"A United Front" - Ripper Street fic for the Running Hot ficathon (PG)
Title: A United Front
Author: alizarin_nyc
Fandom: Ripper Street
Rating: PG
Written for the Running Hot ficathon, hosted by ariadnes_string, prompt by same, beta by same! Reid is ill--woozy, voice-less, unable to make good decisions. For whatever reason, this needs to be hidden from the bad guys/power that be, and it's up to Drake and Jackson to make this happen. What's worse, they actually have to work together!
"Here," Susan said, handing the bucket to Drake. "He's out back. Enjoy the show."
Drake was certain he did not want to know what she meant by that, but he was unsurprised to see Captain Jackson sprawled inelegantly amongst the rubbish with no trousers on. The bucket of water did the trick and Jackson was roused, cursing and spluttering and threatening to do harm to Drake's person.
"If you're quite through, Captain, I ain't doing this for my own amusement."
"Something needs my expertise, I reckon."
"In a sense. It's Reid."
Jackson seemed to sober up before Drake's eyes. He wiped a hand over his face, scrubbing away something slimy from his cheek.
"You have time to bathe," Drake said. "I'll wait up front."
Drake hoped Jackson would understand the severity of the situation. For days now they had both made reference to Reid's condition - coughing and congestion worse than they’d ever seen, even in some of the lowest holes in Whitechapel. Reid's wife had given up, being in no fit state to bargain with him. He'd taken to sleeping at the station, on his small cot, and tottering to his desk as often as he could to work, despite the fact that he was often confused and making inexcusable errors.
As baths went, it couldn't have been the most thorough, but Jackson came bursting into the front room with his medical bag, looking slightly less like a man mangled by wild dogs. "Lead on," he said to Drake. "I'm ready to wrangle this cussed patient of mine."
"My advice is to close your ears to his threats and insults and if need be, I'll hold him down."
Jackson raised his eyebrows, giving him a quirky, clownish look. "Putting your job on the line to save him, eh?"
"Saving him is my job," Drake replied, setting off at a fast trot down the street. Jackson stumbled after, losing his hat, kicking it, picking it up and cursing at Drake. Drake decided then and there to shut his ears to both Reid and Jackson and wait for the sanity of a murder case to prevail.
When they arrived at the station it was chaos. Drake had covered for Reid for the last two days but the troops were restless, quite aware that they were practically leaderless.
"Get him into my lab," Jackson said.
Drake went into Reid's office. Sweat-soaked rags were strewn everywhere. There was a pervasive humidity and a hot, human smell. Reid had screamed himself hoarse at Drake just that morning before collapsing onto his cot. Drake cringed as he recalled the dressing down he'd received. Reid was pursuing a case that had lately hit a dead-end but he couldn't see it, and refused to let it go. He viewed his own sergeant as an adversary, and was last heard ranting about a conspiracy to cover up a series of burglaries. Drake’s loyalty and ethics had been called into question and his less-than affluent status in life pointed to as reason for Reid to suspect him of taking bribes from criminals.
“If you can, sir,” Drake said, keeping his voice level. “Jackson and I have something to show you in the lab that you may well find of interest in this recent case.”
Reid stumbled to his feet, swaying and lowing like a bull. “You may redeem yourself after all,” he said. Drake caught him as he fell and muscled him upright.
“We don’t want the troops to know of our discovery, sir. It’s important to catch the traitors in our midst.”
“Yes, indeed sergeant.” Reid made an effort to compose himself and school his expression; seemingly unaware of how haggard and pale he looked. He cleared his throat and coughed miserably. Drake felt the heat coming off him in waves. “Let’s make short work of this,” Reid said hoarsely and opened the door. He and Drake maneuvered to Jackson’s lab without drawing too much unnecessary attention.
“Captain,” Reid rasped. “Show me what you’ve got. I’m eager to crack this case.” Jackson looked at Drake, confused. Drake shrugged. After a few beats, it dawned on Jackson what Drake had done.
“Alright, sergeant, the ruse is over. Time to manhandle our man.” Reid looked up in surprise, listing to the left where Drake gripped his arm. Jackson gripped the other arm and they pushed and shoved Reid over to the autopsy table. Reid struggled, but was no match for them, and they pushed him on to it, wrestling to keep him there.
Jackson brandished a syringe and got up in Reid’s face. “This will make you feel much better, you son-of-a-bitch.”
“Captain, is that necessary?” Drake asked.
“I’m sick of this bastard making us go out of our way to nurse him. If he’d have gone home to his wife four days ago we wouldn’t be in this position.” With that pronouncement, Jackson stuck the needle in and pushed the plunger. Reid made incoherent noises and Jackson rigged straps under the table and over him to keep him still. Drake had no choice but to go along with it and hope he had a job when all was said and done.
“No,” Reid moaned.
Jackson leaned over him and placed a hand on his face. “Easy now, Reid. Stay with me. We’re going to get you back in fighting shape.”
For the next while, Drake helped Jackson remove Reid’s heavy wool suit, and lower him into a tub of ice water (“much like what hit me in the face this morning,” Jackson grumbled), while Jackson enumerated various remedies that he didn’t have at hand. All the while, Reid cursed them when he wasn’t slipping in and out of consciousness.
“I’m a surgeon, not a country doctor,” Jackson reminded them several times. “This is the tub I put innards in when I’m done with ‘em.”
“Finally met with a real challenge then?” Drake said at last. He was edgy and starting to be concerned about their lack of efficacy in the matter at hand. “Can’t handle a fever in a still living person? Going to let him die?”
Jackson grabbed Drake’s shoulder and reeled him in so he could stare him down, but before he could open his mouth, Drake twisted his arm and pushed him facedown on his own autopsy table.
“Do the best you can, man,” Drake growled into his ear. “Don’t make such a fuss.”
“Get. Off. Me,” Jackson said. Drake released him only when Reid groaned from the icy tub. “Grab those blankets, we need to wrap him up. Hurry!”
Between them, they pulled a recalcitrant but still-drugged Reid from the tub and tried to put blankets around him. “This isn’t working,” Drake said as another blanket slipped to the floor and he ducked under Reid’s swinging arm.
“He’s still wet and clammy. We need to dry him off.” Jackson grabbed a stained towel and began to swipe at Reid.
“Oi, give it me,” Drake said. He took it from Jackson and began to vigorously rub down his boss, who flailed about sluggishly on the autopsy table. “Strap him down and get those wet undergarments off. No time for modesty. No, wait, get his cot from the office, we can’t use this table as a bed.” His voice must have been suitably authoritative because for once, Jackson did as he was told; either that, or he wasn’t about to fool around with Reid’s smallclothes.
“Bastards!” Reid shouted. “Trying to kill me to cover your misdeeds! I’ll have you all hanged!”
Drake ended up stripping off the undergarments with one of Jackson’s knives. Jackson swept back in, banging the cot down and tossing more towels at Drake. With the patient hastily strapped to the cot, it was easier to get things done. Drake was especially careful with Reid’s scars, although they were long healed. Jackson took to drying Reid’s feet and Drake moved to dry his hair.
“More’n we’d ever do for anyone, isn’t it?” Drake said.
“Wouldn’t generally touch a man’s feet unless he was dead already,” Jackson agreed. Reid moaned loudly. Jackson shushed him.
“You’re not half bad as a nurse, Captain,” Drake said.
“I refuse to take offense at that sergeant, as I was goin’ to point out that you’re at your best when you’re in charge. You hide behind Reid, when you’ve obviously got a lot of leadership qualities you might could put to good use as your own man.” Jackson looked surprised at his own words.
“I’m just the muscle,” Drake said, baring his teeth.
“And a fair to middlin’ liar. Much like Reid here, who could throw us all down when he’s fit, but mostly he ain’t of a mind to get his paws dirty.”
“He’s smart, you got to give him that,” Drake said.
“You be smart too, and learn from him.”
“Your concern about my career is heartwarming, but it won’t mean much if we can’t get this one back on his feet.”
“True enough,” Jackson said, studying his patient and finally taking his inquisitive ferret eyes off Drake. Without quite understanding why, Drake sighed with relief.
They worked together in silence until Reid was dry, wrapped and slumbering. They looked at each other over his still form.
“Why do we…?” Drake asked.
“Because he sees in us what other men can’t.”
“Never took you for a sentimentalist,” Drake said.
“Never took you as someone who’d let the trail go cold on a case while your boss takes a nap.”
“Go cold? You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drake said, challenging. “I’ve just been waiting for a man to back me up when I make my arrest. Seeing as I haven’t got Reid.”
“You’ve figured out the ringleader, have you?” Jackson asked. “And kept it from Reid?”
“You’re surprised? You said yourself I weren’t just muscle. And the Inspector’s in no fit shape to be running about the streets in this weather after a common thief we can have nicked and behind bars by teatime.”
“Well then! When do we arrest the bastard?”
“Now if you like, Captain. If you think Reid will be all right for a couple of hours.”
“Out cold and warm as a baby in his mother’s arms. We’ll post Artherton at the door just in case.”
“Then I see no reason why the two of us can’t manage. Get your hat.”
“We make a damn fine team, Drake. Damn fine.” Jackson cracked open his grin and turned it full bore on Drake. “After this, though, no tea. Whisky. Soup for Reid, whisky for us. And all’s well.”
“All’s well,” Drake mimicked, hoping it would be so, knowing that with Captain Jackson, it probably wouldn’t be for long.
.
Author: alizarin_nyc
Fandom: Ripper Street
Rating: PG
Written for the Running Hot ficathon, hosted by ariadnes_string, prompt by same, beta by same! Reid is ill--woozy, voice-less, unable to make good decisions. For whatever reason, this needs to be hidden from the bad guys/power that be, and it's up to Drake and Jackson to make this happen. What's worse, they actually have to work together!
"Here," Susan said, handing the bucket to Drake. "He's out back. Enjoy the show."
Drake was certain he did not want to know what she meant by that, but he was unsurprised to see Captain Jackson sprawled inelegantly amongst the rubbish with no trousers on. The bucket of water did the trick and Jackson was roused, cursing and spluttering and threatening to do harm to Drake's person.
"If you're quite through, Captain, I ain't doing this for my own amusement."
"Something needs my expertise, I reckon."
"In a sense. It's Reid."
Jackson seemed to sober up before Drake's eyes. He wiped a hand over his face, scrubbing away something slimy from his cheek.
"You have time to bathe," Drake said. "I'll wait up front."
Drake hoped Jackson would understand the severity of the situation. For days now they had both made reference to Reid's condition - coughing and congestion worse than they’d ever seen, even in some of the lowest holes in Whitechapel. Reid's wife had given up, being in no fit state to bargain with him. He'd taken to sleeping at the station, on his small cot, and tottering to his desk as often as he could to work, despite the fact that he was often confused and making inexcusable errors.
As baths went, it couldn't have been the most thorough, but Jackson came bursting into the front room with his medical bag, looking slightly less like a man mangled by wild dogs. "Lead on," he said to Drake. "I'm ready to wrangle this cussed patient of mine."
"My advice is to close your ears to his threats and insults and if need be, I'll hold him down."
Jackson raised his eyebrows, giving him a quirky, clownish look. "Putting your job on the line to save him, eh?"
"Saving him is my job," Drake replied, setting off at a fast trot down the street. Jackson stumbled after, losing his hat, kicking it, picking it up and cursing at Drake. Drake decided then and there to shut his ears to both Reid and Jackson and wait for the sanity of a murder case to prevail.
When they arrived at the station it was chaos. Drake had covered for Reid for the last two days but the troops were restless, quite aware that they were practically leaderless.
"Get him into my lab," Jackson said.
Drake went into Reid's office. Sweat-soaked rags were strewn everywhere. There was a pervasive humidity and a hot, human smell. Reid had screamed himself hoarse at Drake just that morning before collapsing onto his cot. Drake cringed as he recalled the dressing down he'd received. Reid was pursuing a case that had lately hit a dead-end but he couldn't see it, and refused to let it go. He viewed his own sergeant as an adversary, and was last heard ranting about a conspiracy to cover up a series of burglaries. Drake’s loyalty and ethics had been called into question and his less-than affluent status in life pointed to as reason for Reid to suspect him of taking bribes from criminals.
“If you can, sir,” Drake said, keeping his voice level. “Jackson and I have something to show you in the lab that you may well find of interest in this recent case.”
Reid stumbled to his feet, swaying and lowing like a bull. “You may redeem yourself after all,” he said. Drake caught him as he fell and muscled him upright.
“We don’t want the troops to know of our discovery, sir. It’s important to catch the traitors in our midst.”
“Yes, indeed sergeant.” Reid made an effort to compose himself and school his expression; seemingly unaware of how haggard and pale he looked. He cleared his throat and coughed miserably. Drake felt the heat coming off him in waves. “Let’s make short work of this,” Reid said hoarsely and opened the door. He and Drake maneuvered to Jackson’s lab without drawing too much unnecessary attention.
“Captain,” Reid rasped. “Show me what you’ve got. I’m eager to crack this case.” Jackson looked at Drake, confused. Drake shrugged. After a few beats, it dawned on Jackson what Drake had done.
“Alright, sergeant, the ruse is over. Time to manhandle our man.” Reid looked up in surprise, listing to the left where Drake gripped his arm. Jackson gripped the other arm and they pushed and shoved Reid over to the autopsy table. Reid struggled, but was no match for them, and they pushed him on to it, wrestling to keep him there.
Jackson brandished a syringe and got up in Reid’s face. “This will make you feel much better, you son-of-a-bitch.”
“Captain, is that necessary?” Drake asked.
“I’m sick of this bastard making us go out of our way to nurse him. If he’d have gone home to his wife four days ago we wouldn’t be in this position.” With that pronouncement, Jackson stuck the needle in and pushed the plunger. Reid made incoherent noises and Jackson rigged straps under the table and over him to keep him still. Drake had no choice but to go along with it and hope he had a job when all was said and done.
“No,” Reid moaned.
Jackson leaned over him and placed a hand on his face. “Easy now, Reid. Stay with me. We’re going to get you back in fighting shape.”
For the next while, Drake helped Jackson remove Reid’s heavy wool suit, and lower him into a tub of ice water (“much like what hit me in the face this morning,” Jackson grumbled), while Jackson enumerated various remedies that he didn’t have at hand. All the while, Reid cursed them when he wasn’t slipping in and out of consciousness.
“I’m a surgeon, not a country doctor,” Jackson reminded them several times. “This is the tub I put innards in when I’m done with ‘em.”
“Finally met with a real challenge then?” Drake said at last. He was edgy and starting to be concerned about their lack of efficacy in the matter at hand. “Can’t handle a fever in a still living person? Going to let him die?”
Jackson grabbed Drake’s shoulder and reeled him in so he could stare him down, but before he could open his mouth, Drake twisted his arm and pushed him facedown on his own autopsy table.
“Do the best you can, man,” Drake growled into his ear. “Don’t make such a fuss.”
“Get. Off. Me,” Jackson said. Drake released him only when Reid groaned from the icy tub. “Grab those blankets, we need to wrap him up. Hurry!”
Between them, they pulled a recalcitrant but still-drugged Reid from the tub and tried to put blankets around him. “This isn’t working,” Drake said as another blanket slipped to the floor and he ducked under Reid’s swinging arm.
“He’s still wet and clammy. We need to dry him off.” Jackson grabbed a stained towel and began to swipe at Reid.
“Oi, give it me,” Drake said. He took it from Jackson and began to vigorously rub down his boss, who flailed about sluggishly on the autopsy table. “Strap him down and get those wet undergarments off. No time for modesty. No, wait, get his cot from the office, we can’t use this table as a bed.” His voice must have been suitably authoritative because for once, Jackson did as he was told; either that, or he wasn’t about to fool around with Reid’s smallclothes.
“Bastards!” Reid shouted. “Trying to kill me to cover your misdeeds! I’ll have you all hanged!”
Drake ended up stripping off the undergarments with one of Jackson’s knives. Jackson swept back in, banging the cot down and tossing more towels at Drake. With the patient hastily strapped to the cot, it was easier to get things done. Drake was especially careful with Reid’s scars, although they were long healed. Jackson took to drying Reid’s feet and Drake moved to dry his hair.
“More’n we’d ever do for anyone, isn’t it?” Drake said.
“Wouldn’t generally touch a man’s feet unless he was dead already,” Jackson agreed. Reid moaned loudly. Jackson shushed him.
“You’re not half bad as a nurse, Captain,” Drake said.
“I refuse to take offense at that sergeant, as I was goin’ to point out that you’re at your best when you’re in charge. You hide behind Reid, when you’ve obviously got a lot of leadership qualities you might could put to good use as your own man.” Jackson looked surprised at his own words.
“I’m just the muscle,” Drake said, baring his teeth.
“And a fair to middlin’ liar. Much like Reid here, who could throw us all down when he’s fit, but mostly he ain’t of a mind to get his paws dirty.”
“He’s smart, you got to give him that,” Drake said.
“You be smart too, and learn from him.”
“Your concern about my career is heartwarming, but it won’t mean much if we can’t get this one back on his feet.”
“True enough,” Jackson said, studying his patient and finally taking his inquisitive ferret eyes off Drake. Without quite understanding why, Drake sighed with relief.
They worked together in silence until Reid was dry, wrapped and slumbering. They looked at each other over his still form.
“Why do we…?” Drake asked.
“Because he sees in us what other men can’t.”
“Never took you for a sentimentalist,” Drake said.
“Never took you as someone who’d let the trail go cold on a case while your boss takes a nap.”
“Go cold? You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drake said, challenging. “I’ve just been waiting for a man to back me up when I make my arrest. Seeing as I haven’t got Reid.”
“You’ve figured out the ringleader, have you?” Jackson asked. “And kept it from Reid?”
“You’re surprised? You said yourself I weren’t just muscle. And the Inspector’s in no fit shape to be running about the streets in this weather after a common thief we can have nicked and behind bars by teatime.”
“Well then! When do we arrest the bastard?”
“Now if you like, Captain. If you think Reid will be all right for a couple of hours.”
“Out cold and warm as a baby in his mother’s arms. We’ll post Artherton at the door just in case.”
“Then I see no reason why the two of us can’t manage. Get your hat.”
“We make a damn fine team, Drake. Damn fine.” Jackson cracked open his grin and turned it full bore on Drake. “After this, though, no tea. Whisky. Soup for Reid, whisky for us. And all’s well.”
“All’s well,” Drake mimicked, hoping it would be so, knowing that with Captain Jackson, it probably wouldn’t be for long.
.