Ripper Street/They tried to make me go to rehab...

[thirstforvice]

Jackson loses track of time as he lies on Drake's small bed, the Sergeant safe and warm and alive in his arms, the both of them dozing in and out of sleep. It must be days later, that they're both sufficiently awake at the same time to hold a conversation.

And, as always, Jackson doesn't hang about.

"I need you to do something for me, Bennet. And, no matter what I do, or say, you have to promise me you will do what I tell you now. Even if I change my mind in the future. Can you do that?"

Comments

[thirstforvice]

"Don't put yourself in danger, Bennet. Please." He's flattered by the other man's pledge to be his guardian angel, but he doesn't want to come through the withdrawal to find that he's hurt... whatever Bennet was to him now.

[thegentlemanthug]

"Danger? I've faced Dervishes in Egypt and Sudan, and I was the Army's heavyweight boxing champion."

Drake looks at Jackson fondly. "I can take a shiner or two from you."

[thirstforvice]

"You shouldn't hit the people you care about," Jackson mumbles, lying down and letting his head rest in Bennet's lap.

"I don't think it's right."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake runs his stiff fingers through Jackson's hair, enjoying the contact that he's still afraid to start himself.

"Me mum raised me better than that, God rest her," Drake says. "I won't hurt you - and I won't let no one else hurt you neither."

[thirstforvice]

"We'll see," Jackson murmurs, closing his eyes. Everyone brings a fist to his face, or belly, eventually.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake is hurt that Jackson doesn't trust him but he knows that the man's life has been less than perfect. Drake knows a bit about being knocked around, but he's never played house with a harridan like Susan.

"You get some rest," he says gently, fingers curling in Jackson's hair. "I'll be right 'ere."

[thirstforvice]

"Sorry. For whatever happens next." Jackson apologises before settling back down for more sleep. He knows when he wakes up, he won't feel so calm.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake just holds Jackson close, unable to rest when he doesn't know what's going to happen next.

The first thing he notices is that Jackson's trembling, his arms covered in goose pimples. Drake shushes him, stroking his hair, quietly terrified.

[thirstforvice]

When Jackson next wakes, he feels... far from wonderful. He has that feeling, that need, that runs right through him, affecting every sense and thought.

He reaches blindly for the bedside table, eyes still closed, fingers seeking out a laudanum bottle. When his hand clasps around empty air, he slowly begins to remember. Why did he ever think he could cope without the drugs? He was stupid. This was never going to work.

"Drake?" He croaks. Hopefully the other man's not taken his stuff far.

[thegentlemanthug]

"Right here," Drake says, eyes watching the grasping of Jackson's arm and knowing exactly what he seeks.

"You need some water?"

[thirstforvice]

"Laudanum," Jackson begs. "Changed my mind. Please..."

[thegentlemanthug]

"Got none," Drake says, voice firm and in command despite his concern. "Plenty of tea and water."

[thirstforvice]

"Drake, please," Jackson moans, pressing his face into the pillow.

"I can't do this. I made a mistake. I give up."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake shifts uneasily, but a promise is a promise.

"I don't give in that easy," he says, rubbing his hand over Jackson's back. "And it's no mistake."

[thirstforvice]

"Bennet..." There's a growl in Jackson's voice, though it's clear from the state of him he'd never put up much of a fight.

"I need the laudanum."

[thegentlemanthug]

"It'll be all out of you in a couple of days," Drake says, desperately trying to push images from the cells out of his mind.

"You just have t'hold on."

[thirstforvice]

Groaning, a little bit overdramatically, Jackson buries his face deeper into the pillow.

"Cold," he complains instead.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake wraps his hand over Jackson's forehead, frowning. He pulls the covers over him, tucking him in vigorously.

"Mrs Ramsey said she'd bring us up some tea. You'll be all right."

[thirstforvice]

"Screw tea," Jackson cusses. He doesn't want tea. Tea won't help the ice in his veins, the desperate thirst that no water will quench. If he's going to be refused, the only hope he has is to fall asleep. As quickly as possible.

[thegentlemanthug]

"You Yanks are all the same," Drake says, trying to make light of it in the hope of raising Jackson's humour. "No respect for the finer things in life."

[thirstforvice]

"You're not lettin' me near 'the finer things in life'," Jackson complains, wishing Drake would just be quiet. His voice was too loud, pounding in his head.

[thegentlemanthug]

"Maybe you should look into becoming a Methodist," Drake says, trying to distract him. "Might do you the power of good."

[thirstforvice]

"I'm dying!" Jackson suddenly wails, the noise in his ear too much. "Leave me in peace!"

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake lapses into silence. He knows Jackson's too loud for a dying man, but it still makes him ill at ease watching him suffer.

Instead, he gently runs his fingers through his hair, hoping to soothe him.

[thirstforvice]

Lulled by Drake's fingers, Jackson soon falls back into an uneasy sleep. When he wakes again, it's dark, and his whole body feels as though it's been run over by both horse and hansom. There is not a part of him that doesn't ache, and the room is so cold that he cannot control the violent shivers that run through him. These only make his limbs ache more, and he moans out his misery.