CHAPTER FOUR

"Did you know of Duggan's name on the deeds?"

Hobbs glanced up, startled, almost upsetting the ink pot in his haste. He hadn't realised that Captain Jackson had entered the room. Hobbs' heart thumped loud and quick, his breath catching at the sight of the Captain, rumpled as always but with a look of suspicion that made an all-too-familiar pain slice through Hobbs. It'd been making itself known far too often lately.

Hobbs cleared his throat before attempting to cause such suspicion and pain to disappear. "Only when Ruth made mention of it. I assumed it was old knowledge, sir."

Jackson sighed and discarded his battered trilby. He looked suddenly weary, his suspicion set aside for now. Hobbs' mouth twisted into a frown and he quickly attempted to stow his papers and ink. He had spent the afternoon down at the fish market and his skin still smelled of fresh catches. He did not feel presentable or desirable in the least.

"I would have said something, sir, had I known you weren't party to it," he continued earnestly.

Jackson nodded, his hand rising to stroke Hobbs' hair before bringing the younger man closer until their foreheads touched. Hobbs breathed in the Captain's air, his heart surely trembling loud enough for Jackson to hear. The Captain laid his hands on Hobbs' hips for a moment, as though steadying him into the right position, and then began unbuttoning Hobbs' shirt.

"I know."

It was all that Captain Jackson said aloud. Everything else was communicated mouth to mouth, skin on skin, ink on fingers wet enough to leave marks. It wasn't the only thing that did.

Hobbs hadn't been expecting the punch. One moment he'd been chatting to folk in the fuggy public house, the next a fight broke out and a man with red hair and a beard went for him, his fists making fresh meat out of Hobbs' face. He had little time to wonder if the man knew who he was, he was too busy trying to defend himself. He was not greatly successful against the larger opponent, soon finding himself on the sticky tavern floor, blows raining down. His ribs hurt and his face was a mess of pain, he tried to strike out, to protect himself, but nothing he did appeared to make a difference.

Then there were whistles and the familiar thwack of a billy-club. Someone was breaking up the fight. Hobbs groaned, shoving at a nearby ankle. His assailant got one more punch in before he was dragged away and then Constable Flight was crouching down nearby. Hobbs managed a painful sort of smile.

"Thank you, constable."

Flight smiled fleetingly and pressed a quick hand to Hobbs' shoulder. "I hope your conversation was worth the beating."

He didn't wait for an answer, instead he began to lever Hobbs carefully to his feet. Hobbs could not prevent himself from uttering pained noises, his chest and ribs hurt so and he could not think of how pulped his face was. Flight did not shy away from him though and helped him to leave the building.

"To Miss Hart's? Or do you have another engagement?"

Flight's words were almost wry, or maybe his Irish lilt twisted all his speech that way. Hobbs shook his head and then grimaced at the resulting pain.

"Miss Hart's, if you please."

Flight nodded and assisted him in his walking. Hobbs only hoped that there wouldn't be many clients in the front parlour when he arrived, they were likely to exit quickly upon seeing his injuries and Miss Hart needed the money. Flight didn't talk much, he seemed only concerned with keeping them both steady and ensuring that Hobbs didn't find himself in too much pain. It was a relief to lean on the constable.

They reached Miss Hart's in good time and Flight elbowed his way past the door, nodding his head courteously at the girls who looked up at the noise. There were many gasps and several of them rushed to help Hobbs into a chair.

"Dick! Whose boot have you been under?" Lottie fussed, as Mags brought forward a bowl of water and a handful of cloth scraps.

"Risk of the work, miss," Hobbs reminded her. "Here, I'll do it. Miss Hart won't want you distracted."

The girls all murmured their worries but left him alone. Hobbs made sure that he moved to a corner where none would bother him and Flight sat close by, pressing a soaked cloth or two to Hobbs' face. Hobbs hissed as a particularly tender spot was dealt with. Flight's expression was intent as he worked, his tone leisurely when he spoke.

"I'm hear that Miss Hart and Captain Jackson are married."

Hobbs held his gaze and nodded. "A fortunate day for them both."

There was a pause and Flight only broke the silence after Hobbs' facial scrapes were painfully cleaned out. "I also hear that a man with your name and face died, down by the river, and that Reid's men are so loyal they fight death to walk these streets at his side."

Hobbs had heard those stories too. His bloody hand reached for the lining of his jacket, for the copper coins residing there. He was alive, even if he did feel ghostly more often than not. He was alive, with copper pressed to skin to prove it.

"I know those stories," he offered eventually. "Only the ferryman didn't get the full trip. Too much left unfinished on this shore."

Whatever Flight was going to say in reply was hushed by the sudden appearance of Captain Jackson at the door. His eyes narrowed when he spied Hobbs in the corner, Flight close with hands about his person. Hobbs managed a weak smile; he knew he looked a right state. The Captain quickly made his way over, pulled a bag from his shoulder, and hunched down in front of Hobbs.

"Not making my life easy, are you, Hobbs?"

"No, sir, though I can't say that such a painful outcome was my intention."

Jackson ran a soothing hand down Hobbs' thigh and spared a glance for the watching Flight. "Playing nursemaid, Flight?"

Flight went thin-lipped and stiff. "Doing my duty, Captain. I heard the commotion and saw someone in need of assistance."

"I'm grateful," Hobbs put in, because he was. "And thank you, for seeing me homeward also."

Flight nodded at him and moved away so that Captain Jackson could have more room. Hobbs let out a breath and winced at the pain in his ribs. Jackson began testing the area with his hands, checking Hobbs' reactions carefully. Hobbs sank into his touch and Jackson squeezed his wrist. Hobbs closed his eyes.

He might have felt a brief touch to his hairline but that was probably mere imagination. He let himself drift, let himself get consumed by the firm educated touch of Captain Jackson, doing what he could to take away Hobbs' pain. It was something of an irony considering how at the root of Hobbs' inner turmoil he had been lately.

Eventually, Jackson called his name softly and Hobbs opened his eyes to find the Captain repacking his bag. He slanted a glance towards the staircase.

"You need rest for the worst of it, some spirits too."

It was an invitation as much as anything else and Hobbs smiled a funny little smile as Jackson easily helped him to his feet, holding Hobbs close as they made their way towards the stars. Flight was talking seriously to two of the girls but looked up when Jackson and Hobbs passed by. Jackson smirked more than a little.

"Enjoy yourself, Flight, but know that you'll find no free favours in this house."

"Unless a certain someone's looking for a surgeon's hands," Caroline called out with a filthy sort of tone and wink.

Hobbs cracked something of a wry laugh, his smile hurting. "In this state, such attentions would be a miracle."

The girls called out more suggestions but Jackson was turning Hobbs towards their room. Hobbs relished that such a place existed – their room – and leaned into Jackson as they walked, together, side by side. He tried to memorise the warmth, the feeling of Jackson so close by and in step with him. He was getting increasingly tense as the days passed, and filled with glimpses of a future time, a time when the water would rise above his head again, above Miss Hart too, and Jackson wouldn't be there beside him, beside them.

Hobbs' hands clenched around copper coins, smothered in his jacket's lining, and around a handful of Jackson's shirt too. The door closed loudly behind them.

-the end