Jack Dawkins One Shots

Y/n!

Requested : 

I absolutely love your Jack Dawkins fic, I've just added your Newt fic to my library. You are an absolutely amazing writer.This is also a request for the jack Dawkins fic, as in could you write one where jack is reunited with someone who he knew back in London?? I just think it would be cute and you can do anything you want from there, anything you want haha Thank you for writing xxxx

I sighed finishing up with the ward rolling my sleeves up heading towards the stairwell, 

"Jack. Patient. Room four," Hetty said having come chasing after me, 

"What about them?"

"She's refusing to let Dr Sneed see her." 

I sighed, great last thing I need some little whiner, "Will she let me see her?"

"She says yes." 

"Alright," I sighed heading back down and quickly went to room four, "Hello Miss, Dr Dawkins, I heard you refused Dr Sneeds treatment?" I asked taking her paperwork to see what I was actually dealing with, it wasn't much just a mild head injury nothing worth keeping her in over. 

"He's a snivelling, Pompous Git" her voice said from the bed,  

I admit I chuckled a little, "Well we agree on something." 

"What was your name again?"

"Dawkins. Dr Jack Dawkins." I told her setting her paperwork back and actually looking at her, but- I had a heart attack. 

She sat with her long tight curls against the headboard of the bed, a bandage for her wound around her head, her skin slightly red where she clearly had not yet gotten use to the sun here, a long violet dress been repaired and fixed a hundred times. 

I- I felt like I was in a dream, I could barely beleive my own eyes, I- I was utterly convinced I'd never see her again. 

Y/n. She was a London street girl a year or two older then me, abandoned by her family and forced to make her own way, Much as I was. She didn't run with Fagin, the boys and I. She more made her own way but still we crossed paths. We were pickpockets and petty theives breaching only death it if became nessesary. She... Was The Violet Widow. Known though out London. She'd walk the streets as a evening girl but a man who paid her never got to finish, He would be taken home, stripped, tied, and riden until she had reached her desires then she would kill him, steal his clothes, money, watch and sell what she wouldn't keep or give to us boys. She kept herself nicely I must say, and she even married a few older wealther men taking their name for a few weeks before butching them too taking all that remained and being left as a widow. She lived just down the road from us, and any clothes she thought would she'd pass along, even if she couldn't always feed herself she always tried to feed us too. 

We of course were freindly and we'd both gotten each other out of jams more times then I dare to think. 

And Admittedtly I had spent more nights then I care to remember as a bored excited teenage boy, knoitted with the sheets of her bed, and with her. But she never minded, and she never charged me, and never let any of the other boys near her. 

Last I had heard she had been arrested on her most recent husbands murder charge, but that was only a week or two before I was locked up myself. 

I had greived for her, beloived her hung for her crimes or... atleast locked away somewhere I would never see her. 

Never in my life would I have pictured her, Here in port victoria let alone, here infront of me.

I was... thrilled to see her alive! But also... suspcious.