Work Text:
William paced his office, growing exceedingly frustrated. He was still waiting for his men to bring in the wife of the murdered man found in Regent’s Park Canal and the young desk sergeant had brought in another two cases for him to deal with in the past half hour. He glanced at the clock, then at the bottle of whiskey resting on the shelf. Never too early to start again after lunch, William decided and walked round his desk to retrieve the bottle and a somewhat clean glass.
The air smelt more vile than usual as William riffled through the latest case file to land on his desk, newly poured drink in his hand. Frank had switched his tobacco brand again and it was slowly filling the station with its putrid odour. Still, at least he could shut the door and try and block it out, block it all out so he could just concentrate on something.
William settled down, nursed his drink in one hand and flipped through the other rather vague reports with the other. Maybe, just maybe, he could be afforded some peace and quiet to actually get some work done.
It lasted 5 minutes.
There was a small commotion outside the door, and William knew instinctively that it could only be, would only be, caused by one person in particular. He heard the low mumbling tone of Frank, but could not make out what he, nor what Eliza was saying. Despite his irritation, he was puzzled that there was not as much arguing as usual; he was well aware that his right-hand man and his… friend, were not keen on the other. He glanced at the clock, 1:15, not two hours since she had left his office this morning. William sighed. He did not feel like having to deal with Eliza Scarlet twice in one day, let alone within such a short period of time; there was something about her that drove him to… distraction.
The inevitable knock on the door came, and William had barely uttered ‘enter’ before Frank poked his head into the office.
“I don’t have time to see her,” William said immediately, gesturing at the large pile of case files with his drink, taking care not to slosh too much of the liquid over the rim of the glass. “Tell Miss Scarlet I will speak to her when I am not inundated with cases and she has gotten her preposterous ideas about detective work out of her head.” William knew he sounded harsh, but Sterling was on his back again and William was fighting to get promoted again; he did not need any further distractions today.
Usually he could rely on Frank to nod and attempt to show Eliza out, but even instead, for once, his right hand man looked guiltily at William, who sighed, rubbed his face, wearily and spoke.
“What is it Frank?”
“You know I’d normally be quite willing to show Miss Scarlet out of the building sir, but… I think you’d better hear her out this afternoon.”
William frowned, took at large gulp of his drink and then glared at his sergeant .
“Why? It’s barely been two hours since she was last here! What kind of trouble could she have possibly got into in that time? You know as well as I do that…”
“I think,” Frank interrupted, “that you’d better listen to what she has to say sir. It’s… it’s something that’ll probably affect you too.”
William stood and rolled his eyes before motioning for Frank to send Eliza in. Frank’s head disappeared, and a short, murmured conversation ensued outside. Once again, William struggled to make out what was being said. He moved to the other side of his desk, picked up his drink and waited for Eliza to waltz into his office as if she owned the place and start to reel off ridiculous nonsense and ideas that would inevitably prevent him getting any work done for the foreseeable future.
What he didn’t expect was the tears.
His demeanor changed immediately. He placed his drink on the desk and stepped closer, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. Eliza stood by the door, which was now closed thanks to the quiet departure of Frank. She looked smaller than she had in years, as if her confidence, her will, had left her body.
William’s stomach twisted, and he quickly scanned her for marks, for injuries, anything, that might have explained why tear marks were evident on Eliza’s face. Their remnants had streaked her cheeks and fresh tears flowed from her eyes as she looked up at him for the first time since she had entered the room.
William made to say something, to ask what was wrong, but Eliza suddenly took a shuddering breath and spoke.
“He’s dead, William.”
He knew then, knew to whom she referred and he felt it like a gut punch. No, not Henry, no! How could this be? William sucked in a breath, struggled for composure.
Henry had been like a father, his mentor, his friend, and if he was feeling as wretched as this, then he couldn’t possibly fathom the pain which filled the woman standing in front of him.
“Oh, Eliza.”
He reached out for her then, instinctively, subconsciously. It was probably untoward, and if anyone caught him he’d have stick at the station for weeks, but William pulled her close regardless. He expected to be pushed away, for her to reprimand him for the invasion of her personal space. Instead, Eliza returned the embrace, held him tight around his waist and William swore that she may never let him go.
William felt rather than heard her sobs, felt Eliza’s hot breath on through his waistcoat and shirt. He just held her, just tried to support one of his oldest friends as well he could. He felt awkward, but knew she needed this, that he needed this. Yes, Eliza had lost her dear father, but William had loved Henry as if he were his own flesh and blood. It just… hurt.
He’d not held her so close in years, since he’d kissed her all that time ago. She’d been crying then too.
Eliza’s sobs were muffled in his waistcoat, but he allowed her the time to process. There was little he could do, could only really do this until she was calm enough to talk. William pulled back a little and placed at soft kiss on her forehead. He felt ridiculous, but Eliza seemed to appreciate the gesture, pulling him slightly closer at a result of the action.
He coughed slightly then, and moved his hand to swipe at the stray tear that had formed at his eye. He would grieve and mourn, but not now, not with Eliza right here. It wouldn’t be fair to take her pain and try to overshadow it with his own.
Eventually, Eliza’s sobs turned to the shuddering breaths one would expect of someone fighting to gain control. She pulled back and relinquished her hold on him. William took the signal for what it was and took a small step back, putting distance between them, but staying close enough in case she needed him again. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around the room as he allowed Eliza to compose herself.
“You’ve ruined my best shirt,” he muttered, glancing down at her, a soft forgiving smile on his lips.
Eliza smiled back, just a little, just enough.
“Oh come on William, it’s hardly your best shirt; it smells like you’ve been living in it for a week while soaking in alcohol.”
He huffed half-heartedly and offered her his handkerchief. She took it and dabbed at her slowly drying eyes. William stepped forward and placed his hand on her cheek, carefully using his thumb to wipe away a stray tear. Eliza reached up a hand and placed it over his, squeezing his fingers slightly before dropping it to her side once more. She motioned to give him his handkerchief back but William merely shook his head as he swept his thumb over her cheek once more.
“Keep it,” he whispered softly.
He knew they wouldn’t mention this again, it wasn’t who they were, not really, not now. He dropped his hand and took a step back. Eliza was quiet for a moment before she spoke.
“He, he had a heart attack. A doctor found him just… just lying in the street and brought him to the house." She paused again, looked up at him. William thought she'd never seemed so broken. "I wanted you to know. About… about father. Before you heard in through the dreadful rumour mill, or in the newspaper. I… owed you that. ”
“Thank you,” William replied as he lent back against his desk. “I know how hard it was for you to come here. Is there… is there anything I can do?”
Eliza shook her head, still clutching his handkerchief as if it was her only lifeline.
“Herr Hildegard is with…” Eliza took another deep, shuddering breath before she continued. “Herr Hildegard is with father and is sorting through options for his… his burial. I’m to stop there on the way home to go through arrangements.”
“Do you want me to come with you Eliza? I can…”
Eliza shook her head once more.
“It’s fine William. I need to… to do this on my own, to say goodbye to him on my own.”
He understood, of course he did. William nodded and didn’t press the point. There was a silence in the office. Not awkward, not at all, but the space was filled with grief and sorrow and pain.
He needed another drink.
“You’ll come to the funeral?”
“Of course.”
Eliza smiled again, just a little, and reached out a hand, placing it carefully on William’s arm before removing it quickly, as if realising what she was doing.
“I’ll get you a carriage,” William said then, moving towards the door. He opened it and called for Frank, sending the man to find a carriage as quickly as possible. If his right hand man noticed his boss’ slightly red eyes he had the sense not to comment.
Once a carriage was found, William guided Eliza out of the station. He noticed that the way was quiet, devoid of most of the usual hustle and bustle that formed around his office. He was thankful for it; not for him, but for Eliza. He escorted her to the roadside and helped her up into the carriage, holding her hand for a second longer than necessary.
“He was a good man Eliza; one of the best there was. I’m sorry he’s gone.”
Eliza didn’t have a reply, just rested her head back on the seat of the carriage. William thought she might be crying again.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do, please. You know where to find me.”
“I will,” Eliza replied. She paused and looked at him, eyes red and cheeks still tear streaked. “Thank you William.”
He bowed his head, deciding against furthering the conversation.He nodded to the driver and watched as the carriage set off back through the streets of London. William sighed, deep and full of sorrow, and turned to head back into his office, where there was comfort and drink and a place to mourn.
He knew, from that moment, that things would never be the same, that something had shifted in his life. He didn’t know what was in store, but he made a note to himself to keep an eye on Eliza. For her sake. And his. And, probably most importantly of all, for Henry.