Work Text:
Mina Harker's diary, 29th September
"[Dr. Seward] accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh cylinder… It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went about his work of going his round of the patients; when he had finished he came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel too lonely whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men— even if there are monsters in it."
* * *
When Jack returned from checking on his patients, Mina was still in his study, typing industriously as the slowed-down version of his voice played on the phonograph. She was nearly up to the present now, and he blushed to hear his own voice on the recording describe her as "a sweet-faced, dainty-looking girl." If Mina thought it amusing, her face betrayed nothing— she seemed wholly focused on typing.
Jack tried to slip into the room without interrupting her, but she flipped the switch on the phonograph to pause it, and smiled at him. "I'm almost finished," she said, "although it occurs to me that I wish to look through any newspapers you have on hand, to cross-reference with some of the events the professor described."
"Of course," Jack said, moving to his newspaper stand and grabbing a thick stack.
"You can put them there," Mina said, nodding to the desk, "and I'll attend to them in a minute." She flipped the phonograph back on and continued transcribing.
As he had done earlier, Jack picked up a book and sat down to keep her company, though this time he angled his chair differently so he could see her out of the corner of his eye. Well, he stood by his statement: she was sweet-faced, very pretty, fine-boned and sharp-eyed.
She had rolled up her sleeves to the elbows, and stray strands had shaken loose from her hairstyle, making her look a little disheveled, which was so appealing that Jack felt himself getting warm. He was used to seeing women in public situations, prim and proper and put-together (or else in utter disarray on their sickbeds or an operating table, which occupied a completely different part of his brain). To see a woman so unselfconscious in his own study felt unexpectedly intimate. Was this what it would be like to have a wife?
He tried to shake this thought out of his head as he pretended to read. As before, he wasn't reading at all, just staring at the pages trying to process everything he had seen and read and experienced today.
It was inconceivable to him that just this afternoon he had witnessed the destruction of Lucy's body. That just hours ago he had been slicing through her corpse with a bone saw, stuffing the dead lips with garlic flowers, mopping blood off his hands. All that seemed like a distant nightmare.
And in between then and now, so many emotions had flooded him! First, reading Lucy's letters to Mina: he had lingered over every word she wrote about him ("the lunatic-asylum man, with the strong jaw and the good forehead"— he had looked appraisingly at his forehead in a mirror after reading that). He'd relived the rise and fall of his hopes to marry Lucy— how long ago that seemed, and how ridiculous his proposal felt now! And yet, somehow, he was not sorry he had tried.
The other emotions swirling around in his head were related to Mina. She was very different from Lucy: reserved where Lucy was bold, straightforward where Lucy was coy, familiar where Lucy was politely distant. He still could not quite believe that he had willingly turned over his personal diary to her, and her to him, though they had met only hours earlier. It was as if they had skipped several months or even years of polite acquaintance, going straight to the familiarity of dear friends. (He had never been close friends with a woman before, and there was a thrill of both excitement and anxiety in it.)
So it was no wonder that this little scene at the moment— Mina typing away, him reading by the fire— reminded him more of a wife and husband than two people who had just met that day.
Was it so wrong to indulge in this fantasy for just a moment? Lucy had even thought they might be a good pair: she had told Mina that Jack would "do just for you, if you were not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent parti, being handsome, well off, and of good birth." Since he'd read these words this afternoon, he'd turned them over and over in his mind, and as exhaustion and emotional overwhelm flooded him, he couldn't help picturing the what-if scenario: what if he had met Mina as a suitor? Would she have shown interest? Would they have been such quick friends under different circumstances?
Might they have ended up here in his study side by side, but as husband and wife?
He let the thought linger for a moment, then chided himself for it. After all, Mina had married a man far worthier than himself. His mind flitted again to Jonathan Harker's diary, and he felt his heart race at the prospect of meeting him tomorrow. Jack tried to picture what he must look like: tall and broad-shouldered, like Arthur, but with adventurous, twinkling eyes, like Quincey, and an iron nerve like Van Helsing, manifested in bushy eyebrows. What a pair Mr. Harker and his wife must make! With the two of them on their side, and Van Helsing's brilliant leadership, surely no monster could stand against them.
The last wax cylinder crackled to a close, and Jack set down his book, looking over at Mina as she leaned back with a self-satisfied smile and cracked her knuckles. She flexed her hands, wincing, and Jack asked, "Are your hands sore?"
"It's my wrists," she said. "It's been a while since I've typed so much in so little time!"
Jack stood and walked to her, and before he really registered what he was doing, he gently took both her hands, moving them back and forth to watch the tendons in her wrists flex. "How does that feel?"
"Tender."
"Try stretching them like this," Jack said, taking one hand and gently bending it. Mina winced, but assured him that it was a good pain, just sore. He stretched the other one in turn, then rubbed the muscles in each of her fingers, watching her face relax as he massaged out the tension.
As her hand slipped out of his, he felt a rush of desire to continue holding it, to plant kisses all over it. The feeling was so intense that he felt himself blushing, and he turned away quickly so that Mina wouldn't see his red cheeks.
He heard Mina grabbing the newspapers and flipping through them. "I shall take these up to my room and finish my work there," she said. "Then all will be ready for the meeting tomorrow."
Jack had mastered himself, and turned around with a polite smile. "Madam Mina, I can't thank you enough for your secretarial work today. I'm certain it will aid our efforts more than I can say. Now, you must be sure not to stay up too late, and to rest."
"You're one to talk!" Mina said with a grin. "You must be utterly exhausted after such a day."
Jack smiled a bit bitterly. "Unfortunately, exhaustion does little to help me sleep."
Mina nodded. "I know." (Of course she did— he had complained about his insomnia enough in his diary.) Mina hesitated as if mulling something over, then brightened. "Well, I am not sleepy anyway, so perhaps we can sit up together. It's going to take a long time to comb through all these newspapers."
Jack felt a thrill of happiness. "Perhaps I could help?"
"Perfect! Let's sit by the fire and work on this together."
They drew up chairs to the little fire-grate and sat across from each other, flipping through paper after paper. They were focused on their purpose, but occasionally one of them would find a strange or funny article and read it to the other. (Mina had a beautiful laugh.) The clock struck twelve, and then one, and then two. Jack was even beginning to feel like he could drop off into slumber— a rarity for him— but he couldn't bear to do anything to break the spell of this moment, just the two of them sitting by the fire working to a common purpose.
He raised his head to comment on an article, but saw that Mina had nodded back in her chair and fallen asleep.
The sight of her fast asleep in his study, her lips slightly parted, her head crooked at an awkward angle, so affected him that he had to turn away, feeling as if he had witnessed something he should not. Waves of emotion, heightened by his exhaustion, rolled over him: affection, desire, grief, longing, gratitude.
In another life, every evening might be like this. With Lucy, or Mina, or some other equally brilliant woman: someone to keep him company in the loneliness of his insomnia, someone to share his space and provide comfort by her mere presence.
For a moment he imagined himself walking over to her chair and kissing her to wake her up— and how, were she his wife, she would smile and kiss him back.
It was too much, too much! He had been assailed but too many emotions today, and it was making him weak and addled.
Jack stood abruptly. He walked to Mina's side and gently shook her shoulder. She blinked in confusion as she woke, before laughing. "Oh dear! I suppose I was sleepier than I thought."
"I insist you go to bed now," he said with a smile, though the words felt painful as he spoke them. "You know the way?"
"Of course," she said, standing up. "I'll see you in the morning."
She started to walk to the door, and Jack internally congratulated himself for successfully making it through the evening without any slip in propriety.
But then Mina turned around and stepped back to him, standing close. Her face was serious as she said, "I know it is a great honor to share one's inner thoughts with another, particularly a stranger. I thank you for trusting me with your heart in this way, as I have trusted you with mine and my husband's."
The sincerity in her voice nearly brought tears to Jack's eyes. "No, the honor is mine. I will not betray such a sacred trust."
Mina unexpectedly grabbed both his hands, squeezing them tightly as if in pledge. "We are friends now, aren't we?"
"Yes!" Jack said, his voice coming out a bit more desperate than he intended. Her hands in his, her face so close to his, made him feel like holy fire was burning in his chest. "Good heavens, if anything could make us friends, it would be this sharing of our words, our hearts. I hope you will count me as one of your best friends, forever."
Mina smiled sadly, but her voice was full of warmth. "You said such a thing to Lucy, too."
He felt a lump in his throat. "I did."
"And you proved yourself a true friend to her, giving time and sleep and even your own blood—"
"And I would do it again, a thousand times, for such a sweet lady and friend. And I would do it a thousand times more for you!" He hadn't intended to make such a declaration, but it slipped out, and in the fervor of the moment, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.
He immediately pulled back, blurting out, "Forgive me!" His heart was racing even at the brief touch, and he wondered if he had ruined everything, if she felt accosted, if he had broken trust…
Mina's face registered surprise, which immediately changed to kind sympathy. "My poor friend! You have had such a trying day, and none to comfort you."
"You have been a comfort," he said in a small voice.
"As have you. And since we are friends, I see no reason for you to ask forgiveness for so sincere a gesture."
She began to lean forward, but it was so unbelievable that she would return his sign of affection that for a moment Jack couldn't figure out what she was doing. But then her lips were pressed against his cheek, gentle but firm, and her kiss radiated both comfort and fondness with such tangible strength that he was completely overwhelmed.
As she pulled away, all he could think to say was a faint, "Y-your husband is blessed to have you."
Mina's eyes sparkled at the mention of Jonathan. "And I him! And we shall both be blessed to have you as our friend." Mina smiled at him with such warmth that Jack had to resist the urge to fall at her feet and sob into the folds of her skirt. "Goodnight, my friend," she said, then slipped her hands out of his and walked out the door.
After she left, Jack sank down by the fire, and then laid down on his back on the floor, touching his cheek where Mina had kissed him. He was simply too overwhelmed to think of anything at all, and so he just replayed the kiss again and again in his mind, tears of gratitude or exhaustion or both leaking from the corners of his eyes.
For once, he fell asleep easily.
~~~