Archive of Our Own ^beta

Crackling orchestral music filled the small boudoir, propelled forward by the world’s saddest phonograph. It was old, well-loved, and was definitely starting to show signs of its age. Or rather, it had been showing signs of its age for about a decade— and yet, the Dawsons never invested in a new one. Rosemary insisted that to get rid of that phonograph would be akin to disowning a member of their own family.

“Practically throwing her out into the street!” she had cried when the contentious point had been raised during supper one evening.

Emily, having been witness to these dramatic tirades ever since Rosemary had learned to speak , only ate her stew in silence, knowing full well that no amount of logic and/or reasoning would ever appeal to her incredibly-skewed sense of justice and overly-sentimental heart.

Josephine, however, had never learned such a lesson, and made it her life’s goal to whip her youngest sister into shape.

“It is a box , Rosie, not some secret fourth sister. Be reasonable!” she crowed from the far end of the dining table. Emily, in the interim, subtly asked her father to pass the salt, which he did with no shortage of silent resignation. “You cannot simply thrust yourself into these fits every time you develop an emotional attachment to a… a widget !”

“Hettie is not a widget! She is family! ”

And thus, it continued until they were both blue in the face, and Rosie had taken hold of a slice of bread in one hand, her bowl of soup in the other, and threatened to sling them at her sister at velocities so daunting, they may have led to a whole new mode of transportation. Josie, absolutely appalled at the “positively animalistic” behavior that the youngest had exhibited that evening, took her bowl of stew, gave them a curt farewell, and retreated to her quarters.

It was rather apparent to the family and the household staff that Rosie had won that particular tiff, therefore earning the right to keep the phonograph, in all its derelict beauty.

Emily chuckled to herself at the memory. Rosie, who had been styling Emily’s hair, peered at her through the reflection in the mirror, her eyes wide and inquisitive. She always looked far too eager at the prospect of any sort of secret.

“What are you laughing about?”

“I was only reminiscing. You remember the phonograph discussion. With Josie.”

She groaned with her whole body, deflating until she was doubled-over, and— with her hands still tightly gripping her hair— taking Emily with her. She traveled with her, keeping a hold on the vanity so as to stop herself from toppling backwards. It was commonplace enough that she knew what to do.

“She is still nagging me about getting rid of her.” She huffed, returning to a standing position, and gesturing emphatically. “Imagine that! Getting rid of our old Hettie! She might as well send me to a nunnery!”

Emily arched an eyebrow. “I would advise against suggesting that in her presence. You may give her ideas, what with your profession.” Her sister grimaced with a certain ferocity, crying out in disgust, and making Emily laugh. “Watch out! She has maps for you to scale!”

“I am not becoming a cartographer! I will sooner face death with dignity than become Papa’s assistant, and her colleague. We would never get anything done! She would only gripe over every minute detail, down to the seventh decimal point.”

In some ways, Emily regretted even bringing it up, as she knew she was about to send her into yet another tirade, but at least it made the incredibly dull task of styling her hair much more interesting. Her younger sister had a penchant for facial expressions— no doubt from her years in the theatre business— and regularly practiced overexpression , to the point where she could never be seen with anything even resembling a neutral affect.

So, she let her babble on about all the imagined wrongdoings of Josie as her work colleague in this world she was making up on the spot. It was better to let her get it out of her system, particularly because Josie would be attending the same party this evening.

The Dawsons had been cordially invited to a… how did that gaudy invitation put it? “A Gala of Fascinating Minds and Wandering Souls” ? Some such nonsense as that. Her father insisted it was a gathering of intellectuals, a place for scientists like them to discuss their ideas and their work. Apparently, every prestigious academic in the city had received an invitation.

She had never heard of this so-called Count of Monte Cristo, but he sounded like an absolute cad, at best, and a deranged lunatic, at worst. What sort of noble held parties specifically for scientists and academics?

He was probably about 80 years old, decrepit in both body and mind, stupidly rich, and looking for a way to live forever. That was her guess, and she would be surprised if she was wrong. She had met those types before, and it had never gone well. It was a surprise he was even allowing the women to attend, knowing his type.

“Is the doctor attending this evening?” Rosie asked, just naturally enough to pass off as a normal remark. Emily knew her sister better than that, though. She didn’t ask any question just to fill the air with noise— she always had a reason.

Gently pulling a long ringlet curl over her shoulder, she eyed her through the reflection of the mirror. “He said he was, yes, but I wouldn’t believe it until I see him there.” Then, with a sardonic grin, she added, “Why do you ask? Fancy the doctor, do you?”

“No!” she shrieked with disgust. Had Jekyll felt such an insult in his mortal soul? To have someone so vehemently deny attraction would certainly damage the ego. “I…” Rosie started, her eyes flitting about wildly as she tried to piece her words together, as she was wont to do when she was cornered. “I was only curious about the man that my sister is working with. That’s all.”

“Need I remind you? You have met him already.”

“I have not met him. We were in the same room together. That is not the same.” Pinning a curl in place, she worked diligently, her focus rivaling that of the best researchers at the university. “I only meant that it is good for one to meet one’s sister’s… associates .”

Even if Emily hadn’t caught a glance of her mischievous grin, she would have heard the smile in her voice, the way “associates” seemed to roll off her tongue, accentuated in all the wrong places. Turning on the vanity stool, she gave her a glare— something that she was, unfortunately, impervious to at this point.

“Rosie, whatever fantasy you have created in your head of me and the doctor—”

“Oh, but Emmie , it’s so romantic!”

“He’s my mentor! We are not having some sort of sordid affair, or dalliance, or anything! I reek of medicinal herbs half of the time. No man would want to be— to be nuzzling some woman who smelled of dirt, garlic, and ashwagandha!”

With that, she turned back to face the mirror, positively fed up. Rosie, however, took the opportunity to hug her from behind, resting her chin on Emily’s shoulder, giving her a gentle smile in the reflection of the mirror.

“I’m sorry, Em. I meant nothing by it.”

Emily only harumphed in response.

“But, just as devil’s advocate, the doctor would also smell of dirt, garlic, and ashwagandha.” Without missing a beat, Emily’s hand flew backwards, blindly smacking her sister’s back. Rosie yelped, and withdrew, but that mischievous smile didn’t leave her lips. “Even if it’s not the doctor, don’t you think you ought to show those stuffy academic types what they’re missing in those books of theirs?”

Emily sighed. “What in the name of God’s green earth are you talking about?”

With that same grin, Rosie wordlessly pulled down on the already-plunging neckline of Emily’s dress, accentuating her natural assets even more than they had been.

“ROSEMARY DAWSON!” Emily roared, standing from the vanity stool to give chase after her sister, who already had a running start, laughing all the way.

“SHOW ‘EM WHAT GOD BLESSED YOU WITH, EMMIE!!”

The Dawsons disembarked from the carriage as they arrived at their destination: an airship docking station. As the group— consisting of Emily, her two sisters, her brother-in-law, and her father— meandered through the docks, one airship in particular caught their attention.

Emily, in particular, was awestruck by the vessel. The airship, named Joie de Vivre , consisted of five independently-afloat ships all tethered to one another: two smaller ships on either side, and a massive one in the middle. Its hulls were decorated with golds, silvers, platinums, and coppers, and adorned with enough jewels to rival the night sky, each of them sparkling brilliantly in the lantern light of the docks. Partygoers already crowded the docks of these vessels, peering over the sides, and waving to those still on the docks. Confetti and balloons and ribbons floated throughout the air, seemingly held aloft by some sort of advanced ventilation system. Large propellers spun lazily beneath the ships, cutting the air with deep whooshes.

It was, by far, the most impressive feat of aeroscience that she had ever laid eyes upon. It was also, by extension, incredibly indicative of the financial state of their host for that evening.

“Papa, have you met the Count before?” she asked, curious as to what kind of old coot this man had to be.

“We must have, however, I will admit that we have mostly communicated through written correspondence thus far.” Linking arms with Emily and Rosemary, he strode forward, towards the gangway. “Although, I cannot recall ever meeting someone with the title of the Count of Monte Cristo.”

“It’s certainly distinct enough,” she grumbled, only a tad judgmentfully.

“Emmie, he’s French ,” Rosie reminded her gently.

“Are you two already insulting your host?” Josie piped up from behind them, arm-in-arm with her husband, William. “Honestly. I thought I taught you better manners than that.”

“Oh, Josie, darling, don’t sell yourself short. You did teach us better manners that that,” Emily said, a sweet smile curdling on her lips. “It is only that I have chosen to ignore your lessons in favor of my own.”

“Of course,” she grumbled, disappointed but not surprised, it would seem. Such was the usual.

“Now, girls, no fighting. We must be respectable guests.” Emily turned her head over her shoulder, flashing her sister an arrogant smirk before sticking her tongue out at her. “That means you , too, Emily.”

Josie snickered as Emily quickly retracted her tongue, spinning around to meet her father’s gently disapproving look, arched eyebrow and all.

She heaved a sigh in concession, her voice heavy with sarcasm as she said, “Very well.”

With that, they began ascending the gangway towards the marvelous, central ship of the Joie de Vivre , the first musical notes from the bandstand filling the air around them.

✴✴✴

Jekyll stood on the mezzanine of the central ship, watching the other partygoers board with a furrow in his brow. What on earth was he even doing here? Sure, the party was more of an academic function than not, but still, shouldn’t he have been at home, working on his research in his private study, or otherwise just… not here ?

It was too late. Now that he boarded, he couldn’t just leave without alerting his host— and he had no idea who his host was, or what he even looked like. What was he to do for an entire evening? Mingle? With whom ?

Thousands of lights hung on crisscrossed strings over the main deck below, bathing the deck, and the people on it, in a luscious, golden light. And, with the jewels that adorned the ship, the shimmering fabrics of the dresses of the women, and the ornaments that the guests wore, everything below him seemed to sparkle, like the sun setting over a lake. The lights almost acted as a roof over the deck, although, one could see the dancers through it.

Well, it might not have been ideal, but he could always people-watch for an evening. If he was being honest with himself, it would do him some good to spend an evening out of his study. At least, in all this hullabaloo, it would be much harder to listen to Hyde’s constant whining.

This simply won’t do, he thought, forcefully straightening his posture and absentmindedly dusting himself off. Descending the stairs from the mezzanine, he cleared his throat in an effort to remove its nervous lump. As his eyes flitted about the deck, he couldn’t help but notice that many eyes were on him— much more than he had been anticipating.

The beginnings of a cold sweat dotted the back of his neck, but he wet his lips, and continued onward, hoping to keep any more attention off of himself as he searched for an appropriate corner to lurk in. A member of the staff approached him with flights of champagne, and he happily took one, desperate to ease his nerves.

Nothing a single — and he meant single— glass of liquid courage couldn’t solve.

As he stood in the corner, watching the others mill about and make their introductions, he sipped from the flight, breathing deeply, and reminding himself that he was invited to the party, and, therefore, had every right to be there. Just as everyone else did.

The crowds would ebb and flow, gathering and waning as they chattered and laughed. He recognized a good number of them from the university, and recognized others from various academic talks that he had attended. Some of them brought their wives, or families, or siblings, by the look of it. The Count had been rather generous in his invitations, and had the supplies to show for it.

Just as he was doing the calculations for what this party must have cost (shocked by even the first estimations), the crowd parted before him, giving him the perfect view of one particular guest that was just arriving.

His apprentice, removing the beaded shawl from her shoulders to reveal an off-the-shoulder evening gown with a lace berthe at the neckline. The gown was of red silk and velvet, and yet, had a seemingly-iridescent quality to it, shifting from red to violet, or copper, or gold, or even some shades of green, depending on which way she turned. One or two ringlet curls were draped over her shoulder, the rest of her hair tied into an updo. She had even used cosmetics — rouge and lipstick and kohl… it was hard to believe she was the same woman that had been assisting him in his work.

As he stared, his mouth hanging slightly ajar, the champagne flight slipped from his fingers, shattering at his feet. The sharp sound broke him from his stupor, and a nearby server rushed to brush away the bits of glass.

When he looked up, only a few remaining members of the crowd still looked at him. Miss Dawson, however, had disappeared.

Really, what had come over him? She must have—

“I must have startled you, doctor.” Her mischievous smile met him as he spun around, nearly toppling over the server as he backed up in a fruitless attempt to recoil from her. He teetered, but she caught him, righting him as if it was second nature to her. Her hands lingered for a moment as her eyes flitted up to his, sparkling under the dazzling, golden chains of lights overhead. “Watch your step.”

He mumbled out his thanks, his neck growing uncomfortably warm under her scrutiny. There was a lilting hint of a tease in her voice, in the arch of her brow, the curve of her smile. It was enough to send him into a proper state— although, he had no idea why. It was only Emily Dawson. Nothing odd about her… even if she was a little more dressed up than usual.

Now that they were closer, he could see more details of her gown. It had a bustle in the back, along with delicate layers of ruffles in the front, all lined with a black velvet trim. The colors of her dress shifted even more up close, playing tricks on his eyes as if he were looking through a lens of soap bubbles. It was fascinating, mesmerizing .

Yeah, sure, blame it on the dress, that unfortunate squatter in his brain chided. Jekyll just ignored him.

“Miss Dawson, you look—” he started, his words failing him. Clearing his throat, painfully aware of the heat building from his neck into his face, he averted his gaze from her. “You look quite handsome this evening.”

“... ‘Handsome’.”

“Yes… quite.”

She sighed, her voice flat as she said, “Thank you, doctor.”

Good job, there, doc. What’s next? Telling her how burly her exposed shoulders make her look?

“Quiet, you,” Jekyll winced, his head pounding as Hyde slithered back to the dark corner of his mind. It was enough of a dramatic exit to make him sway, only to be steadied by Emily once more.

“Your headaches again, doctor?” she asked, keeping her voice soft, low.

She knew about his condition , of course, but was also acutely aware of how easily others would accuse him of being mad. She had been referring to his alter ego as a headache for several months— and truly, he had been hard pressed to find a better descriptor since.

Her hand remained on his forearm, steadying him with a fortitude that had always seemed to escape him, and yet, was innate to her. She didn’t waver, or shy away, or even flinch. Her eyes only lifted to his, searching his expression for any clues to his condition.

With the lights and the fluttering confetti and the prisms that hung from the wires all raining golden, glimmering light onto her face, his chest tightened at the sight of her inquisitive eyes. As she extended a delicate hand towards his face, he instinctively held his breath, his body going rigid.

Brushing a gloved fingertip across his temple, she brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face, leaving a cooling trail of fire in its wake.

“Would you like some water?” she asked, before that mischievous curl to her lip returned. “Or, perhaps, a stronger sort of medicinal?”

“I fear if I have another medicinal, I may very well lose myself completely,” he murmured, forcibly tearing his gaze from hers. While another glass of champagne was calling to him in a siren’s song, he continued to maintain his strict, self-imposed limit.

Temptations floated through his mind— to drink and be merry, to dance, to laugh, to chatter— but his reputation stopped him from indulging. These were the people he regularly worked with! What would they think of him if he were to become drunk? Or, worse— what would they think of him if Hyde crawled out of his rat’s nest?

Miss Dawson squeezed his forearm, quirking an eyebrow at him, sending a stammer through his heart.

“I can see you’re already worrying yourself into a proper fit,” she said, her smile taking on a teasing curve. “You ought to enjoy yourself this evening, doctor. Even drunk, I am sure you would conduct yourself as a proper gentlemen would.”

Hooking a finger under his ascot, he attempted to loosen it, his throat feeling oddly tight as she withdrew her hands from his person. “Th—thank you, Miss Dawson.” Tilting her head to the side, she peered up into his bowed face, reading every minute flicker of emotion in his expression. His throat tightened more still. Was he having some sort of reaction? Perhaps something he ate? He took the first cowardly step back towards the gangway, his resolve failing him. “A-Actually, perhaps I ought to go home…”

“Stay, doctor,” she urged, her voice gentle as her hand took him by the crook of the elbow. He jumped nearly a foot in the air at the contact.

It was utterly perplexing. Miss Dawson was always touching him— well, of course, not in that way, but in a completely appropriate way between two colleagues. That was just the way she was! She would touch his shoulder as she passed, or hold his hand as she guided a vial of some extract or another into his waiting grip. It was entirely commonplace for her.

“Please?” Her voice— now even softer, just barely above a whisper— broke him from his swirling, confusing thoughts.

Even more perplexing still, he locked eyes with her, and the words fell from his mouth, free of his control.

“... Very well.”

A smile bloomed on her lips, her eyes sparkling under the lights that dangled above them as they widened in surprise and joy.

She said something then— something excited, something joyful— but it was drowned out by a blaring fanfare from above, and cheers from the crowd.

A deep, resounding voice was amplified over the crowd. “Ladies and gentleman—!”

“Oh— the party must be starting,” she said, looking between the crowd and Jekyll. Just then, voices called over the crowd, calling for her. “I should be returning to my family. But please, come find us later. My father would love to see you again.”

That swell of inexplicable resolve that had washed over him moments before just as inexplicably vanished at the mere mention of her leaving. Before he could even protest to her leaving him alone once more, she was bounding back through the crowd. He reached for her, hoping to stop her as she had stopped him, but it was no use. She had already disappeared into the crowd, vanishing from sight.

Her departure left him feeling much more hollow than he had been anticipating. He really couldn’t make heads or tails of it— perhaps because she was someone he felt he could converse with? Perhaps because now, with her gone, he would be forced to make excruciating small talk and fake niceties with colleagues whose names he barely remembered?

The memory of her smile, still fresh in his mind, lingered, setting his heart pounding and tightening his throat and warming his face all over again. Had she always smiled like that? No, he was certain she hadn’t; if she had , he would have noticed quite some time ago.

… Surely, he would have noticed .

As the announcement continued to blare over the crowd, stating that the gangways had been withdrawn, and the airship would be taking off soon, a new sense of resolve settled over Jekyll, just as warm and steady as stepping into a bath.

He had to find her again. He had to see that smile again.

Perhaps it had only been the influence of the champagne, or her formal dress, or the lights above, but her presence had intoxicated him. The last hints of her perfume wafted away from him, the last traces of her warmth leaving his forearm where she had held him. His fingers grazed the spot, the barest traces of a smile pulling at his lips at the memory.

As the airship took off, gently lifting into the air to fly over the London cityscape, Jekyll’s mind swam with the thoughts of what had already transpired that evening, and with the possibility of what may yet come.

The words formed on his lips, spoken to no one but himself.

Miss Dawson.

✴✴✴

“There you are!” Rosie smiled, looping their arms together. Josie, William, and her father were all waiting for her, as well. She didn’t mind— the trip had been worth it. “Where did you rush off to in such a hurry?”

“I saw the doctor, and stopped by to say hello.”

Rosie’s smile took on a curious, searching curl to it, inclining her head towards her. “The doctor , hm?”

Their father led them up the stairs to the mezzanine level— a slow, arduous process, as he felt the need to say hello and chitchat with every colleague they passed. Which was just about everyone. This, unfortunately, gave Rosie all the more time to pry into Emily’s professional life.

“And? What happened?”

“Nothing happened . I went to say hello, we said hello, and then I left.”

“Oh, come on, Emmie. Where is your sense of romance? Of adventure?” she started, getting that sparkling look in her eyes that always seemed to foretell a hopeful monologue. “We are attending one of London’s biggest parties— on an airship , at that— and all you had to say to the doctor was ‘hello’? You should have asked him to dance, or to come visit us, or… or anything at all!”

“We are colleagues , Rosie. Just because we work together does not mean there is all this romantic tension between us. Our lives are much less eventful than you seem to give us credit for.”

“You mean to tell me that the two of you spend all that time together, and have not even shared a few heart-pounding moments?”

Emily faltered, but not for the reason Rosie was thinking. “W-Well…”

“See? I knew it!”

“No— that is not what I meant!”

The heart-pounding moments weren’t because of any forbidden dalliances, or stolen kisses. No, they were from having to appeal to the doctor’s humanity to banish Hyde, or from removing a bullet from his shoulder, or from the innumerous, dangerous situations that the two of them always seemed to find themselves in. She had more of a fluttering heartbeat from combining wolfsbane with sulfuric acid than she did from spending time at the doctor’s side!

She couldn’t tell Rosie about all of that , though. It would scare her to death. Helping Emily dress up to look like a man was one thing, but to face actual, real-life dangers was another, altogether. Perhaps it would be better to let her believe that the doctor was the most exciting part of her day, rather than giving her nightmares about her sister going missing because she got tied up in something much bigger than herself.

“Then what is it?” Rosie asked, her eyes sparkling with every ounce of mischief her body seemed capable of. She wasn’t believing it— which was to be expected. “Your secret is safe with me, Em. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Emily hesitated, trying to fabricate a lie that matched all of the criteria: wasn’t too dangerous, but believable; didn’t have to do with the doctor, but gave her a reason for her heart to pound…

“Girls,” their father called to them, breaking them out of the conversation, and giving Emily the perfect reason to avoid an answer. An attendant stood at his side, his hands tucked behind his back, and a strained, dutiful smile pulling at his lips. “Our host has asked us to meet him on the balcony. Come along, now.”

The attendant led the way, ascending the final set of stairs of the center ship to its balcony level, which was cordoned off for only the most distinguished of guests. As they reached the top of the stairs, Emily and Rosie took their father’s arms on either side. Emily leaned onto her tip-toes, peering this way and that to try and find any sort of angle on their mysterious host, but he was constantly blocked from view by his attendants.

Then, the attendants dispersed, the sea in front of the Count parting, giving Emily a perfect, unobstructed view of him as they approached. Her eyes widened, her stomach flopping over itself as she took in his appearance.

He wasn’t old at all. Not exactly a young man, but definitely not an old coot, as she had been anticipating. His long, chestnut-colored hair was pulled into a low ponytail, tied with a blue ribbon, the first streaks of grey painting the strands closest to his temples, and lighter, sun-bleached streaks dappling the remainder of it. Despite the waviness of his hair, it was immaculately-groomed, slicked back with pomade, aside from a few flyaway strands at the front. His beard and mustache, similarly, were trimmed, styled, and groomed— nothing like the ragged mutton chops she had seen on most of the gentlemen that evening— hinting at, and accentuating, a sharper jawline underneath.

His dark blue suit glimmered under the lights, every movement catching the eye. This was helped, in part, due to his stature, with broad shoulders and large enough muscles that even the most noble of clothing could not hide his build.

As they drew closer, his eyes flashed to them, sharp and searching, at first, but melting into the gentlemanly kindness that she would expect of a host. It was interesting— his skin had the signs of a man who had spent much of his time outdoors, and yet, he had the wealth to flaunt at an event such as this.

Already, he piqued her interest, as he had gone against everything she had expected of him. Then again, this had happened before, and the minute someone began speaking, she would lose all interest that she had ever had. Only time would tell if he was like the others, or not.

She found herself hoping— even if she was unaware of it— that he wouldn’t prove her wrong.

“Mister Dawson,” the Count said, his voice a bass that was uncommon in the noble circles. He closed the distance between them, extending his hand to her father. There was only the slightest hint of an accent to his speech, a well-controlled francophonic cadence. “It is a pleasure to meet you, at last.”

“Your Excellency,” her father greeted. “Thank you for inviting us to your soiree this evening. I am Thaddius Dawson,” he said, before pointing to each of them in turn, “and these are my daughters: Josephine, Emily, and Rosemary.”

“Enchanté.” With a grin that was far too charming, to the point of becoming dangerous, his eyes lingered on Emily for just a few moments longer than the others. Or, perhaps, it was her imagination. Although, part of her wished it wasn’t. “I have faith that your daughters have inherited your intelligence, good sir.”

“O-Oh, yes, of course!” her father stammered, just as awestruck as the rest of them, it would seem. “My eldest, Josephine, is a wonderfully talented cartographer and general curator. She helped me for years, cataloging all of the artifacts I came across, and mapping out my exploration from my… admittedly shoddy notes.” Josephine curtsied, a smug grin pulling at her lips at the praise, as was usually the case. “My youngest, Rosemary, has taken over for her since she married. A wonderful head for numbers, my Rosie. She attends to the bookkeeping, the inventory, all of those finer details.”

The Count nodded and smiled as he listened, arching an eyebrow or widening his smile at each achievement. His gaze naturally drifted over to Emily by the end of it, locking eyes with her, expectant and curious.

“And Emily, well,” her father beamed, his chest puffing out. “She has spread her wings, and is pursuing an education in medicine and alchemical sciences.”

“An incredible field, surely,” the Count said, his eyes never leaving hers. “You must have a most impressive intellect, Miss Dawson.”

Warmth crept into her cheeks at the compliment, much to her chagrin. She knew she was intelligent; she didn’t need to be told she was intelligent for it to be true. And yet, to be so readily validated by someone that she wasn’t working with was quite… nice.

With a small tilt of her head, and a knowing smile, she decided to test his ego. “ I certainly like to believe so.”

Josie hissed behind her, but it was drowned out by the Count’s laugh. Not out of derision or malice, but out of genuine mirth.

“Not only an impressive intellect, but an impressive wit, as well!” Collecting himself, he extended a hand to her, his smile playful and almost bordering on boyish. When she placed her hand in his, he dipped low, pressing a kiss to her knuckles momentarily before looking up at her. “Your confidence is most appreciated, Miss Dawson.”

Rosie gasped— however quiet it may have been, none of her dramatics ever escaped Emily’s ear— and peered past their father to gape at her. Emily, however, only caught it out of her periphery, as her eyes were glued to the Count, whose charm was not lost on her.

“I am more than happy to provide.” Her smirk faded into a teasing smile, intrigued at this aristocrat that was not only accepting of an educated woman, but apparently, excited about her.

The Count flashed a smile at her as he straightened, his fingers lingering as they grazed her palm, slowly letting her go. Even as he turned to address her father, his gaze continued to flick towards her, always keeping her in his periphery, even after he started his tour, and guided them throughout the reserved upper deck.

Emily left her father’s side, instead choosing to walk alongside Rosie, which quickly proved to be a mistake, given the smarmy grin she had plastered on her face at that moment.

“He fancies you,” she whispered, nearly bursting at the seams with excitement.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He simply listened about us, but he engaged in the conversation when it was about you.” Nudging her with her elbow, she nodded a little too obviously, too pleased with herself for her own good. “That dress is doing you favors, just like I said it would.”

“And why are you so keen on my love life this evening, hmm? The next thing I know, you will be planning my wedding.”

“I only want my big sister to be happy,” she said, looking up at Emily with a quivering pout and doe eyes.

Emily couldn’t help but laugh. “I am happy, darling. You don’t need to worry about such things.”

“Well, yes, you are intellectually happy, but does that mean you must be romantically barren?”

She gasped, appalled at Rosie’s gall. “‘Barren’! I am not romantically barren!”

It was only when she caught the Count glancing at her over his shoulder that she realized she wasn’t whispering anymore. A teasing smile played at his lips, only lingering for a few moments before he turned his attention back to her father. Her face warmed in embarrassment, her blush spreading from her cheeks to her ears.

“Troublemaker,” she hissed at Rosie.

“Me? I am completely innocent.”

“You are saying ridiculous things, and I shall hear no more of it!” Collecting herself before she could accidentally embarrass herself further, she took a deep breath, and leveled her younger sister with a glare. “If some suitor wants to come and woo me, so be it, but I am not about to make a fool of myself by fawning and swooning over the first man that acknowledges my presence in a room.”

“Very well, very well,” Rosie sighed. “But I do want to meet the doctor tonight.”

“If I agree to introduce you to the doctor, will you stop with this whole matchmaker business?”

“I promise.”

“Cross your heart?”

Rosie grinned, holding her hand aloft. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

To her credit, Rosie kept her word, and didn’t mention anything having to do with romance or dalliances or even the smallest little hints of flirtation for the remainder of the tour. The Count was wonderfully charismatic, making even the smallest details of his tour interesting to the ear. When the tour finished, the group dispersed— Josie, William, and Thaddius all descending the stairs back down to the mezzanine level.

Rosie and Emily, however, stayed on the balcony level for just a few minutes longer, overlooking the great views of the city from their current height. Orchestral waltz music wafted up from the lower levels of the ship as they looked out over the view, carrying on the breeze as they floated through the sky. Rosie pointed out the geometric patterns of the streets, noting their importance to the city’s infrastructure, the mathematical equations that had gone into their designs.

The two of them compared and contrasted the methodology used in designing the streets of London versus Paris or Moscow or Berlin, discussing the pros and cons of each, pointing out examples of strong or weak points between them.

A voice, however, broke them out of their discussion. “I never knew there was so much thought put into the simple paving of a street.”

The two sisters spun around in unison to see the Count approaching them, holding himself confidently, and yet, with such a sheepish smile on his face, it banished any assumptions of arrogance.

“Your Excellency,” Emily gasped, managing a quick curtsy. “Please pardon us. We were enamored by the view.”

“There is no need for pardoning, Miss Dawson. Please, feel free to stay for as long as you wish.” He approached them, wandering over to Emily’s side to lean on the railing, looking over at both of them. “I will admit, I know embarrassingly little of mathematics or science, but I find it most fascinating.”

“Oh, well, I learned everything I know from Emmie. Emily, ” Rosie emphasized, a little too enthusiastically, earning her a warning look. She only smiled as innocently as she could. “Really, she is the one you should talk to. She knows so much about science and mathematics. Much more than I do.”

“Rosemary…” Emily warned.

“Oh?” she chirped, holding a hand to her ear to amplify some imaginary sound. “I think father is calling for me. But you two ought to continue your discussion. Emmie, don’t worry about rushing back. I will let Papa know you’re busy .”

Before Emily could stop her, she ran off, shouting her farewells as she waved and rushed down the stairs.

She was going to kill her when they got home.

The Count only chuckled in response, shaking his head in what seemed to be disbelief.

“I apologize for my sister. She’s a kind soul, but far too meddlesome in my affairs.”

He had been watching the staircase— no doubt marveling at Rosie’s incredible gift of flight— but turned his gaze to her. The depth of color in his brown eyes caught her off-guard, catching the light and cradling it, bringing a certain warmth to his features that fit him, and yet, went against most of what she had seen of him so far.

“I understand,” he said, after a few moments’ pause. “However aggravating you may find it, her mischief with you does speak highly of your character, believe it or not.” When Emily gave him a look that could, quite possibly, curdle milk, he only chuckled. “You must make her comfortable enough to tease you so. It was not out of malice, after all, but endearment, no?”

Arching an eyebrow at him, she nodded, impressed. “You are quite observant, Your Excellency.”

“Am I?” he asked, leaning back against the railing. “I believe quite the opposite, really.”

“Are you being coy ?” With a slight laugh, she joined him in leaning back against the railing, lifting her gaze to the stars overhead. He gave a noncommittal answer in the form of a hum, earning him a sidelong glance. “You are an interesting one, aren’t you?”

“You believe me to be the interesting one?”

“You believe otherwise?”

Glancing his way, she found he was already looking at her, turned to lean his hip against the railing, an unplaceable smile pulling at his lips.

“I think you are incredibly interesting, Miss Dawson.”

He said it so easily, as if it were pure fact, as if he were speaking of the weather, or of undisputed historical timelines. It was said with the same confidence and ease as any small fact, and yet, it carried far more weight with it than he could ever imagine.

She had been called “interesting” many times in her life, but it had never been a compliment before. Years of aversion to the very word had suddenly melted away, all with one, little sentence.

For lack of anything better to say, she cleared her throat, and started with, “Your Excellency…”

“If it is quite alright with you,” he said, his voice low, as if to share a secret between them. “Would you call me Dantès when we are alone?”

Against her better judgment, she smiled, her intrigue getting the better of her. “Very well. If you will call me Emily.”

“It would be my honor.”

He said it without missing a beat, without any notes of hesitation or uncertainty. He didn’t stammer, didn’t stutter, didn’t even think twice in saying something that could be considered so forward to her. Her body almost seemed to relax , to be relieved of some great burden that she hadn’t realized she was carrying. She wasn’t entirely sure where the sensation had come from, or why.

Looking out over the city, the innumerous lights dappling the ground beneath them, she couldn’t help but smile, wistful, and, in many ways, hopeful. It was beautiful— a view that she could certainly never get used to. It was far too beautiful to take for granted, far too impressive. The world was so expansive, and she wasn’t sure if she was too small for it, or too big.

“Dantès.”

“Yes, Emily?”

Her chest tightened at the sound of her name, her heart twisting on itself as it fluttered for no reason in particular. Shaking off the sensation with a slight laugh, she locked eyes with Dantès once again, smirking.

“Shouldn’t you be down there, dancing with some young lady?” she asked, the iron taste of regret already pooling at the back of her mouth as she spoke. Regardless, she continued, “This is your party, and yet, you are up here, talking to me instead of taking advantage of this impressive event.”

“I suppose you are correct,” he mused. Her heart sank, struck by the knowledge that she should have kept her big mouth shut. Someone was genuinely interested in speaking with her, and there she was, talking him out of it.

But, to her surprise, he leaned closer, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial murmur as he grinned at her.

“Then, would you care to dance?”

✴✴✴

Jekyll had spent the better part of half an hour wandering around the ground floor and mezzanine in his search for the Dawson family, to no avail. He had met many of his other colleagues along the way, had even managed some small talk with them, but his mind was always elsewhere.

He had to prove himself wrong. Or right. He just had to prove… something. Perhaps that it was all in his head, or perhaps that it wasn’t. But, like any good scientific method, it required retesting, and that meant seeing Miss Dawson once more.

Finally, while in the middle of a conversation with another academic from the University, he spotted her father. Mumbling out an excuse to his conversation partner, he left, pushing through the crowd to approach him. After all, where her father was, Miss Dawson was sure to be, right? Passing through the last threshold of people gathered, he finally saw the Dawson family in its entirety.

… Except for his apprentice.

They were chatting with a few others, and before Jekyll could disappear back into the crowd to look for Miss Dawson separately, he was spotted by Mister Dawson.

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Jekyll!” he boomed, pulling all attention to him in a matter of milliseconds. Jekyll crumpled under the pressure like a paper bag full of groceries. “Come here, my dear boy! It’s been far too long!”

Plastering an awkward, fake smile to his face, he approached the group. The other two Dawson daughters were present, sipping champagne and having hors d’oeuvres. One of them— the eldest, he was guessing— hardly paid him any mind, turning instead to speak to the man next to her, as well as a handful of others. The other one, however, gave him a dazzling, showstopping smile.

“Oh!” she chirped, hopping over to his side like a friendly, little bird. “So this is Dr. Jekyll! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Immediately, Jekyll recoiled from the approaching young woman— not out of disgust, but out of the mildest tinge of fear of her extraverted presence. All smiles, she clasped her hands before her, heaving a great, big sigh as she looked him over. If she hadn’t been smiling, he would have been under the impression that she was disappointed.

“You know, you’re just as I imagined you. A little taller, perhaps, but other than that, just the same!”

For lack of anything better to say, he simply muttered, “T-Thank… you.”

“Are you looking for Emmie?”

His face immediately warmed under the scrutiny, and he cleared his throat. It struck him, in the first crucial moments, that the nickname for Miss Dawson was adorably inaccurate, and couldn’t imagine a world in which Miss Dawson would ever be presented as Emmie. It was quite sweet, and he found he liked it much more than he would have anticipated.

Coming back to reality, he cleared his throat again, earning a concerned look from the young Miss Dawson. Working his mouth to form words, nothing came out, his lungs tightening as he attempted to get a hold of himself.

“Rosemary, don’t harass the poor man,” Mister Dawson chided gently, coming up to put an arm around her. “Doctor, it’s a pleasure to see you, as always. How is business?”

And so, Jekyll was roped into talking shop with Mister Dawson for an unfortunate amount of time, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings to look for any sign of his apprentice. Every now and again, he would have the sensation of being watched, only to look back and lock eyes with the young Miss Dawson, whose smile was… unnervingly knowing.

“Are you looking for someone , doctor?” she asked, after about ten minutes, her smile only curling more and more, to the point that it was fitting of the Cheshire Cat.

“Oh… well…”

“Have I been keeping you, doctor? My apologies!” Mister Dawson gasped, his expression one of anguished self-realization. Well, Jekyll could certainly understand where the youngest’s penchant for facial expressions came from.

“I am… that is, I was hoping to speak to my apprentice…” he trailed off, the word apprentice leaving an oddly sour taste on his tongue.

Mister Dawson rubbed his chin with one hand, taking a cursory glance around the busy ground floor. “Oh, Emily? Where did she get off to?”

The youngest Dawson watched Jekyll with large, searching eyes as she said, “I believe Emmie is speaking with the Count.”

Jekyll’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “The Count? Our host?”

“But, of course,” she said, tilting her head as she watched him, her eyes flitting over him as if cataloging every slight twitch of the muscles, every shift in his expression, his body language. “They seemed to be getting on quite well.”

Alas, Jekyll was too confused to react further.

He had made his own assumptions about their mysterious host. In fact, it had been a topic of conversation between him and Miss Dawson over the past several days. He agreed with her guess— that the Count was an older gentleman, most likely gathering scientists to attempt and fund an outlandish experiment for his own gain. While Jekyll did not believe that the Count was as decrepit as she hypothesized, he still put him as a gentleman at least in his sixties or seventies.

A twinge of unease passed through him. What if the Count was pitching his idiotic ideas to Miss Dawson? What if he was attempting to manipulate her into signing a contract, or some other such agreement?

Then, he realized his worries were entirely misplaced. Miss Dawson could take care of herself just fine— it was the Count he should be worried for. If he said the wrong thing, he could easily end up with a black eye.

Really, he had nothing to worry about.

Gasps and murmurs around him broke him out of his thoughts. As he glanced around, he was met with people whispering to one another, pointing to the stairs that led up to the balcony, eyes wide with intrigue and interest.

“That’s him! That’s the Count!” a woman gasped, turning to her partner.

Following their guidance, Jekyll found the topic of their interest, his heart sinking to his feet like a stone dropped in a pond, his eyes widening in disbelief and— unbeknownst to him— betrayal.

There, on the stairs, was Miss Dawson, arm-in-arm with an incredibly-handsome man. Poised, regal, and confident— the man was everything that Jekyll wasn’t .

This was the Count of Monte Cristo? This was the man she had been speaking with? That she had been “getting on quite well” with? The same one who was looking over at her now, oblivious to the masses below, a serene smile on his face?

Oh, a sardonic voice chuckled from the depths of his mind, locking his jaw and sending a twitch through his eye, this is just too good , doc.

But Jekyll didn’t respond. He was too enraptured by the entrance of Miss Dawson on the arm of that… that man . After all, the Count wasn’t the only one smiling. No, she was wearing a smile he had never even seen before— one that he could have never even imagined.

The crowd parted for them as they reached the ground floor, finding their place in the center of the dance floor. Without taking his eyes off of Miss Dawson, the Count raised his hand, signaling for the orchestra on the bandstand to begin once more. A slow waltz began, and the two took their positions: the Count keeping a steady hand on the small of her back, and the other in hers, and Miss Dawson keeping her free hand on his shoulder.

Judging by the height difference between them, the Count absolutely dwarfed Jekyll, both in stature and build. Just another way he was horrendously out-classed.

Their mouths moved as they waltzed, a quiet conversation shared only between the two of them, oblivious to the entirety of the party watching in awe. Whispers passed through the crowd, whispers of admiration and intrigue, of what a lovely couple and seems the Count has found someone he fancies.

Jekyll’s stomach churned, twisting on itself this way and that, tying itself into knots with every turn of their dance. The Count dipped her, and she laughed, her voice catching on the breeze, and his smile grew and Jekyll realized he was falling in love with her because who wouldn’t fall in love with her? She was intelligent and ambitious and courageous and so many things that so many others weren’t and was so brave while making it look so easy .

And, oh, God… as she spun in the arms of that Count, the stone-cold realization settled in his bones, making his hands clammy and his chest tighten.

Who wouldn’t fall in love with her?

Jekyll was certainly no exception.

His eyes remained glued to the two while they danced, the blood draining from his face until his head felt light as air, nonexistent. There was no competition to be had— the Count had it all, and Jekyll could offer her nothing in return. He couldn’t bring her dreams to fruition, he couldn’t bend the rules of the University, and even if she were to make the biggest mistake of her life, and choose him , she would just come to her senses eventually.

Whoa, doc, get a hold of yourself! Hyde growled in his head, his phantasmal hand grabbing Jekyll by the throat, and cutting off the air. Stop throwin’ yourself into hysterics, boy. You don’t even have feelin’s for the woman, you’re just feelin’ insecure!

No, you’re wrong, Jekyll thought back, lacking any of the conviction that his counterpart seemed to have in spades. But when had he fallen for her? How long had it been? It wasn’t a new feeling, it was only the name of it that was new.

Are you kiddin’ me? You? Fall for Dawson ? Hyde cackled. That hag is more ape than woman, don’tcha think?

I won’t listen to you.

You know I’m right.

Loosening his ascot with far too much force, Jekyll excused himself, backing out of the crowd to head to the nearest washroom. That damned waltz followed him wherever he went, haunting him until he was finally able to close and lock the door behind him.

Splashing water into his face, he passed a hand over his features, taking slow, methodical breaths to try and calm himself. Pressing his hand to his mouth, he let his mind wander to the memory of Miss Dawson, searching his memories for any clues to his true feelings for her.

When had it started? When had he gotten so used to her casual touches, her laugh, her snide remarks, her smile? When had he gotten so used to having her in his life? Nothing had felt particularly different as of late. She was a pillar of strength to him, someone he could trust, someone he could rely on. She knew his darkest secrets, and still greeted him with a smile, regardless.

A knock at the washroom door broke him from his thoughts, interrupting his scrutinizing analysis of his feelings. In the moments before the voice came, his heart rose into his throat, his hope gripping him tight.

“Dr. Jekyll? Are you in there? It’s Rosemary Dawson.”

He deflated, heaving a quiet sigh.

“Are you quite all right?” she continued, her concern apparent in her voice. “You looked to be rather ill.”

“Yes, Miss Dawson,” he called back, far too aware of the way the name fell flat in his voice. “I… I was struck by sudden malaise, that is all. I shall be back to myself momentarily.”

“Do you perhaps need a glass of water?”

“No,” he said, the word just a little too clipped. Softening his tone, he called through the door, “T-Thank you. I shall be only a minute more.”

She hesitated for a few moments before saying, “Very well…”

Her footsteps began to retreat, and he heaved another sigh. Wetting his hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, taking deep breaths.

He couldn’t keep thinking about this. Not right now. It was only going to send him into another overly-analytical panic. Instead, he kept his eyes closed, leaning over the basin, periodically rubbing water against the back of his neck to cool himself down.

He would just have to go out there, ask Miss Dawson for a dance, and… enjoy the evening. As if his revelation had simply never happened.

Finally, he felt he had calmed himself down enough, and he rejoined the party. While another song was playing, Miss Dawson was still dancing with the Count. She seemed to be having a grand time, too… much to his chagrin.

Other couples dappled the dance floor, making it a much more casual scene. Meeting the Dawsons once more, he stood about a meter to the side, wringing his hands. The young Miss Dawson gave him a reassuring smile, her brows arching in concern. He nodded, hoping to banish her worries.

A demure, cooing voice broke him from his nonverbal communications. “Doctor.” With a slight jolt, he straightened, coming face-to-face with the eldest Dawson daughter. What was her name again? Jocelyn? Joyce? “Would you like to dance?”

Without even realizing it, he offered his hand to her, leading her to the dance floor on rigid legs, his head swimming as he stole glances at his apprentice.

✴✴✴

Dancing with Dantès was something akin to a dream, leaving Emily feeling as light as air. It had been so long since she had been so relaxed, and his casual conversation kept her engaged but healthily detached. He was even making rather adorable jokes every now and again, bringing out a laughter in her that she hadn’t felt in years.

All while they danced, they spoke of science, of medicine, of alchemy— from the general to the niche. No matter what she told him, he wanted to know more, always hungry for further knowledge. It had been so long since she had spoken to someone with such passion for the topic. Sure, the doctor loved his work, but he wasn’t exactly a giddy schoolboy when she attempted to theorize with him.

Nothing broke her out of her reverie. She had no idea how much time had passed, no idea how many dances they had shared. He led her with such ease that she didn’t even have to think about following him in the dance— it was just as if it was second nature to her.

During one particular waltz, Dantès lifted his arm, guiding her under it, giving her a view of the rest of the dance floor. Many of the guests were now dancing with them, but one in particular caught her eye.

If dancing with Dantès was like a dream, then this was the moment that she woke up.

Josephine. Dancing with the doctor.

Emily stumbled, her stomach lurching in shock and— what was that, disgust ? Anger ? Why did it matter that Josie was dancing with the doctor? He was allowed to dance with whomever he pleased, even if it was her. What did it matter that he was dancing with her sister, but not with—

She stopped that line of thought, pushing herself back into the rhythm with Dantès.

It was fine. This was completely fine. It was only Josie! Stick-in-the-mud Josie. She wasn’t about to enter an extramarital affair with Dr. Jekyll , of all people. That was utterly ridiculous.

And yet, as ridiculous as it was… she was oddly… hurt .

Throughout the dance, she continuously snuck glances at Josie and the doctor, gauging their body language, watching for any hint of mirth from him. Josie, as always, was impeccable in her movements, demure and poised and grand, just grand. She had always been everything that Emily wasn’t — well-spoken, and polite, and never told that she spoke too much or spoke too bluntly.

Perfect, beautiful, gentlewoman Josephine, and her loudmouth younger sister.

The waltz slowly petered towards its end, and it wasn’t even over before she excused herself from Dantès’ side.

“Thank you for the dances. It’s been lovely, really,” she said, a little more rushed than she meant to. “I will find you again later. I just… I need to excuse myself.”

Dantès blinked, a little taken aback, before his expression melted into a smile warm enough to thaw ice. Bowing deep, he took her hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

Looking up at her from his bowed position, he murmured, as if sharing a secret. “Of course. Dancing with you has been my honor, Emily.”

The smile she gave him in return was pursed, apologetic… confused. “Thank you, Dantès.” He straightened, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“Take all of the time you need. I will be waiting for you when you are ready.”

Nodding, she hitched her skirts up, and marched from the dance floor, returning to her family. Rosie waited for her, completely and utterly smug . She prattled on about the Count this and the Count that, but Emily wasn’t listening. Instead, she was watching the doctor, just finishing his dance with Josephine.

Josie curtsied, dipping her head closer to his ear, and whispering something to him. She locked eyes with Emily as she did so, a wry smile pulling at her lips. Emily’s blood boiled, her eyes narrowing, hoping that her glare would rip her stupid sister to smithereens. Josie, however, took it in stride, leaning away from the doctor to give him a perfectly-charming grin, patting him on the shoulder, and taking her leave.

The doctor spun around, locking eyes with Emily immediately, whose face burned in shame. She wasn’t sure what she had to be ashamed of, but with Josie, she was sure it was some childhood embarrassment that her sister had shared simply to get back at her for her behavior earlier.

With a huff, Emily took off, ascending the stairs to the mezzanine level. Clumsy, running footsteps came after her, but she didn’t care. She knew who it was— there was no reason to look back at him. The bastard.

She just cleared the top of the stairs by the time he caught up with her, panting.

“Miss Dawson—” he gasped. “Please, wait—”

Turning, she locked eyes with him, stopping him in his tracks. She couldn’t place this emotion, this feeling she had when she looked at him, nor could she place why she felt so damned hurt by the fact that he danced with her sister. It was completely arbitrary! And yet, it left her feeling like she had been discarded with the rest of the rubbish.

“Yes, doctor?” she asked, refusing to betray her emotions.

“W-Well…” he stammered, his sentence trailing off into oblivion.

With a slight sigh, she cast her gaze down to the lower level, landing on Dantès. He was speaking with a large group of individuals, no doubt his gaggle of admirers, judging by how excited they all seemed. He was starting to break himself away from the group, though, slowly inching towards the stairs.

Having no interest in engaging in conversation with both the doctor and the Count, she took hold of his wrist.

“Come now, follow me.”

The doctor spluttered out a Miss Dawson — or, at least, she was relatively sure he did— but followed after her, regardless. Her heart wrenched in her chest as she dragged him through the crowds, the hurt she had previously felt sharpening itself into something somewhat resembling resolve. Casting a few cautious glances over her shoulder, she pulled the doctor into a secluded alcove, hidden away from any prying eyes. Particularly any prying eyes that she happened to be related to.

The doctor’s cologne mixed with the lingering hints of her perfume as their bodies pressed against one another in the narrow alcove. The doctor couldn’t even look at her— what had Josephine done to him? Convinced him that she was some sort of man-eating gorgon that would turn him to stone the minute they shared eye contact?

Taking hold of him by the shoulders— his flinch at the contact all too apparent to her— she peered up into his face, keeping her voice low.

“Did you really enjoy your dance with Josie that much?” It had come out a little more pathetically than she had been anticipating, or wanting. But, apparently, the emotional wound that she had sustained took precedence over her reason.

Finally, his eyes found hers, half of his face cast entirely in shadow, the other half only barely visible in the dim light that filtered into their hiding spot. Resolved to hear his reasoning, she held her breath, her stomach twisting at the thought of the doctor turning his back on her.

He had always seemed to be one of the few that didn’t mind her abrasiveness, or brashness. She thought she could trust him to stay by her side, even if she wasn’t always a perfect young lady, even if she acted out.

She thought they had that in common.

“I think your sister is quite polite,” he started, measuring his words carefully. “However, if I were to be truly honest… no, I did not enjoy my dance with her.”

The knots that had formed in her heart slowly began to loosen. “You didn’t?”

He cleared his throat softly, his eyes flitting away for only a moment before returning to hers. “... Not particularly, no.” Tugging at his ascot, he swallowed hard. “T-That is not to say that I dislike your sister. I would never say something so rude. She is perfectly amicable. I only, ehm… I would prefer… another’s company before hers.”

With a relieved sigh, she leaned her head forward, almost resting it against his shoulder, hiding her grin from view. “I see.”

“Why did you believe I had enjoyed dancing with her so?”

Her face grew warm at the question, and she kept her head down, hoping to avoid embarrassing herself further. She had already acted like a child having a tantrum— it was all she could do to stop herself from making it worse.

“Oh… it only seemed that way, I suppose… Josie just has a way with people.”

He only hummed in response, silence settling between them. Finally lifting her head, she shook a few errant strands of hair out of her face, praying that the near-darkness that they were both in would hide her lingering blush.

Perhaps it was only her imagination, but the doctor seemed to be shivering under her touch— or was it, perhaps, her own hands that were shaking? Slowly, uncertainly, she removed her hands from his shoulders, leaning back until the cool stone of the hideaway pressed against her back. He had averted his eyes from her again, instead focusing squarely on a nearby planter.

“Doctor…” she started. He quirked an eyebrow, still focused on the planter, but otherwise, didn’t react. Hesitating for about two seconds too long, she summoned her resolve, and came out with what she wanted to say. “We have been working together for almost a year now, and yet, you still call me ‘Miss Dawson’. Considering what we have been through— which is to say, quite a bit— I was thinking that, when we are working together, or are otherwise alone, you might… call me Emily.”

He jolted, but only slightly. If it had been anyone else, perhaps she would have missed it. But not with him. His eyes found hers once more, and the silence weighed between them. It had been on her mind ever since her earlier conversation with Dantès— after all, he had only met her that evening, and was already referring to her by her given name.

“I would be more than happy to…” he hesitated, “Emily.”

She smiled, her body relaxing. She hadn’t realized how tense she had been, but it was a relief to get all of the awkward conversation out of the way.

“Then, if I may, could I call you Jekyll?” she asked. Tilting her head to the side, she leaned forward, only slightly, just onto the balls of her feet. “Or, perhaps… Henry?”

He gulped, stumbling back into the wall. “H-Henry—?” he parroted. Instinctively, she reached for him, to steady him, her hand finding his shoulder within an instant. The move pushed her flush against him, practically pinning him against the wall. He went rigid under the contact.

He gasped, clutching his head, bowing forward until he was practically collapsing against her. It was a frighteningly familiar sight, and the first signs of an entirely-unwanted episode. However, she had learned long ago that once it was in motion, there was no stopping it.

The doctor’s clammy hands clutched her arms much like a man holding onto a life preserver in a sea of choppy waves. Ragged breaths escaped him, brushing against her exposed collarbone, his sweat-soaked hair hanging limply before her.

Then, just as soon as the episode had come upon him, it ended. And yet, his grip on her arms remained.

Steeling herself for what was to come, she took a deep breath, held it, and released it as quietly as she could. It would take him a few moments to collect himself, and once he did, that would be when the real battle would begin.

Already, her mind was working like a steam engine, coming up with excuses to keep him here with her, and save the doctor’s reputation. She would have to appeal to his nature, that much she knew. If she bickered with him enough, surely, he would let the doctor go, and slink back to his dark cave.

A derisive laugh broke her out of her mental machinations. Setting her expression as neutral as possible, she righted her posture, just as Hyde straightened, keeping his grubby mitts on her person.

“Well, well, look at the two of you,” he rasped loudly, his gritty voice grating against her ears. It had been nearly silent for so long, he might as well have been screaming in her face. “Goin’ by your good Christian names now, are you?”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, smacking him on the chest.

“Why’s that, Emmie ?” he cackled, raising his volume even more, no doubt just to irritate her. Well, it was working. “Afraid I’m gonna ruin your ramshackle reputation?”

Thinking fast, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “No. I just wouldn’t want anyone to interrupt us.”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but she really came to regret them when Hyde’s sneering grin widened, his eyes narrowing at her. How this pathetic excuse of a creature could distort the doctor’s expressions to such an extreme was beyond her.

“Oh?” At least he had finally lowered his voice. As much as she hated her excuse, unfortunately, it seemed to have worked. Advancing on her, he slowly pushed her back against the wall, closing the distance until he loomed over her. “You’re either real brave or real stupid for wantin’ to stay here with me .”

She knew that , but couldn’t acknowledge it.

“We never get to talk, just you and I. You are always the one to run away first.”

“I’m not runnin’ away from you , Dawson. Don’t get confident.”

With a wry smile, she arched an eyebrow at him, sensing the upcoming battle of wits. “Then you are running away.”

He sighed, aggravated, his grip on her tightening enough to bruise her arms. She kept up the smile, though, never once giving away that he was hurting her. It was the only way to keep any sort of power over him.

“I’m not runnin’. Not from you. Not from anyone else. I’m—”

“Then prove it,” she grinned, interrupting him. Heart hammering in her chest, she presented her bluff. “Stay here with me.”

Finally letting her go, he propped one arm against the wall above her head, using the other to grab her by the chin, and tilt her head upwards. He leaned his face closer to hers, his arrogant grin growing wider with every passing second. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she met the challenge head-on, giving him a cocky smile all her own.

“You’re really playin’ with fire now, Dawson. You even know what you’re askin’?”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

Drumming his nails— which were miraculously longer than they had been only mere minutes before— against the wall over her head, he coughed out a bark of laughter, his hot breath striking her lips. He let go of her chin, replacing his hand at his side.

She pushed on, determined to keep him in one spot. “You know, Hyde, I don’t think you hate me as much as you pretend you do.”

This earned her a positively venomous look from him, sending her heart into her throat. It was stupid to challenge him like this, but it was the only foolproof method she had. He wasn’t one to back away from a fight— especially when it involved his ego. She would just have to hope he wouldn’t take out his frustrations on her.

“You’re one to talk, Dawson.”

It caught her off-guard, enough to send her out of her performative curiosity, and straight into genuine intrigue. “Meaning?”

With an exasperated sigh, he leaned forward until his forehead nearly grazed hers. She had never been this close to him before— whether he was Jekyll or Hyde. Without realizing, she pressed herself farther into the wall behind her, only to have the miniscule distance closed within moments. His other hand landed on the wall near her waist, supporting himself at this odd angle.

“I think,” he started, his voice the quietest she had ever heard it, “you’re too interested in me to hate me. My existence scratches an itch you never knew you had— and I think you know it, too.” Tilting  his head slightly, he gazed at her, his eyes flicking downwards momentarily before locking with hers once more. “You like the danger of me. I’m much more an adventure than your darling doctor could ever be. Hell, you’re practically begging the man to call you by name, and here you are, with me , instead. I give you what he can’t, even if you don’t know what you want yet.”

Warmth crept into her neck at his words, knowing that there were elements of truth to them, but having too much pride to admit it, even to herself.

… Especially to herself.

“You don’t know what I want,” she challenged. Even to her ears, though, it was half-hearted. “You might interest me to a degree, yes, but you are not nearly as important to me as you’ve made yourself believe.”

He inhaled sharply, playing up a wince as if her words had wounded him. “See, but I give you someone to challenge. Someone you can use those pretty, little claws on. Somethin’ that no gentleman or Count can give you.”

Now it was her turn to arch an eyebrow. “You’re bringing up the Count now?” Despite the fact that he inched closer, she stood tall, lifting her chin in defiance. “What’s wrong, Hyde? Jealous, are we?”

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Then why did you mention the Count? Obviously, you don’t approve of him. Or is it that you don’t approve of me spending time with him?”

Once more, he drummed his nails against the wall, marking his annoyance with her. “Let me tell you somethin’, Dawson, ‘cause I don’t think the doctor’s ever explained this to you. We’re not that different from one another.”

“ Really ? I had never guessed, what with the two of you sharing a body.”

“Shut up, you.” Heaving a sigh, he continued, his grin slowly melting away. Emily couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that pulled at her lips. She just loved to irritate him, when she had the chance. “What I mean is, his deep, dark emotions that never see the light of day? Those are my emotions.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I’m not finished. That exchange doesn’t just apply to him. It applies to me , too. So, my emotions? They become his . And vice versa.”

Oh. That , she didn’t know. Then again, it was hardly surprising. If she were the doctor, she wouldn’t want to admit as much, either.

“ I’m not jealous of the Count. But Jekyll is, and his jealousy is becomin’ mine.” Once again, that sardonic grin pulled at his lips, much more a baring of teeth than anything else. “Among other things.”

Against her better judgment, she asked, “Such as?”

“I’ll let you figure that out, since you think you’re so smart.” Stepping forward, his body pressed flush against hers, his fingers hooked under her chin once more. “For once, I’ll admit you’re right. I don’t hate you. But don’t expect any pretty words from me, either. I’m much more a man of action than Jekyll ever could be.”

Before she could ask what he meant, playing up her failing bravado, his lips were on hers, cutting off her words. For that first second, she was only shocked, unable to formulate a reaction— any reaction. Her body moved, somewhat on its own accord, getting away from herself. It wasn’t until his arm wrapped around her waist, one hand settling on her hip, and the other working itself into her hair, that she wrenched herself away.

Realizing herself, her hand balled into a fist. Anyone else, and she wouldn’t have hesitated. But punching Hyde only meant that Jekyll would be left with the broken nose.

… Fine. She’d open her hand.

Pulling her arm back, she let the slap go free, hard enough that his face actually turned from the impact. She only hoped it would be enough to distract him from the fact that she was blushing. Despite the darkness, she had a feeling he would be able to tell.

The sharp inhale was genuine that time. “Shit.” Rubbing his face, he gave her a sidelong glance, his grin widening. “Guess that’s my cue to leave, isn’t it?”

And with that, Jekyll’s body went slack. Rushing forward to catch him, she only barely succeeded, scooping her arms underneath his armpits in order to support him. Her legs shook under the sudden addition of his dead weight, his quiet groan signaling his first returns to consciousness.

“M-Miss Dawson…”

His voice was only a quiet whimper, partially muffled by the fact that his head was thoroughly nuzzled into the crook of her neck. The feeling of his breath on her collarbone was too much for her to bear, particularly after… what had happened.

Despite the fact that it had only lasted a few seconds, at most, she could still feel the warmth of his lips on hers, the lingering outlines of his fingers on her hip, his hand working through her hair. She was drowning in the memories of it, unsure of what to make of his words or his actions. Surely, he was only bluffing.

What he had said bothered her— about the thin line between his emotions and the doctor’s. That they were jealous of the Count. “Among other things.”

Her face burned, her mind constantly returning to the kiss. The kiss. Oh, God, it was a kiss . The first kiss between her and the doctor and it was his alter ego that had kissed her. What was worse, it wasn’t even a bad one.

… Wait. No. Not the first kiss. That would imply that there would be more in the future. Most certainly not. It was a mistake. That was all it was. The doctor would never kiss her, not in a million years, and she would hardly expect him to. There was no reason for him to! They were— they were colleagues.

Heaving a sigh, she leaned her head back against the wall, holding the limp body of the colleague in question in her arms, his head practically in her bosom, his limbs splaying out this way and that.

As she waited for him to regain his senses in full, she replayed the scene in her head, her heart constantly hammering in her chest without calming itself. In those first few seconds… had she… kissed him back ? Had she leaned into it, wrapped her arms around his neck, and properly kissed him back? Or, was it only the memory that was changing? Was she fooling herself?

God in Heaven, what had she done ?

Finally, after an excruciatingly long recovery time, the doctor finally regained his senses, slowly righting himself. It was a welcome distraction from her thoughts, she was more than happy to admit.

“Forgive me…” he sighed.

“Perhaps you should sit down.”

He nodded, slow and unsure, as if his head would fall off of his shoulders at the slightest movement. “Perhaps I should.”

So, she guided him to the ground, joining him. His weakness was nothing that time wouldn’t solve, but she still didn’t want to leave his side. Only to make sure Hyde didn’t make a reappearance, of course.

“Can I fetch you anything, doctor?”

He shook his head. “It will pass.”

An anxious silence fell between them. The doctor occasionally dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief, and Emily picking at her nails, neither one of them looking at each other. Seconds turned to minutes, and still, they only kept their eyes forward.

It had been her suggestion that she call him “Henry” that had brought out Hyde to begin with. It was probably a better idea to refrain from calling him by his given name, and instead stick with “doctor”. If he was going to launch himself into a panic every time, then “doctor” would have to do.

“Actually…” he finally said, breaking the silence after about five minutes. “I do have one request.”

“What is that?”

He hesitated. “Might I change that to two requests?”

“Of course, doctor,” she chuckled, hoping to alleviate his worries.

“We were discussing how to address one another when we are alone before… before my episode, correct?”

Her stomach twisted. “Yes, we were.”

He took a deep breath. “Might I ask that you… address me as Jekyll?” Clearing his throat, he looked away from her. “No one calls me Henry anymore.”

Oh.

“Of course.” Glancing his way, she kept her voice low, as if to keep from startling him. “I would be glad to… Jekyll.”

He looked at her then, locking eyes with her. She smiled, just slightly, just enough to let him know that he had nothing to be nervous about. And, to her surprise, he smiled back. Just slightly.

Clearing her throat, ignoring the fluttering of her heart, she asked, “And your second request?”

He pursed his lips, once again breaking eye contact with her to look about— here, there, everywhere. Eventually, though, he met her eyes once more.

“When I regain my faculties… would you do me the honor of sharing a dance?”

Perhaps she leaned closer to him, and perhaps she smiled. Her words, however, definitely escaped her in a whisper. “I would love to.”

Some time later, when Jekyll was feeling more sure on his feet, the two of them rejoined the party, side-by-side. Bypassing her family altogether, they headed directly to the dance floor, earning a sly smirk from Rosie, as well as an approving nod. Emily gave her a subtle, disapproving look, and a firm shake of the head. Rosie only nodded with more enthusiasm, her grin taking on that Cheshire Cat-like quality once more.

Gentle waltz music wafted over the open-air ballroom, the breeze clearing her head after her time in the alcove, cooling the lingering blush in her cheeks.

Reaching the threshold of the dancers, Jekyll turned to her, his hand quivering as he offered it to her. Her gloved fingertips brushed the palm of his hand as she moved to accept it, thrumming with the last traces of adrenaline from earlier. Chest tightening— almost imperceptibly— she moved closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and looking up into his face, fully illuminated for the first time in over an hour.

While he had fixed himself up as much as possible, he was still slightly disheveled. Although, in all the time she had known him, she had never seen him not disheveled, even on his best days. His eyes flitted about, looking this way and that, focusing, it would seem, on anything other than her.

His memories following any of his episodes were usually foggy, at best, and completely missing, at worst. And yet, by the way he was acting, it was as if he knew what had transpired between them. She hadn’t told him— perhaps out of shame, or perhaps out of consideration for his feelings. After all, Hyde had said plenty of nasty things before he put their relationship into question.

Their eyes met as his hand trailed from her waist to the small of her back, oddly intimate in its uncertainty. Just as she had banished the memories of the kiss from her mind, they all came rushing back, sending a whole new wave of butterflies swarming through her stomach as they glided into the first steps of the dance together. All she could think of was his lips on hers, his hand combing through her hair, his other resting easily and confidently on her hip…

But more than anything, the utter confusion that she had felt. It was the doctor — albeit, not in his right mind— and yet, she had, in all truth, kissed him back . Had the party intoxicated her? Robbed her of her senses? She would never have kissed him under any other circumstance. Ever.

And yet, there she was, holding onto a secret that would surely unravel her at the seams if she pulled at the thread enough.

As they waltzed, the overhead lights swirling over them like hundreds of thousands of fireflies, her nerves tightened her muscles, making her falter and misstep much more than she had while dancing with Dantès. What was worse, Jekyll was hardly a confident-enough dancer to mask her mistakes, and instead, accentuated them with his own, follow-up falters.

After she tripped over her own feet for the fourth time, she couldn’t help it— she threw her head back and laughed, exasperated and chiding. Judging by how he jolted, it caught Jekyll off-guard, but he recovered easily enough.

“I apologize,” she sighed, still laughing at herself with a shake of her head. “I seem to have forgotten how to dance.”

His usually stoic countenance melted into a brilliant, shy smile, bowing his head to hide it from view. Even he had to laugh— the doctor , of all people!

“By my dancing, it would seem I never even learned, wouldn’t it?”

Slowing to a stop, she laughed, letting go of him to cover her face, groaning to herself. All around them, couples continued to dance, seemingly unaware of their flustered embarrassment.

“What a pair we make,” she chuckled, moving her hands away from her eyes, and yet, holding them up as blinders to the rest of the party. Jekyll laughed along, self-consciously pushing his hair out of his face. “Perhaps we ought to go. Spare ourselves the embarrassment.”

His laughter stopped, then, the smile faltering on his lips. Slowly, gently, as if afraid he might hurt her, his hands brushed hers, curling around them as he took hold, giving her ample space to withdraw, should she so wish. Guiding their joined hands downward, he tightened his grip slightly, only ever so slightly.

“I would much rather make a fool of myself,” he whispered, measuring the weight of each word, “if it meant I could share this dance with you.”

His hands grew warm in hers, mimicking the heat that bloomed across her face, into her ears. Her eyes widened, only momentarily, before she collected herself, a smile spreading across her features, teasing but still undeniably elated.

“Then, let’s be fools together.”

Jekyll smiled, albeit a bit wobbly and crooked. Still, it was endearing, in its own right. Moving as one, they resumed their positions— her hand on his shoulder, his at the small of her back, and their others joined.

As they swept one another into the dance, she had the oddest feeling that their bodies were closer than before, catching hints of his cologne, strands of his messy hair brushing against her face as they spun.

While dancing with Dantès was much like a dream, dancing with Jekyll was all-too-rooted in reality. Every sensation, every sweeping movement, every breath… she was almost hyper-aware of each one.

It was odd. They would spend whole days together, regularly. They would be in tight quarters, squished together as they looked over vials, or reading passages from books. She had gotten into the habit of casually touching him in order to pass by, or to alert him of something when he became too engrossed in his work. She was no stranger to this, and yet, when they danced, it was an entirely foreign sensation.

A piercing whine broke her from her thoughts, an explosion of color illuminating the sky. While it momentarily distracted her, she returned her eyes to Jekyll’s— only to find that he hadn’t looked away, at all.

The other couples stopped dancing to look at the fireworks, gasping in awe at the extravagant display. Jekyll and Emily, however, continued in their dance, washed in the colorful lights of the show above them.

The orchestra brought the waltz to an end, gaining applause from the dancers. Jekyll slowed to a stop, his hand remaining on the small of her back for a few moments longer than necessary. She was acutely aware of its presence, although, found that she didn’t object as much as she thought she would have. Although, it would seem he realized himself only seconds later, as he quickly retracted his hand, as a child might retract their hand from the cookie jar. She removed her hands from his person, then, clasping them before her.

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to stand straighter, as he often did when he was nervous. “Thank you for that.” She murmured out you’re welcome , but feared that it might have been lost to the sound of the fireworks above. Fiddling with his ascot, he cleared his throat. “A-As we were rather… unsure in our footing, perhaps I could bother you for…” he trailed off, wringing his hands together.

“A second dance?” she finished.

He chuckled, his smile taking on that wobbly quality once more. “If you would… not object.”

Searching for her answer on the ground, she smiled despite herself, lifting her gaze to meet his once more. Taking his hand in hers, she slowly placed the other on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t object at all.”