Chapter Text
Two weeks, two bloody weeks in that stinking cell, enough to drive anyone mad even without the company of one Norbert Fagin. Sure, in the beginning, it had been enjoyable, a distraction from his racing mind. Though now, two weeks in, Jack relished the hours upon hours his companion slept in the corner.
The hunger was taking a toll on both of them, only one lousy meal every other day tends to do that to a person, but Fagin was taking the brunt of it. Not that he'd ever admit to it but Jack knew Fagin was giving almost half his portion to him, even though he tried to stop it. And so Fagin slept, tired and hungry, in the corner of the room while Jack was left to his thoughts.
He rarely moved from his place against the wall, halfway between the bars and Fagin's sleeping form. In the beginning, he had pazed about, sure he'd wear a hole into the floor if he kept at it, now even standing took too much effort. So he sat, eyes closed, stomach rumbling, throat parched, against the wall alone with his thoughts.
The blood, Belle's blood, on his hands had dried, allowing him to scrape most of it off though it still tainted his shirt. Was she alive? Was she okay? He'd seen her wake, heard her call his name, but complications could arise. Sneed wouldn't be able to save her, no one else knew how to work with that surgery because only he'd ever done it. If she needed a redo or something went wrong, they'd come get him? Sneed wouldn't be dumb enough to attempt anything right?
Right?
Belle was alive, she had to be, she just hadn't come to see him because her mother was stopping her. That made more sense, that had to be the truth. Had to.
"Bloody hell" he groaned, leaning his head in his hands. He'd been living a good life, a legal life, just months ago now here he was in a cell waiting for the next Gaines to sign his death warrant. That or being Fagin's convict servant. His old life was over and the chance that he'd ever get Belle with it.
Were his other patients okay? Did the hospital have the capacity needed now without him? What if Charlie's leg acted up? Or another child needed to be cut out? No one else would think to get Belle, well except for Hetty but neither the Prof nor Sneed listened to her. Had the ward fallen back to the disgusting state Prof loved? Were they still using Ether and carbolic acid? How many patients had died on the table because the Prof or Sneed tried performing surgeries only Jack had done before? How many had died because Hetty couldn’t stop the Prof from operating while drunk?
Once more his mind was his hell, dragging him further and further down into despair. Whatever happened to the Dodger? The criminal who never gave up and always found a way out. Jack Dawkins knew what happened to him, he found a legal way of life filled with compassion and love, he put down anchor and now he could not sail onwards. The very foundation of the Old Dodger had been the willingness to up and leave everything for a chance at something better, but Dr Jack Dawkins could never leave Port Victory.
He could never leave Flashbang and Aputi, or Tim and Red. He could fathom leaving Hetty or the hospital.
How could he leave Charlie or the countless other patients that he’d cared for, whether they still needed him or not?
And Belle, he could never leave Belle, even if they could not be together he could never leave her.
Belle. She haunted his every waking moment. Thoughts of her lips on his, their bodies close under the covers, her hands as he helped her do her first surgery. And the less pleasant thoughts of her choking body as he carried her out of her house, her blood on his hands as he performed never before done surgery, her deathly still face fading from view as Gaines dragged him out. And her voice, breathy and weak, calling his name from her sick bed as he was arrested. Belle, his Belle, the one he could never get.