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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[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.

[thirstforvice]

Not really, Jackson thinks, but instead just gives a non-committal grunt, closing his eyes. He hopes that, if he manages to fall asleep, he'll feel better next time he wakes.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake holds Jackson close, wrapping his arms around him.

"It'll be all right, love," he says again, hoping it's true.

[thirstforvice]

Minutes turn to hours, hours to days, as Jackson drifts in and out of sleep. He gets worse before he gets better, sick and shaky and furious with Drake before the drug's spell finally breaks. Finally, he starts to feel that little bit better every time he comes to, rather than worse, and a week after this whole process started he finds himself able to think with a clear head of something other than the next bottle, or syringe.

Instead, he's mostly thinking about how desperately he needs a bath.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake is exhausted.

Mrs Ramsey has stayed clear, as he instructed, but he has tried to feed and water Homer as best he can. He has struggled to comfort and soothe the aches and the terrors.

And now he lies in a stupor, clutching Jackson to him as if he might break and be lost to him forever.

[thirstforvice]

Waking up with the dawn, Jackson pulls feebly out of Drake's grip, sitting up slowly to try and keep his aching muscles from complaining too loudly. He feels beyond weak, not surprising since he can't have eaten for many days. And a bath, oh how he needs to wash.

But there's nothing he can do whilst Drake slumbers, and he wouldn't wake the other man for anything. Not after all he's done to look after him.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake stirs as he feels Jackson move.

"Homer? Where you going, love?"

[thirstforvice]

"Go back to sleep," Jackson whispers at once, wincing at himself for waking Drake up. With the loss of the drugs in his system, he has refound his ability to be considerate to others.

"It's early."