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?"

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[thegentlemanthug]

Alarmed, Drake rubs his back, trying not to retch himself.

"Easy, Homer, easy."

[thirstforvice]

"Glass, in my stomach," Jackson moans, pain like he's never experienced twisting him up as his muscles cramp and tremble.

"Help me, Drake, please..."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake grips his arms tightly, face lined with worry.

"Tell me how!"

[thirstforvice]

"Laudanum. Cocoa. Anything." Jackson begs. "I can't do this any more."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake's expression closes, struggling to hide the fear on his face.

"I can't do that. You know I can't."

[thirstforvice]

"Please," Jackson begs, shaking like a leaf beneath Drake's hands.

"This is killing me."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake swallows down his guilt and shakes his head.

"I made a promise."

[thirstforvice]

Turning his head away, Jackson can't keep a few tears from falling. He just hopes Drake doesn't see, wanting some shred of his dignity to survive this ordeal.

"Another blanket?" He requests quietly.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake carefully spreads his spare blanket over Jackson, before wiping away the wetness on his Homer's cheeks with rough fingers.

"You're stronger than this," he says softly. "I know you are."

[thirstforvice]

Jackson flinches away, ashamed and embarrassed, wishing Drake wasn't there to see this. He's never felt so weak, so vulnerable, and death actually feels like something to hope for rather than fear.

[thegentlemanthug]

"Shh, darlin'," Drake says softly. "You seen me worse than this. My arms all black and swelled."

He puts his arms around him and presses his chest against Jackson's back.

[thirstforvice]

"Don't... if I die..." Jackson says through clenched teeth, whole body on fire, shakes beyond his control. "Don't let Susan take... everything. Keep something for yourself."

[thegentlemanthug]

"That ain't gonna happen," Drake says firmly, refusing to even consider the possibility. "You'll be back running the Dead Room next week. I know it's so."

[thirstforvice]

"I'll be in the dead room, next week," Jackson answers, pulling the blankets tighter to him as the fire in his veins turns back to ice.

[thegentlemanthug]

"Working," Drake says firmly. "Mocking me in front of the Inspector. Thinking about getting home to our rooms and a nice cup of tea."

He hesitates, then continues in a lower tone. "More than that, if you want. Anything you want, Homer."

[thirstforvice]

"Laudanum!" Jackson sees his chance to beg again.

"Please, anything..."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake moves back, unhappy.

"No," he says. "Anything but that."

[thirstforvice]

"You said anything," Jackson moans, another spasm shooting through him.

"Liar..."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake tries to rub at Jackson's limbs, hoping to help with the pains.

"Don't ask me to break my word to you," he says quietly. "I won't do it, Homer."

[thirstforvice]

"You'll kill me," Jackson cries into the pillow.

"I can't do this. I can't!"

[thegentlemanthug]

"Shh, love, shh," Drake begs of him, hands working at his shoulders to ease some of the tension he finds there.

"Not long now, Homer. Soon be over. Soon you'll be right as rain."

[thirstforvice]

"I'm thirsty," Jackson complains, needing something even if it won't make him feel better. Water would be better than nothing.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake pours another glass of water.

"Lean on me," he says, putting his arm behind Jackson's back to draw him upright.

[thirstforvice]

Slumping heavily against Drake's chest, finding himself unable to sit up straight under his own strength, Jackson has no choice but to let Bennet hold the glass to his lips and tilt it up.

Drinking until he starts to cough, Jackson pulls back and drops his head down heavily on Drake's shoulder.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake holds Jackson against him, wanting to have him close despite the stench of sweat and vomit.

"Better?" he says, taking the glass away.