Capt. Homer Jackson (
thirstforvice) wrote2014-05-28 09:28 pm
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Ripper Street/Tonight there's going to be a jailbreak...
Leman Street was dark and deserted. It was late, and everybody else had shut up shop and gone home hours ago. But the body brought to them late in the afternoon had required several tests run, to try and ascertain the cause of death. Matthew had made it as far as poison, but was still trying to ascertain the type.
He didn't really need any assistance, but Drake seemed to want to stay with him, and he wasn't about to complain. It was probably sensible, anyway; whilst the worst of his withdrawal had passed through, there was still the odd craving that plagued him, and being left alone in his dead room, and all the pills and potions that came with it, was still not entirely advisable.
The first shouts from the cells below came as Matthew removes the heat from under a boiling beaker of water, his final experiment hopefully complete.
"You gonna go check on that?" he asks without looking up, final goal (and, therefore, home time) almost within his grasp.
He didn't really need any assistance, but Drake seemed to want to stay with him, and he wasn't about to complain. It was probably sensible, anyway; whilst the worst of his withdrawal had passed through, there was still the odd craving that plagued him, and being left alone in his dead room, and all the pills and potions that came with it, was still not entirely advisable.
The first shouts from the cells below came as Matthew removes the heat from under a boiling beaker of water, his final experiment hopefully complete.
"You gonna go check on that?" he asks without looking up, final goal (and, therefore, home time) almost within his grasp.
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"S'our day off tomorrow," he says, hoping to cheer his lover.
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"Maybe we'll both be looking for new employment soon."
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"That one's worked on Reid before, has it?"
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"We didn't let 'em run riot, did we? Some poor bobby will empty latrines for a week and that'll be that."
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"What in God's name happened last night?" Reid isn't in the mood to mince words.
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"Sergeant Drake here did his best to round them back up."
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"We caught one of them," Reid interrupts. "Do you know what he said? 'The American just let us run'."
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"You don't pay me to fight, Reid, and you sure as hell don't pay me to die trying to round up petty criminals. We were only there at all because I was trying to get test results, for you. We could've been in front of the fire at home, and then your cells would have been a damn sight emptier."
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Drake doesn't even think. He crosses the room in a heartbeat and lands a vicious left hook across Reid's jaw.
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"Are you all right? Nothing hurt?"
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"Sure I probably deserved that."
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"A word, Sergeant," Reid says.
"I'll be taking the doctor home now," Drake says, conversationally. "Accident at work - wasn't it?"
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"It's fine," Matthew tries to shrug the whole thing off, rubbing at the back of his head. "It's my fault."
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"You want to throw a punch, sir? I'm right here."
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"Come back tomorrow. In better moods, if it would please you."
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"So long as he gives me no more cause to."
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Drake trails off, letting his anger cool a little in his veins.
"We'll be seeing you tomorrow then."
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