thegentlemanthug | Entries tagged with verse: safe hands

After Matthew sweats out his addiction, life returns to what passes for normal in the Drake-Judge household. Matthew signs Susan's papers, and they both agree not to politely ignore anything Reid may have to say about her.

But still something is bothering his lover, whether it's his pained leg or the lingering shadow of the drugs. Bennet does all he can to soothe his lover's frazzled nerves, with his clumsy words and the warmth of his body, but he will not be consoled.

Still, they are content, he thinks, and he's looking forward to returning home from a long day, walking Whitechapel by night without care.

Until a shadow falls across his path.

"It's time we took what's owed."

Something heavy strikes him on the head and Bennet falls to the ground, and knows no more.

Current Mood: sore

After he pulls the man from the river, Ben feels uneasy in his mind, moreso than when he was first lucid after his beating. He had the opportunity to know his past, and he walked away. He is a coward as well as a friend to wretches.

He is returning from an errand in town for the dockmaster, his face apparently trustworthy despite his lack of memory, when he realises he has gone too far on the underground railway. He gets off at the wrong stop and means to return immediately to the right one, except that he knows this place. He knows it deeply and strongly, calling to him with a strong sense of who he is.

Either he can ignore it once more or he can follow it, step out from under this cowardice and learn something of who he is. And maybe he can find out the fate of that drowned man, learn something of him, know his pain and soothe it.

He lets his feet take him where they will, trying to follow his gut and not his better sense. He feels the familiarity in the streets, recognising a street sign there, a flower seller there, and his pace quickens as he draws towards somewhere he knows must be home.

The door calls to him and he runs to it, knocking hard on the wood before he can stop himself.

It opens on an older lady in an apron and, before she can speak, he tears his hat from his head and starts trying to explain himself.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, madam, but I had the strangest feeling I ought to come here today."

Current Mood: stressed

After Matthew spends a couple of days in bed, he declares his boredom and they return to work.

Drake feels taut and under pressure, trying to keep his emotions locked down tight so that they don't show in front of his Mattie. He will never hurt him again. He is as determined as any man can be, moreso than when he charged into battle for Queen and Country.

It's Inspector Reid who suggests they might like a little time away, an entire weekend to themselves. He has always known his sergeant's moods better than Bennet knows himself.

Mrs Ramsay packs their bags for the seaside, dropping large hints that she should be accompanying them but Bennet cannot be swayed this time. He hasn't been outside London for years and never to a beach for a holiday. He's sure that Matthew, being a more worldly man that him, has seen plenty of pleasure piers and beach huts and charmed several obliging young men and women out of their bathing suits. Bennet himself is stunned that he now owns a bathing suit.

Finally, the bags are packed and it is coming up Friday noon when they call the carriage for the station. They are taking their first beach vacation. And Bennet allows that he might be a little excited at the prospect.

Current Mood: cheerful

Drake finds himself in Limehouse, down by the docks, the last place he wants to be in this godforsaken city.

He wants to be at home, with Homer, tucking into one of Mrs Ramsay's famous dinners and a drop of strong stuff before taking his fancy surgeon up to bed. That's a reunion that's been a long time coming, both of them working all hours of the day and night. But it seems he's to be denied yet again.

Instead, he's following a tip down to the warehouses, where smugglers are stashing a new shipment of opium, ready to flood his streets with despair. And Bennet won't stand for it.

He has officers surrounding the building, batons in hand, but he wishes he had his Captain's pistol at his side right now.

Drake makes his approach alone. Slowly, slowly...

They rush at him like wild animals, swords and torches, metal and heat-

They come for him at night, in the desert.

The demons come for him.

He fights, casting aside the useless club for a dead man's sword. Thrusting at him, hacking at them all, desperate to keep his life. To prove he's a soldier worthy of his Goddess and his country.

But there are too many of them, their blood soaking through his thin uniform.

They say they are friends, comrades, but they are demons.

They are all bloody demons.

But they are too many and the sword is wrenched from his hands, many arms pinning him to the ground, and he cries out in Arabic for them to stop, forgive him, let him keep his soul.

And then he knows no more.

Current Mood: distressed

Drake feels sick, more overwhelmed than a new recruit on the banks of the Nile, clutching his bloodied bayonet.

He sits in the pub, nursing a pint and trying to think his way out of the predicament he's got himself into.

He hadn't been expecting another summons to Reid's office, more congratulations and a note stuffed in his hand. About his promotion to Inspector. And the move across to J Division.

All at once, his tongue had grown heavy and his jaw slack. Because he's wanted to be Inspector for as long as he can remember, though he thought he'd always be a Sergeant, always a follower and never a leader.

But leaving H Division means leaving his friends, leaving his Mattie. And he doesn't know if he can suffer never seeing his lover except for the odd hour here and there.

Yet he didn't get a chance to choose, to speak his confusion, because Reid took his silence for tacit acceptance.

He starts on Monday. And he has no idea how he's going to tell Matthew.

Current Mood: confused

An uneasy truce develops between Drake and Reid, until the Inspector seems to forget the incident and subject them to his usual moods.

So when Drake is called to the Inspector's office, he has no idea what to expect.

"The incident with the jail cells," Reid begins.

"Sir." Drake's voice holds a warning note. He had hoped it had gone away for good.

"It seems you conduct did not go unnoticed."

Drake's jaw tenses. "Inspector, I can-"

"You're being given a commendation. For exemplary conduct. I suggest you find your uniform, Sergeant. There will be a fête outside the station this evening. I expect a couple of Parliamentary members at the very least."

In a daze, Drake exits the office and almost walks straight past his lover in his shock.

Current Mood: surprised

He sat in silence with Mrs Ramsay for two whole days before he eventually decided to return to work.

On his first day back, Reid said nothing and he was there. Drake was professional, polite, as he would be to outsider - any lying, deceitful degenerate.

Reid kept them apart as much as possible, but it didn't make the pain any less. Drake went to the work, went to the pub, went down the docks to box a few rounds - to feel something, anything, and to earn enough to keep the roof over his and Mrs Ramsay's heads.

Then the Americans came. And Drake realised he had never really known the man at all.

Matthew Judge killed a man in Leman Street and Drake's heart broke a little more. After he thought there was nothing in him left to break.

He was only going through the motions, his sleep and food neglected, his world dark and shadowed.

It was just another day in this darkness, this agonising pit of anger and betrayal, when Fred Abberline burst into the dead room in the middle of an autopsy.

"We have our Ripper, boys."

Current Mood: morose

As soon as they're settled in their new home, Jackson has to go back to work and Drake has to get used to the stray cat Mrs Ramsay has adopted.

But being back on the job with his lover feels like home, though he wishes it wasn't a rash of dead tarts. The latest is suffering at the hospital and he is escorting the good doctor to inspect her death throes.

"Demon! MURDERER!" she screams.

"She's raving," Drake mutters to Jackson, as the woman writhes on the bed.

Current Mood: worried

The feeling of conquering the world lasted about a week. For those seven days, Bennet Drake felt like he could do anything and that having Homer Jackson by his side and in his bed was the purpose of his existence. He had never been happier.

But it was tainted by the state of his rooms, his attire, the way Homer would casually lay down a bottle of liquor that Drake couldn't afford. The bed was too cramped for two grown men - too cramped for one, truth be told - and the lodgings in total were made for one. Drake knew Mrs Ramsey was freeing up the attic room, moving on the opium smokers who were behind in their rent, but he couldn't hope to match the cost from his Seageant's wage.

He couldn't admit to Homer that he'd lured him from Miss Susan's luxury to something less than a pauper's life. Homer Jackson wasn't made to be a bobby's wife any more than Miss Rose.

There was one way that he could make a little extra, maybe enough to meet Mrs Ramsey's attic rent, to buy a bigger bed and any little luxury Homer should desire.

So Drake went down to the docks, sniffing around for the scent of a bare-knuckle fight where he could try his luck. It's well past midnight before he staggers home, bruises and cuts dressed clumsily and pockets weighed down with shillings fresh-won from the fight.

Current Mood: lethargic

"Oh Sergeant Drake, what happened to your face?"

Drake scowls, the skin over his bruised cheek pulling uncomfortably. There went any hope that the mark was discrete.

He mumbles something about a thug in the slums before shuffling past his fussing landlady, his arms laden with a box of books and potions and a portmanteau full of outrageous clothes.

Drake hasn't exactly expected a warm reception from Long Susan, but he hadn't thought he'd need to duck. Turns out the woman could hit harder than a bull in the ring.

Shouldering open the door to his room, he glances at the bed, before ducking his head and carrying Jackson's possessions towards the table.

If he's very lucky, Jackson might not notice.

Current Mood: embarrassed

Drake has been avoiding Jackson ever since he was able to leave the station.

Reid hasn't noticed, for which he's grateful, but the doctor tries to insist on seeing him. To check up on him, he says, but Drake can't be alone with him. Who knows what the Yankee bastard might do?

But what worries Drake more is that, while his head told him it was wrong, he hadn't reacted like a man repulsed. He'd pushed Jackson away because it was the right thing to do. Not because he'd wanted to.

The disadvantage, of course, to the Inspector being oblivious, is that he blithely sends the two of them into Whitechapel together to route out a gang of smugglers.

Drake pulls his coat closer in the dismal London drizzle, blatantly ignoring the man at his side. He wants to get the job done and get back to his room without opening himself up to whatever teasing the American doctor has to offer.

Current Mood: uncomfortable

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.