Work Text:
The first thing Belle noticed was that Jack had stopped making jokes.
Not all at once.
It happened slowly enough that anyone else would have missed it.
The quick little quips over breakfast became half-hearted smiles. The sarcastic remarks aimed at Sneed during surgery became simple nods. Even his infuriating habit of stealing biscuits from the kitchen before supper had all but disappeared.
To everyone else, he was simply busy.
He had every reason to be.
Only a fortnight had passed since he'd officially been named Head Surgeon alongside Mr. Sneed. The port victory Hospital had never been busier, and Government House seemed to buzz endlessly with visitors congratulating him.
Jack Dawkins accepted every handshake with the same crooked grin.
The grin never quite reached his eyes.
Belle watched him from across the drawing room as another gentleman praised his remarkable surgical talent.
"Quite extraordinary, Dawkins."
Jack dipped his head politely.
"Only cutting where I'm supposed to."
A laugh followed.
Everyone found him charming.
Belle saw how tightly his fingers curled around the crystal glass in his hand.
—
That evening, as they walked back toward Government House beneath the orange glow of the setting sun, Belle slipped her arm through his.
"You've barely said ten words."
"I've spoken at least twenty."
She rolled her eyes.
"You know what I mean."
"I'm simply tired."
"Liar."
He looked sideways at her, the ghost of a smile appearing.
"You wound me."
"I intend to."
"There she is."
"My doctor returns."
He laughed softly.
It lasted only a second.
Then it disappeared again.
Belle frowned.
Something wasn't right.
The following morning, Jack was already gone before sunrise.
Belle found his untouched tea growing cold beside an open medical journal.
He'd forgotten to eat.
Again.
—
At the hospital, Sneed noticed too.
Jack worked harder than anyone.
Too hard.
He barely left the operating theatre except to scrub his hands before rushing into another procedure.
No unnecessary conversation.
No teasing.
No stories.
Just work.
When Sneed suggested they stop for luncheon, Jack answered without looking up.
"Later."
"You said that three hours ago."
"I'm occupied."
"You'll collapse."
"I'll do so after this amputation."
Hetty sighed.
"Stubborn man."
Jack merely reached for another instrument.
—
That afternoon Belle arrived to deliver papers from her father.
She found Jack washing blood from his hands.
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows.
His hair had fallen untidily across his forehead.
Dark circles rested beneath tired brown eyes.
He smiled the instant he saw her.
"Belle."
"There you are."
"I've been here all day."
"I know."
She stepped closer.
"You've not eaten."
"I have."
She looked around.
"Where?"
She folded her arms.
"Jack Dawkins."
"I dislike that tone."
"You dislike being caught."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead before slipping around her.
"I promise I'll eat."
"When?"
He was already halfway down the corridor.
"Soon."
"Jack!"
He lifted one hand in farewell without turning around.
Infuriating man.
—
Dinner at Government House had become strangely quiet.
Governor Fox discussed Parliament.
Fanny chatted happily about dresses and invitations.
Belle answered automatically while watching Jack push vegetables around his plate.
He wasn't listening.
He wasn't even pretending.
"...Jack?"
He blinked.
"Hm?"
"My father asked whether you've accepted the invitation."
"I have."
"He asked where."
"...Did he?"
The Governor chuckled kindly.
"I asked whether you'd accepted the invitation to dine with Captain Harris."
Jack froze for only a heartbeat.
"My apologies."
His smile returned instantly.
"I've had a rather long day."
No one questioned it.
Belle did.
Later that evening Fanny found Belle arranging books in the library.
She leaned casually against the doorway.
"Is your husband-to-be quite alright?"
Belle paused.
"What makes you ask?"
"Oh..."
Fanny shrugged.
"He's quieter."
Belle nodded.
"I've noticed."
"I thought perhaps the hospital."
"Perhaps."
Fanny studied her sister.
"You don't believe that."
"No."
"You'll ask him?"
Belle smiled faintly.
"I intend to."
"When?"
Belle closed the book she'd been holding.
"Lightly."
Fanny grinned.
"Good."
Belle looked toward the staircase.
"Because something has him."
"And?"
"And I mean to discover what."
She tried that night.
Jack was "reading" more like looking at pictures in bed.
At least...
The book rested open in his lap.
He hadn't turned the page in nearly fifteen minutes.
Belle climbed beside him.
"Interesting?"
"Hm?"
"The book."
"Oh."
He glanced down.
"Quite."
"You've been reading the same sentence."
He smiled.
"It must be an excellent sentence."
Belle took the book gently from his hands.
"Talk to me."
"I am talking."
"No."
She touched his cheek.
"You're hiding."
His hand covered hers.
"I'm only tired."
"You've been tired for two weeks."
"It's been busy."
"I know when you're busy."
He kissed her knuckles.
"I'll be better tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
Always tomorrow.
She let it go.
For tonight.
Jack didn't sleep.
Belle knew because she woke sometime after midnight.
His side of the bed was empty.
She found him standing alone on the balcony overlooking the Harbour.
Moonlight painted silver across the water.
He rested both hands on the railing.
Silent.
She almost went to him.
Almost.
Something about the loneliness in his posture stopped her.
He looked...
Lost.
She quietly returned to bed before he noticed.
A few minutes later he slipped back beneath the blankets as though he'd never left.
Another week passed.
Jack laughed when expected.
Worked impossible hours.
Returned home exhausted.
Kissed Belle every morning.
Kissed her every evening.
Told everyone he was perfectly fine.
The performance was flawless.
Except Belle had fallen in love with the man beneath performances.
She knew every false smile.
Every forced laugh.
Every silence.
—
That afternoon Jack returned home much earlier than usual.
The servants mentioned he'd looked pale.
Belle finished speaking with her father before making her way upstairs.
Perhaps now...
Perhaps he'd finally speak.
She reached the bedroom door.
It stood slightly open.
She pushed it quietly.
The room was peaceful.
Curtains stirred gently in the afternoon breeze.
Sunlight spilled across polished wooden floors.
Jack lay asleep atop the covers, still dressed in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves.
He must have fallen asleep the moment he'd sat down.
Belle smiled softly.
"My impossible doctor..."
She stepped inside without making a sound.
Then she noticed what he was holding.
Not a blanket.
Not his coat.
One of her pillows.
He'd wrapped both arms around it tightly against his chest.
Like someone afraid to let go.
His face looked younger asleep.
Less guarded.
The confidence gone.
The clever surgeon.
The notorious Artful Dodger.
The fearless man who'd survived London's streets.
Gone.
Instead she saw someone utterly exhausted.
Someone carrying something far heavier than endless surgeries.
His brow twitched.
Almost as though even sleep offered no peace.
Belle sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
She brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead.
He didn't wake.
Her heart tightened.
She suddenly remembered every little thing she'd ignored.
The untouched meals.
The empty stare during dinner.
The nights on the balcony.
The endless work.
The pretending.
Then another memory surfaced.
Fanny's voice.
"Is your husband-to-be quite alright?"
"I'm going to find out why he's not been himself..."
Belle looked down at the sleeping man she'd chosen with her whole heart.
Jack had carried everyone else for so long.
Patients.
Friends.
Her.
Even Fagin.
Especially Fagin.
Whatever had happened in those final days...
Whatever ghosts he refused to name...
He'd buried them alongside the man he'd called impossible, infuriating... and, somewhere deep inside himself, family.
And now he was trying to bury the grief too.
Alone.
Belle gently rested her hand over his where it clutched the pillow.
Her expression hardened with quiet determination.
"You stubborn, impossible man," she whispered so softly the words barely disturbed the air.
"You don't have to carry this by yourself."
Jack slept on, oblivious.
Belle never took her eyes off him.
Tomorrow, she decided, there would be no more pretending.
Tomorrow, her doctor was finally going to tell her what was breaking his heart.
The evening settled quietly over Government House.
The bustle of servants faded into distant murmurs before disappearing altogether. Outside, the harbour shimmered beneath the moonlight, and the warm breeze drifted lazily through the open bedroom window.
Belle stood before the vanity, carefully removing the pins from her hair.
One by one they landed on the polished wood with tiny metallic clicks.
She watched her reflection as long golden waves tumbled over her shoulders.
Behind her, Jack hadn't moved in nearly half an hour.
He sat propped against the headboard, one knee raised beneath the blankets, absently turning the pages of the latest medical journal.
Or pretending to.
Belle had been counting.
Page twenty-three.
Twenty-four.
Then somehow...
Twenty-three again.
She smiled to herself.
"You're not fooling anyone, Doctor."
She slipped off her earrings and placed them beside the pins before glancing back.
Jack's brow was furrowed.
His eyes weren't following the words.
They were simply... staring.
Somewhere beyond the page.
She changed into her nightdress before quietly climbing onto the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath her weight.
Jack looked up immediately.
"Evening."
Belle raised an eyebrow.
"We've been in the same room for twenty minutes."
"I've been terribly occupied."
"Clearly."
She leaned over, peering dramatically at the journal.
"Is this article truly that fascinating?"
He glanced at the page.
"It concerns gallstones."
"And?"
"They're remarkably stony."
Belle laughed despite herself.
"You are impossible."
"I've been informed."
She reached over and gently closed the journal before he could protest.
"Belle..."
"No."
He sighed theatrically.
"My education."
"You've read the same page three times."
"I was ensuring its accuracy."
"You wrote half the techniques in that journal."
"Which is precisely why they require checking."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Liar."
His lips twitched.
"I've always admired how quickly you arrive at the correct conclusion."
Belle folded one leg beneath herself so she was facing him completely.
"Jack."
His smile softened.
"Hm?"
"Talk to me."
"I am."
"No."
She reached up, brushing an unruly curl away from his forehead.
"You've hardly been yourself."
"I'm exactly myself."
"You've barely slept."
"I've slept."
"You've barely eaten."
"I had luncheon."
"You drank tea."
"It was a hearty tea."
She gave him a look.
"A very filling leaf."
He laughed quietly.
"There he is."
"There who is?"
"My Jack."
"I'm always your Jack."
She smiled faintly, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
"Then tell me what's wrong."
Silence.
Jack looked down at his hands.
Only for a second.
When he looked back up, the familiar crooked grin had returned.
"I've developed a terrible affliction."
Belle folded her arms.
"Oh?"
"I'm dreadfully in love with a stubborn woman."
"Oh, is that all?"
"I'm afraid it's terminal."
She couldn't help smiling.
"And this stubborn woman..."
He reached for her hand, kissing the back of it.
"...keeps interrogating exhausted surgeons."
"I wonder why."
"I've no idea."
"I thought surgeons were meant to answer questions."
"Only medical ones."
"So this isn't medical?"
"Oh, I assure you..."
He lifted her hand to his chest.
"...my heart is entirely involved."
Belle rolled her eyes, though warmth spread across her cheeks.
"You flirt shamelessly when you're avoiding something."
"It's one of my finer qualities."
"It most certainly is not."
"I disagree."
"You would."
"I frequently do."
She sighed, shaking her head.
"You know, most men simply answer their fiancée."
"Where's the sport in that?"
"There isn't meant to be sport."
"There is when you're engaged to me."
Belle laughed again.
"You are infuriating."
"I've also been informed of that."
She watched him for another long moment.
The smile was there.
The teasing.
The charm.
Every bit of it perfectly placed.
Like a mask.
She knew him too well now.
She could see the tiny cracks underneath.
The slight tightness around his eyes.
The exhaustion hidden beneath every joke.
The sadness that flickered for only a heartbeat whenever he thought she wasn't looking.
He was trying so desperately to convince everyone—
Including her—
That he was fine.
She wasn't convinced.
But she also knew Jack Dawkins.
Push too hard...
...and he'd disappear behind another joke.
Another grin.
Another sarcastic remark.
So instead, she leaned forward and kissed him gently.
His surprise lasted only a second before he melted into it.
When she pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.
"What was that for?"
She smiled softly.
"No reason."
"I suspect there was."
"There was."
"And?"
"I'm not telling."
His eyes sparkled.
"Now who's being mysterious?"
"I learned from the best."
"I should be proud."
"You should be worried."
"Oh?"
"I'm becoming clever."
"I noticed."
"Cunning."
"Definitely."
"And very good at waiting."
That made him pause.
Only briefly.
Then he smiled again.
"I don't doubt it."
Belle squeezed his hand.
"You don't have to tell me tonight."
His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
"Thank you."
"But..."
"There it is."
"...I'm not going anywhere."
His expression softened completely.
"I know."
"And eventually..."
She looked into those impossibly blue eyes.
"...you're going to tell me."
Jack held her gaze.
For a moment she thought—
Just maybe—
He would.
Instead, he smiled sadly.
"Eventually."
It wasn't an answer.
But it wasn't a lie either.
Belle decided that, for tonight, it was enough.
She reached over and set the forgotten medical journal on the bedside table.
"I believe your gallstones can survive until morning."
"They're resilient creatures."
"I'm sure."
She blew out the lamp.
The room sank into darkness, illuminated only by the pale moonlight spilling through the window.
Jack settled beneath the blankets beside her.
Belle had barely found a comfortable position when she felt an arm snake gently around her waist.
Before she could protest, he tugged her backwards.
She let out a small squeak as she landed against his chest.
"There."
She smiled into the darkness.
"There?"
"The perfect place."
"For whom?"
"For both of us."
She rested her hands over his forearm, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her back.
"You are remarkably clingy for such an infamous criminal."
"I've retired."
"So now?"
"Now I'm simply your surgeon."
"My surgeon?"
"And future husband."
She smiled.
"I do like the sound of that."
"I hoped you might."
She felt his chin rest lightly atop her head.
His embrace tightened ever so slightly.
Protective.
Comforting.
As though holding her close was the only place he truly allowed himself to rest.
Belle closed her eyes.
She still didn't know what haunted him.
She still didn't know why the light in his eyes had dimmed these past weeks.
But she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Whatever burden he insisted on carrying alone...
She would be there when he was finally ready to set it down.
Wrapped safely in his arms, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing, Belle let herself drift toward sleep.
Behind her, Jack pressed one last gentle kiss into her hair.
Neither of them spoke again.
Before long, the room fell silent, and together they drifted into sleep, tangled safely in each other's embrace.
Jack was running.
Cold cobblestones pounded beneath worn boots.
London.
Always London.
The air was thick with smoke and fog, every alleyway drenched in shadow. He knew these streets better than he knew the lines on his own hands.
He was twelve again.
Hungry.
Cold.
Alone.
"No dawdling, Dodger!"
Fagin's voice rang through the narrow lane.
The old man stood beneath a flickering gas lamp, grinning that familiar, crooked grin. Behind him, Charley and the boys were laughing over some poorly divided spoils while Oliver looked thoroughly scandalised by the whole affair.
"You'll lose your touch if you keep daydreaming."
Jack rolled his eyes.
"I've still got quicker hands than the lot of them."
"Oh?"
Fagin raised an eyebrow.
"Care to prove it?"
Jack smirked.
"Always."
Everything felt...
Normal.
The smell of roasting chestnuts from a nearby stall.
The rumble of carriage wheels.
Oliver complaining.
Fagin laughing.
Home.
Then—
The laughter stopped.
The street emptied.
The fog thickened.
Jack turned.
"Fagin?"
Nothing.
The gas lamps flickered out one by one.
Darkness swallowed the alley.
He started walking faster.
"Fagin?"
Silence.
Then...
A shovel striking earth.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Jack's stomach dropped.
The sound grew louder.
Dirt.
Falling.
He knew that sound.
No...
No.
His feet carried him toward it before his mind could stop them.
The fog cleared just enough.
A grave.
Freshly filled.
The shovel lay abandoned beside it.
Oliver stood several feet away, hat clutched in trembling hands.
Neither of them spoke.
Jack stared at the mound of earth.
"No..."
His voice barely existed.
"No."
He dropped to his knees.
His hands clawed desperately through the dirt.
He didn't care that his fingernails split.
Didn't care about the mud.
He dug.
And dug.
And dug.
"Come on..."
His breathing became frantic.
"This isn't funny."
More dirt.
"Get up."
His hands shook violently.
"You've fooled everyone else."
He laughed.
A broken, desperate sound.
"You can fool me too."
Nothing.
The grave remained silent.
Jack stopped digging.
His hands fell limp into the earth.
Then the realization crashed into him.
Not in the dream.
In his chest.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Fagin wasn't pretending anymore.
He wasn't waiting to pop up with some clever remark.
He wasn't hiding.
He wasn't coming back.
Jack opened his mouth
He woke with a violent gasp.
The room was dark.
Moonlight spilled through the curtains.
His heart hammered so hard it hurt.
For several seconds he couldn't remember where he was.
London...
No.
Government House.
Belle.
Port victoryy.
Safe.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
His breathing refused to slow.
Quietly—carefully—he slipped out from beneath Belle's arm and sat on the edge of the bed.
Don't wake her.
Not again.
She needed sleep.
She'd been worrying enough already.
He rested his elbows on his knees.
Both hands covered his face.
His whole body trembled.
The dream lingered like smoke.
The streets.
Oliver.
The grave.
The shovel.
Then—
The thought he'd been refusing for weeks forced its way into his mind.
He's gone.
Jack's chest tightened.
He really is gone.
There would be no letters.
No ridiculous schemes.
No impossible escapes.
No infuriating laugh echoing down hospital corridors.
No Fagin.
Ever again.
His breath caught painfully.
Before he realized what he was doing, one hand flew over his mouth.
Don't.
Don't make a sound.
Belle will wake.
He pressed his palm harder against his lips.
His shoulders shook.
He fought every sound threatening to escape.
Pathetic.
The word came immediately.
Look at you.
Head surgeon.
The Artful Dodger.
Crying like a child.
He screwed his eyes shut.
Pull yourself together.
He inhaled slowly.
One.
Two.
Three.
Again.
He could do this.
He'd survived worse.
Just breathe.
Slowly.
Normal.
She doesn't need—
A gentle warmth settled against the middle of his back.
Jack froze.
Completely.
No...
He'd woken her.
Idiot.
His shoulders stiffened beneath Belle's hand.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Then her sleepy voice, still thick with exhaustion, drifted through the darkness.
"...Jack?"
He swallowed hard, keeping his face turned away.
"I'm sorry."
She pushed herself upright.
"What for?"
"I woke you."
"Oh, my love no.."
Her hand rubbed small circles across his back.
"You didn't."
He couldn't answer.
Belle looked at the rigid line of his shoulders.
The way he was trying so desperately to keep himself silent.
Her heart broke.
She shifted closer until she was sitting beside him.
"Look at me."
He shook his head.
"Jack."
Another shake.
She reached for his wrist, gently lowering the hand that covered his mouth.
His eyes remained fixed stubbornly on the floor.
Moonlight caught the tears he'd failed to hide.
Belle had never seen him look so... young.
So utterly lost.
She cupped his cheek.
"What happened?"
Silence.
"Was it another nightmare?"
His jaw tightened.
She waited.
Patiently.
"I can help."
A tiny shake of his head.
"No."
"Then let me try."
Nothing.
Belle rested her forehead lightly against his shoulder.
"You don't have to do this alone."
Jack squeezed his eyes shut.
His voice, when it finally came, was scarcely louder than a whisper.
"...I miss him."
Belle stilled.
He took a shaky breath.
"I know..."
His voice cracked.
"I know what we did."
Another breath.
"I know why."
He laughed once.
Broken.
"I even helped."
His fingers curled into trembling fists.
"But..."
He couldn't finish.
Belle understood anyway.
She wrapped both arms around him without another word.
At first he resisted.
Not intentionally.
Just...
Out of habit.
Then something inside him finally gave way.
His forehead rested against her shoulder.
His hands gripped the fabric at her waist as though she were the only thing keeping him together.
"He was..." His voice barely existed. "He was the closest thing I ever had to..."
He couldn't say it.
He didn't need to.
Belle held him tighter.
"I know."
"I keep thinking..." he whispered. "I'll see him again. That he'll walk through the door complaining or asking for money or... or telling me I've become insufferably respectable."
A watery laugh escaped him.
"But he won't."
"No."
"He isn't coming back."
The words seemed to shatter something inside him.
Belle felt him begin to cry in earnest then—not loudly, not dramatically, just quiet, exhausted tears from a man who had spent weeks convincing everyone, including himself, that he was all right.
She stroked his hair gently.
"You loved him."
Jack nodded against her shoulder.
"I did."
"And he loved you."
Jack closed his eyes.
"I hope he knew that."
"I think he did."
Neither of them spoke after that.
Belle simply gathered him into her arms as though he weighed nothing at all, letting him grieve without asking another question.
Eventually she coaxed him back beneath the blankets.
This time, instead of lying behind her, Jack curled toward her, his head tucked beneath her chin while she wrapped both arms around him.
She combed her fingers slowly through his dark hair until his breathing finally began to steady.
Neither of them slept much for what remained of the night.
But Belle never loosened her embrace.
And for the first time since Fagin's death, Jack didn't have to carry his grief alone.