FanFic100-Dracula-021. "Friends"
Title: None.
Fandom: Dracula: General Novel
Characters: Mina Harker, Jack Seward
Prompt: 021. Friends
Word Count: 1192
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: LTD here. Normally, I mentally set the action of Dracula in the 1880s, but this time I bumped it forward a few years, for reasons which should be obvious when you read the story. It's sort of AU, as I pretty much disregarded Jonathan's epilogue. The idea vaguely spawned from the quote at the beginning.
“We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not already engaged to Jonathan.” - Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray, speaking of Dr. John Seward (from Dracula)
It is quite curious what Time does when left to his own devices. For one thing, he seems to take great pleasure in causing difficulties for humankind at the most inopportune times. Especially cruel is his seeming delight in bring the most pain and tragedy to those who have suffered too much already.
The band of dear friends had disposed of the monster they had hunted, but two of their number had been lost. They returned home to the bitter cold English autumn, and mourned the sweet lady and the brave gentleman, and they moved on as best they could. But peace was not destined to be theirs. The next June a new monster was to arise, a monster greater and more horrific than any the world had ever seen.
Everyone said the war would be over before Christmas. It wasn’t.
Mina was miserable. She had been three months pregnant when Jonathan had left, a year to the day they had vanquished the vampire. Baby Quincey was now three months old. She tried to content herself with the little tediums of motherhood, but couldn’t. Her thoughts strayed always across the Channel to the men who all wrote her letters, letters which were now her dearest company.
Jonathan’s infantry unit was somewhere in Belgium as of his last letter, and that was dated over a month ago, she recalled. Art, by virtue of family history and title as much as actual merit, was now a Major, and his unit was in Austria-Hungary somewhere, he had written two and a half weeks ago. Professor Van Helsing was still in Amsterdam, but was going to attempt to flee to England or the Unites State for safety, that was three weeks ago. Jack had been stationed in a field hospital right at the Franco-Prussian border for the last two months.
She repeated these things to herself, praying for her “dear boys” and almost believing that as long as she recalled every word of their letters, they would all come home safely. Whenever a new one came, which was seldom, she committed it to memory and fitted the new information into her mental recitation.
She heard nothing from any of them for two months. She did read the papers however, learning of the areas where the fighting was the worst. Any day, she new, the headlines would read that the war was over, and then one day she’s open the door and all the boys would be home again. It was her dream, it was everyone’s.
A year to the day that Jonathan had left, two years exactly since the death of Quincey Morris and the vampire count, and three months since a letter had come to her from anyone, there was a knock at her door. She gathered up the mountains of socks she had knitted; it was about the time of the month that the ladies came to collect things such as that, especially with the snows beginning to fall. When she opened the door, however, her knitting bag fell from her hands, and she froze, too utterly stunned to react any other way.
John Seward was even more gaunt and pale than he ever had been before. The dark circles under his eyes were intensified in an almost frightening way. His frazzled brown hair was much greyer than before, much greyer than it should have been for a man of thirty-one. His left arm was in a sling, and it took a long moment for Mina to realize why it looked so unnatural-there was no longer a hand at the end of it.
Seward looked down at the sling. “What a way to be remembered, eh? My last great moment as a field doctor was to amputate my own bloody hand. Not that I needed much help, after the shell…” He trailed off. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” said Mina, suddenly snapped back to the present. “How dreadful of me, I just…oh, Jack, I’m so glad you’re back! I’ve been so worried-”
“Very kind of you, but save your thanks,” said Seward as she ushered him into the warm parlor and took his coat. “I doubt you’ll really want to thank me in a few minutes.”
“Whatever is that supposed to mean?” she said, handing him a glass of brandy and sitting on the opposite end of the settee. He took a drink and sighed, staring into the fire. She could feel her heart sinking, and her stomach began to twist itself into a knot. “Jack?” she whispered, her eyes pleading.
“You know, it seems like every man I took care of had a sweetheart or a wife back home,” said Jack, staring intently at the fire, avoiding her gaze. “The only men I treated who didn’t tell me about the girl they left at home were the ones to far gone to say anything. I can’t tell you how many letters I wrote at the dictation of a dying man, telling some poor girl that her beloved wasn’t coming back. But you know, the more I wrote, the easier it got. These were men I’d never met before, and I doubt I’ll see any of them again. And besides, it seemed that for every letter I wrote to a man, asking him on behalf of the dying to take care of the girl, whoever she was. So many of my patients told me about the best friend, the one who promised to go home and marry her, whoever she was. Make sure she would be taken care of. That was the part I couldn’t stand. I could tell a thousand people their fathers and brothers and husbands and sons were dead, but I could bear to write to tell a man to marry his best friend’s widow. I just couldn’t stand…I guess it hit too close to home.”
Seward clasped the hand that Mina had rested on his leg. He leaned over and kissed a tear off her cheek, and he lifted her hand to her lips and kissed her wedding ring. Then he rose, crossed the room, and awkwardly draped his coat around his shoulders. Mina stood and looked after him, bewildered.
“Jack, aren’t you…I mean, didn’t you come to tell me…and to ask…?”
Seward gave her the look of a broken-hearted man. “Jonathan is in a field hospital in Ypres. He was shot in the side, and will be returning home with honorable discharge as soon as he’s able to be moved.”
Mina collapsed onto the settee. Seward turned away. “I’ll be returning to the Asylum. You don’t need two hands to probe people’s psyches.” They paused in silence, both at a complete loss.
“Jack…does he know?”
“If he knew, Mina, he wouldn’t have asked me to come see you,” said Seward resignedly. He took another step toward the door, then hesitated one instant longer.
“Kiss my son for me before Jonathan returns,” he said. And he left.
Fandom: Dracula: General Novel
Characters: Mina Harker, Jack Seward
Prompt: 021. Friends
Word Count: 1192
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: LTD here. Normally, I mentally set the action of Dracula in the 1880s, but this time I bumped it forward a few years, for reasons which should be obvious when you read the story. It's sort of AU, as I pretty much disregarded Jonathan's epilogue. The idea vaguely spawned from the quote at the beginning.
“We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not already engaged to Jonathan.” - Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray, speaking of Dr. John Seward (from Dracula)
It is quite curious what Time does when left to his own devices. For one thing, he seems to take great pleasure in causing difficulties for humankind at the most inopportune times. Especially cruel is his seeming delight in bring the most pain and tragedy to those who have suffered too much already.
The band of dear friends had disposed of the monster they had hunted, but two of their number had been lost. They returned home to the bitter cold English autumn, and mourned the sweet lady and the brave gentleman, and they moved on as best they could. But peace was not destined to be theirs. The next June a new monster was to arise, a monster greater and more horrific than any the world had ever seen.
Everyone said the war would be over before Christmas. It wasn’t.
Mina was miserable. She had been three months pregnant when Jonathan had left, a year to the day they had vanquished the vampire. Baby Quincey was now three months old. She tried to content herself with the little tediums of motherhood, but couldn’t. Her thoughts strayed always across the Channel to the men who all wrote her letters, letters which were now her dearest company.
Jonathan’s infantry unit was somewhere in Belgium as of his last letter, and that was dated over a month ago, she recalled. Art, by virtue of family history and title as much as actual merit, was now a Major, and his unit was in Austria-Hungary somewhere, he had written two and a half weeks ago. Professor Van Helsing was still in Amsterdam, but was going to attempt to flee to England or the Unites State for safety, that was three weeks ago. Jack had been stationed in a field hospital right at the Franco-Prussian border for the last two months.
She repeated these things to herself, praying for her “dear boys” and almost believing that as long as she recalled every word of their letters, they would all come home safely. Whenever a new one came, which was seldom, she committed it to memory and fitted the new information into her mental recitation.
She heard nothing from any of them for two months. She did read the papers however, learning of the areas where the fighting was the worst. Any day, she new, the headlines would read that the war was over, and then one day she’s open the door and all the boys would be home again. It was her dream, it was everyone’s.
A year to the day that Jonathan had left, two years exactly since the death of Quincey Morris and the vampire count, and three months since a letter had come to her from anyone, there was a knock at her door. She gathered up the mountains of socks she had knitted; it was about the time of the month that the ladies came to collect things such as that, especially with the snows beginning to fall. When she opened the door, however, her knitting bag fell from her hands, and she froze, too utterly stunned to react any other way.
John Seward was even more gaunt and pale than he ever had been before. The dark circles under his eyes were intensified in an almost frightening way. His frazzled brown hair was much greyer than before, much greyer than it should have been for a man of thirty-one. His left arm was in a sling, and it took a long moment for Mina to realize why it looked so unnatural-there was no longer a hand at the end of it.
Seward looked down at the sling. “What a way to be remembered, eh? My last great moment as a field doctor was to amputate my own bloody hand. Not that I needed much help, after the shell…” He trailed off. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” said Mina, suddenly snapped back to the present. “How dreadful of me, I just…oh, Jack, I’m so glad you’re back! I’ve been so worried-”
“Very kind of you, but save your thanks,” said Seward as she ushered him into the warm parlor and took his coat. “I doubt you’ll really want to thank me in a few minutes.”
“Whatever is that supposed to mean?” she said, handing him a glass of brandy and sitting on the opposite end of the settee. He took a drink and sighed, staring into the fire. She could feel her heart sinking, and her stomach began to twist itself into a knot. “Jack?” she whispered, her eyes pleading.
“You know, it seems like every man I took care of had a sweetheart or a wife back home,” said Jack, staring intently at the fire, avoiding her gaze. “The only men I treated who didn’t tell me about the girl they left at home were the ones to far gone to say anything. I can’t tell you how many letters I wrote at the dictation of a dying man, telling some poor girl that her beloved wasn’t coming back. But you know, the more I wrote, the easier it got. These were men I’d never met before, and I doubt I’ll see any of them again. And besides, it seemed that for every letter I wrote to a man, asking him on behalf of the dying to take care of the girl, whoever she was. So many of my patients told me about the best friend, the one who promised to go home and marry her, whoever she was. Make sure she would be taken care of. That was the part I couldn’t stand. I could tell a thousand people their fathers and brothers and husbands and sons were dead, but I could bear to write to tell a man to marry his best friend’s widow. I just couldn’t stand…I guess it hit too close to home.”
Seward clasped the hand that Mina had rested on his leg. He leaned over and kissed a tear off her cheek, and he lifted her hand to her lips and kissed her wedding ring. Then he rose, crossed the room, and awkwardly draped his coat around his shoulders. Mina stood and looked after him, bewildered.
“Jack, aren’t you…I mean, didn’t you come to tell me…and to ask…?”
Seward gave her the look of a broken-hearted man. “Jonathan is in a field hospital in Ypres. He was shot in the side, and will be returning home with honorable discharge as soon as he’s able to be moved.”
Mina collapsed onto the settee. Seward turned away. “I’ll be returning to the Asylum. You don’t need two hands to probe people’s psyches.” They paused in silence, both at a complete loss.
“Jack…does he know?”
“If he knew, Mina, he wouldn’t have asked me to come see you,” said Seward resignedly. He took another step toward the door, then hesitated one instant longer.
“Kiss my son for me before Jonathan returns,” he said. And he left.