels that he should protest the doctor calling him "darling", but he knows it would just make the infuriating man use it more.

The infuriating man to whom he owes his life.

"Feel like I've been in a prize fight."

[thirstforvice]

"Kind of wish you had," Jackson answers. "You'd be healing a damn sight quicker, if nothing else. You're not going to be prize fighting, or doing much moving of any kind, for quite a while if I'm not mistaken."

Moving away, he reaches for various bottles on his work surface. "How's the pain?"

[thegentlemanthug]

"What?"

The idea of having to lie about for days on end sounds worse than death.

Stubborn to the end, Drake rolls onto his uninjured side and heaves himself up with his right arm. Pain explodes across his left side but he will not falter, even though his sweat-slick hand threatens to slide him back into an undignified heap.

"Fine. Never better. I need to...report for duty."

[thirstforvice]

"Would you like me to tie you down?" Jackson asks, completely matter-of-fact. "I'm sure there's some rope around this place somewhere. You are not to move like that, do you understand?"

Changing his mind about making a draught for the pain, he reaches again for the ether. It seems that Drake will be one of those patients; annoying unless sedated.

[thegentlemanthug]

As if suspecting Jackson's motives, Drake raises his left arm and points an accusing finger at his doctor.

"You knock me out again and I'll swing for yer. Cutting up me innards is one thing, but I'm not lying about here 'til Christmas."

[thirstforvice]

"Then you can lie still until you start to heal," Jackson shoots back, his hand moving away from the ether all the same.

"Though you're not staying there for the next week. The Inspector will have to give up the use of his bed."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake's not sure he wants to be the talk of the station, but it's that or his pathetic upstairs room and his fussing landlady.

"It's a bit sore," he admits, which is as close as he'll come to saying he's in agony.

[thirstforvice]

"Now that, I can help with," Jackson returns to his initial plan, locating a bottle of laudanum and passing it over.

"Go steady with that. It's strong."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake sips it cautiously. He drank all manner of foul spirits in the Army, most of it moonshine made on the march, but he knows laudanum can knock a man out as sure as ether.

He passes the bottle back but refuses to lie down. Drake plans to be up and working tomorrow, even if it kills him. Lord knows what the Inspector would do without him.

[thirstforvice]

"Better?"

Jackson's hand hovers near the precious bottle, carefully watching how much Drake's putting away. The stuff is not cheap to come by.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake nods, as the liquid burns its way down. He shivers and sets the bottle down, swiping a hand over his forehead.

"Bloody freezing."

[thirstforvice]

Reid's bed is ready and waiting, prepared in advance, so all Jackson has left to do is get the Sergeant to it.

"All the laudanum in the world's not going to make this painless, I'm afraid," he says in way of an apology, before starting to help the man to his feet.

[thegentlemanthug]

The laudanum is already dulling his nerves and senses, but nothing prepares him for the wrenching in his side and the sickening feeling from a broken bone pulling apart. Drake chokes and grasps at Jackson's shoulder, before a painful bout of coughing starts up.

"Maybe...a couple o'days rest," he concedes, alarmed at how his words are slurring.

[thirstforvice]

"I think that would be wise," Jackson nods, sensibly not going for the 'I told you so' approach.

"The more you cooperate, the faster you'll heal," he can't help but add.

[thegentlemanthug]

"I'm cop'rative," Drake says, slowly putting one food forward. "Model patient, me."

[thirstforvice]

"Sure, you are," Jackson agrees with a laugh, helping Drake over to the makeshift bed.

"Just stay where I put you until you're healed."

[thegentlemanthug]

"Few days an' I'll be right as ninepence," Drake insists, leaning on Jackson more than he'd like. "Been cut before."

[thirstforvice]

"Not like this, I'd imagine."

Getting Drake to the bed, Jackson helps him to lie down before checking his handiwork, making sure no stitches had burst on their brief walk. Satisfied, he pulls away with a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Rest now, Sergeant."

[thegentlemanthug]

"Don't you worry, Doc," Drake says, with a sleepy smile. "Won't undo your good work."

[thirstforvice]

Jackson smiles despite himself, leaning back over the bed.

"I think I like you better when you're drugged to the eyeballs," he comments. "Far more... complimentary."

[thegentlemanthug]

"Fuck off, doctor," Drake says, but his smile spreads and his voice is warm, almost affectionate. He must be drugged.

"Don't you have another corpse waiting?"

[thirstforvice]

Jackson shakes his head.

"No corpses tonight. Not even you."