A Time and Place for Us

One Last Chance

Panic took hold of him, coursing through his spine and making him shiver. Had she returned to the cabin at all? Was she spending the night with the rich bleeder? Had she perhaps decided to move to the single women's cabin after all? Had she left him, forever? His hands were shaking as he ran them through his messy locks. He began pacing, but instead of calming him down, it only made his anxiety worsen. All his fears and his guilt mixing into a concoction of overpowering worry and self-hatred. Worst of all, he felt powerless, aware that even if he found her and he dragged her back to their cabin, he could not make her want to stay, he could not make love him again. Was everything lost and resignation was the only way forward? He could not bear it if it was the case.

In the midst of his despair, he accidentally kicked something heavy. He crouched down, feeling the worn out leather of the mysterious object as he pawed at it. It had to be Eleanor's travel's bag and that ruled out one possibility. Somewhat calmer, he sat down on the bed. He promptly noticed her bedding was rumpled and a couple of long curly hairs lay on his pillow. At least he was now sure she'd come to bed last night. He could finally breathe.

He gritted his teeth. He wasn't like that; he was always cold and level-headed analysing every scenario, that's what it took to survive in Australia. A calculating monster, she'd once called him in a fight, though there were more than a few times when his impulses got the best of him. Only murder and the thrill of exerting his revenge used to thaw his icy blood and get it running through his veins, making him human again. Or so he thought, because even though he'd long accepted he was in love with the baker, with the very essence of her, and he was no stranger to the ups and downs of love, he'd never imagined it could cause such extreme reactions in him. An overwhelming fear that blocked out every other feeling, a constant sense of self-doubt and an ever-growing paranoia, teetering between anger and hopelessness. He'd found a reason to live in her, yet death would indeed be a relief if she wasn't by his side. Nellie Lovett, what are you doing to me?

Willing himself to think logically, his mind began conjuring up more scenarios to explain her sudden absence. She could of course be off to a secret midnight rendezvous with Mr. Winslow, but he also reckoned that she had a voracious appetite now that she was pregnant. He'd caught her raiding the inn kitchen in the middle of the night a few days ago, so there was a high chance of her waking up with some cravings, taking on herself to satisfy them. He almost smiled as he pictured her creeping into the ship's kitchen, wolfing down on whatever she was craving. Something sweet, if her cravings were anything like in the other timeline. His smile soon turned sour when he remembered it used to be him satisfying those on most nights, in another life that now felt like a dream. It was something inconsequential, really, she probably didn't want to bother him or disturb his sleep for something she did not deem important enough. But he fondly remembered when she counted on him. When they were a team.

He was the father of her baby and he wanted to be there, through thin and thick. He might not see her again when they arrived in New York—because as much as he loved her, he could not force her to remain by his side if she didn't want to. He would not cage her, if she truly no longer wanted him—so he had to make the eight days they had left count. Noticing she'd left her robe at the end of the bed, he resolved to go look for her. She was probably cold, and he didn't want her to catch croup. Baby steps, he told himself, little gestures to show her to much he cared, until she let him close again. He was not giving up on her and the baby so easily, that much he knew. He only hoped she hadn't yet completely given up on him.

Sweeney picked up the silky garment and exited their cabin. He strolled along the carpeted corridor on his way to the stairs, stopping dead in his tracks when his ears picked up a strange sound coming from the bathroom. It was faint, but it sounded like sobbing. Like Nellie Lovett's, whose crying haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. He gently pushed the door open, only to find the woman he loved curled up on the floor, a basin full of vomit by her side. "Nell..."