Chapter Text
It takes one week for Fagin to find a way to make use of his pardon and to leave Jack in that dank cellar. Alone.
(He does not - he will not - let his head go back there. He’s not abandoned, even though he’s alone. He’s not thirteen and weak and tearful, he’s an adult. He’s stronger than the lingering childhood fear of silence. Fagin will work something out. He’ll get out. He’ll get back to Belle.)
Belle.
He still doesn’t know if she’s alive. She had been alive and breathing and whispering his name only thirteen days and twenty-one hours ago, but he knows better than most how quickly a recovery can change direction. If anything had happened, anything at all, and she had taken a turn for the worst…
Jack tries not to dwell on it. There is very little he can do from the confines of his prison cell, that much he is sure of. He is needed up there, where he can watch her chest rise and fall, examine her scar, hold her hand, kiss away her tears, check for infection, wipe her brow, anything he can do to provide her an ounce of comfort. But mostly, he needs to hear her heartbeat. Needs to listen to the steady rhythm of that damned muscle that nearly stole her away for good. The blasted organ he had held in own two hands and released back into her with so much fear, hoping and praying to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in that his morbid fix would hold her together.
He can’t think about it any longer. He peels away the skin to another orange segment and puts it on his tongue, planning to make it last. It might be the only thing he gets until next week.
/
“Dawkins,” A clatter on the bars stirs him from a restless sleep. “On your feet. You’ve got a visitor.”
Jack is cursing under his breath and hauling himself up against the wall when he realises that the approaching footsteps have a feminine patter to them, rather than the usual clatter of the guards boots. Surely it isn’t her? She shouldn’t be off of bed rest yet. Had Sneed, the absolute fool, allowed her to talk her way down into the cells, of all places? How could he be so stupid as to —
“Doctor Dawkins?”
The voice was familiar, but not familiar enough. Lady Fanny Fox stood, gloved hands taut by her sides as her nostrils flared at the smell. He would apologise, but it’s hardly as though he’d turned down a hot bath or soapy flannel. He’s too keen to hear her speak to come out with a quip though. She can only be here for one reason.
“Lady Fanny. Is she—?”
“My sister is alive, thanks to your handiwork.”
Alive. Jack’s lungs finally relax, though his heart is racing. Fanny offers a gentle smile. She hadn’t been witness to the surgery but it figures she would return when things turned south with Twist, and to return to see her sister bedridden and fighting for her life probably wasn’t very pleasant.
“So very alive, in fact, that she sent me down here on no less than a demand to see your face. And I’m sure you would be in no position to dispute?”
Jack lifts his shackled wrists in a plea for an answer. Belle’s own blood is still crusted under his nails and as much as he wants Lady Fanny to be able to free him from this blasted prison and deliver him straight to Belle, he’s not delusional enough to think she’d be gifted the key to unlock his cell out of sheer will from her sister.
“I have spoken to my father. And Belle has done her best to berate him for how you’ve been treated thus far. And your Uncle, he has… Well, he has caused a fair few scenes in an attempt to get you out of here.” She eyes up the half an orange he has carefully positioned beside him in an trying to keep the segments off of the grimy looking cobbles. There’s a pitiful expression on her face but she wipes it off as quickly as it came
“The Governor has agreed to grant you a pardon and offer you a probationary position at the hospital.”
Jack’s chest heaves at the possibility of getting out. “I can see Belle?”
Her eyes twinkle at his question. “You’ll have to be discrete. As you must know, Mother is… less than pleased that Belle has taken a liking to a man of your standing, talented as you are with your knives and such.” He’s at the bars now, his wrists knocking against them in a poorly performed symphony of metal. “But Belle is awaiting your visit.”
Fanny gestures to the guard positioned around the corner, who approaches tentatively, key in hand. Jack would think he were apprehensive of letting out a dodgy Doctor if he hadn’t noticed the way the guard’s brow prespired under Lady Fanny’s keen gaze. Jack could hardly find reason for judgment. He too found himself besotted for a woman far beyond his station.
After a curt nod to the guard, Jack finds himself charging up the prison stairs. He only stops when he hears Fanny’s huff and allows her to catch up, offering his arm. He would benefit from her company walking through town, that much he knows to be true. And if nothing else, he owes her a great deal.
/
The hospital has the same frantic energy as always, which eases the nerves bubbling in his stomach. There’s something comforting about the way the nurses hurry between wards and how visitors dart in and out. Everyone always knows where their next move is, everyone knows their way around. Jack knows this building like the back of his hand, enough to know that Belle had been moved to a private room when he had taken his one opportunity to see her post-surgery, enough to know that she should be there still. Regardless, Fanny had been here more recently, so he allows her to take the lead and simply crosses his fingers that she would know whether the Governor and his wife were at Belle’s bedside.
As though reading his mind, Fanny nodded her head to the steps and walked with him arm in arm towards her .
“Rest assured, Doctor Dawkins,” Fanny turns to him pointedly at the top of the staircase. “Belle had me ensure that Mother and Father made their way back to Governor House before I was to fetch you.”
Of course she did, she knows him well.
How wonderful it is to be so anticipated by the woman he adores that she knows to keep her parents far away to ease any tension. His heart hammers for her.
They pass by Sneed on their way to Belle’s room. Jack predicts a nasty remark about his probation, some kind of upper-handed comment about who’s in charge, but instead, the man dips his head in greeting and offers a timid smile.
“Dawkins, she had a slight fever four days ago, but Hetty upped her fluids and kept an eye on the incision. She’s back at full health now, well, as best as she can be. You can imagine she’s not happy to be so restricted. It’ll do her good to see you.” And as though Sneed realises quite how kind he sounds, he centres himself with: “I’m sure it’ll boost morale to best you in a battle of wits, as always.”
The words don’t have quite the usual bite in them that Jack is familiar with. In fact, Sneed sounds almost happy to see him, though he doubts he’ll ever get the satisfaction of hearing him say it in quite so many words. Nevertheless, Jack has somewhere to be, so he thanks Sneed for the update and continues on, Fanny still in tow.
The fever is a little alarming to hear about, but he’s reassured by knowing it was Hetty at her side to check her over. Hetty had heard Belle’s lectures about hygiene and treating infection more than Jack ever had, so she would be better equipped in her care coming out of surgery than anyone else in the building. He made a mental note to thank her when he next saw her. She had done far more for him these last few weeks than he had found the time to process.
Eventually, they reach the glass panel that stood between him and his love the last time he was here, but Jack can barely bring himself to look. He can see out of the corner of his vision that she’s laid down, a blurred figure in white laying in a bed, but he can’t look up. He’d had too many thoughts about this. About arriving at the hospital seconds too late, seeing her still warm body turn pale and lifeless. He had often envisioned himself stumbling to her side, too late to hold her hand. Too late to remind her how much affection he held for her, how loved she was. Too late to tell her how smart, how incredible, how magnificent she was. Too late, too late. Too late.
Fanny opens the door and grins at him.
His feet don’t move.
She takes to shoving him in instead, and then she shuts the door behind and, after a quick peek in through the glass, she’s gone.
Jack’s head feels heavy as he pulls it upward, and when he lets his eyes focus… There she is. There she is, chest rising and falling, lips pink, face flushed, eyes open.
“Jack.”
Her voice is hardly a whisper, but it summons him to her side. He’s everywhere she’ll have him. His hand palms her cheek and her chin, then his fingers move to wrap themselves among her curls. His eyes are quick moving, darting across her face, relearning what every part of her looks like after the image of her on the surgery table became ingrained.
“You’re alright, Belle. Oh, I had worried that I hadn’t done enough, that perhaps you would become ill or might need a second surgery or—”
“Hush, Jack, and kiss me.”
That told him. He wasted no time pressing his lips against hers, squeezing his eyes shut and holding her.
Later, she would ask him to recount the surgery as though it were from a textbook, insisting that it needed recognition from a journal. She’d pass comment about how she would request a decent meal when she caught sight of his gaze dizzying. He would insist on unbuttoning her night shirt just enough to glance over the incision site. They’d kiss again. Then, after he had talked the surgery through for the third time and let it slip that he’d had a gun to his head and had been dragged off before she had taken a breath, she would take her turn to hold him, cradling his head to her breast and allowing him to listen to the steady rhythm of her heart beating. Her heart beating. Just beating. No whoosh, no pain in her chest or tightness in her lungs. Just the comforting ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.
But for now, they stayed as they were, pressed together, uttering reassurances both for themselves and each other. Everything else could wait.