𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑜𝑛-𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒜𝓇𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒟ℴ𝒹𝑔ℯ𝓇//ʲᵃᶜᵏ ᵈᵃʷᵏⁱⁿˢ

𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝚎𝚗

JACK

Tℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑠𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡—𝑀．𝐽．𝑇．

MOMENTS ROLLED PAST, the shadows of the alley were starting to roll with the dust, seeming to be creeping closer and closer, the 'what if's' starting to follow.

I tried to steady my breathing, something I have always seemed to struggle with throughout my life even after becoming a trusted surgeon. On a surgery table with the patient between life and death, I have a steady hand, my mind is clear and my breathing is even—yet in sticky situations such as this, I seem to have found myself incapable of keeping my breathing steady.

A gloomy shape appears into shadowy walkway, panicking I grasp the closest thing I could use as a weapon, unfortunately it was an old rusty spoon on the ground.

Rushing out from the safety of my hiding spot, I pulled the spoon out threateningly, praying I wouldn't lose my hand today. The shadowy figure didn't move, as I approached I stopped suddenly, there stood Mari with her arms crossed and an unimpressed look.

"Bloody hell Mari!" Releasing a much needed breath, I took a moment to gather my thoughts.

"Well, what are you gonna do with that?" Her arms were still bound at her chest and a smirk was rising to her lips.

I look down to the weapon in my hand, it really wouldn't do much would it.

Rosie presses her back against the cold stone wall directly across from me, she didn't look impressed. "Jackson William Ronald Dawkins," She brought out the full name, I knew I was in deep trouble.

"Hello to you too," she crosses her arms with a pointed look. "How are you?"

"Exquisite. Now please tell me what trouble you've gotten yourself into this time around for Darius to once again continue following your trail like a bloody hound?"

The smile dropped from my face and I traced a hand through my hair, I probably should've mentioned to Rosie I made the mistake of seeing Fagin this morning. How you ask? I'll let you know ones I do.

I was simply doing the monthly overseas criminal examination, he pops up. I didn't recognise him at first, then he spoke and nearly blew my cover.

Casually, I changed the subject. To be honest I didn't do heaps to Darius since he scanned me at cards, now I'm just on the run because I haven't paid that debt I owed him. I was hoping he'd forget about it and I'd get to keep my hand, but a man like that isn't going to just forget such things.

How am I going to fix this?

Maybe I could change my name and go out of town, I'm sure little Charlie could whip something up and change my alias, although as crafty as that kid is, I don't think I can outrun this one.

Oh but maybe I could just play more cards and play for double the earnings.

But I guess that's how I got here in the first place now ain't it.

And then there's the problem of telling Mary. She'll kick the hell out of me for being such a 'Mutton Head' she'd call it.

All in all, I've really muffed up.

Needing an outsiders approach, I was off to Tim's shop before I left for my shift down for the sorting and conversion—basically it's a bunch of convicts, ex cons, homeless and less fortunate who need to either continue to conviction, employment, or work and it's majority of them who got arrested in the first place are dreadfully ill by the time they come to be in the conversion process so it's my job to assign them with either a job or enlist them to the hospital.

Kicking open the wooden door to Tim's shop, with a sigh I go to shut the door behind me only to be nudged aside by Old Boy—Tim's or rather Tommy's grey blue healer who had been kicking since before Tommy was even born. Old Boy had been waddling-along the shop for years, always being a little piece to make the shop a little more approachable. I'm not fully sure where the blue healer had come from, from what I can tell, Tim heard a knock at the door when we were kids and he opened the door to see a pup, and that's the story of Old Boy.

Tommy is the first I see, hammering away on a piece of today's commissary he'd been assigned to. The young teen was a hard worker, a strong will, just like his sister, and a stubborn hearted young man who'd started to fall for the mayors daughter, Julia Matthew's.

"Aye there Jacky-boy!" Tim shouts from behind the banister, as he climbs over the rotted wooden table he called a work bench. He claps me in the back with a greased hand, I'd given up wearing my work uniform when visiting Tim because I'd walk in with a white blouse, within moments I'd be walking out with a greased up hand towel for a shirt.

Tommy calls over from his place by his own work bench, still hammering away at the material in front of him before he waves his hammer in the air for greeting. "Workin' hard Tommy boy?"

Jack pats Tim on the back and allows him to get back to his usual manner, he waltzed around the shop and scuffed up Tommy's brown hair. "What's got you all busy?"

"Tim got a new commission he did," Tommy didn't take his eyes from his work, only continuing his work in front of him. "And since Mary's birthday is coming up, I was thinking maybe I could make her something."

Jack thankfully hadn't forgotten this fact, he knew her birthday was coming up within the next few weeks, he'd just been quite busy. It was actually the main reason he'd gotten into the dirty game of cards with Darius, Jack wanted to get a real ring for her and not the half mangled pierce of silver he'd scavenged from his time in the navy and asked if Tim could salvage into a piece of jewellery. To be fair, she'd never taken it off since he'd given it to her for their one year anniversary though.

Now he didn't know what to do for her birthday, nor did he know what to get her. "What do you think I should get her bud?"

"Hard to say Jack," Tommy may have been barely twelve, but it seemed the more Jack spoke to him on the daily, the more he understood how mature the boy was for his age. "Try something classic, but you know she doesn't like big things, something subtle, something elegant. I don't quite know, but I'm sure you will figure it out, you always do."

"You're right," he patted the younger boy on the shoulder and return down the other end of the shop where Tim sat, sewing into a horses leather saddle. "Tim, lad, I'm in a predicament."

"What'd you do this time?" Tim didn't take it seriously since it seemed Jack always had something troubling going on. "Trouble with the Mrs Dawkins?"

"No of course not, definitely not. It's Darius," At the sound of the blackmailing Bastard's name, Tim dropped the utensil in his hand, the metal band clattering to the ground. "Jackson, you better be lying to me."

"He cheated," Jack sat down on one of the stools, combing through his hair. "I'm an idiot. I should've seen it coming, I had a full house and everything, then there was an ace."

"So, you've got mixed with that slimy snake," Tim scratched his chin for a moment thinking to himself. "Whats the price?"

"Couple hundred schilling, and if I don't get it by Thursday, he's gonna take my bloody hand!" Jack slams his fist onto the counter, his anger not directed at Tim nor Tommy, but to himself, for being so stupid, to Darius for being the slimy bastard he is.

"Do ya get to choose?"

"Yeah—I'm gonna go left if I have to, but I need both my bloody hands here Tim, I'm a surgeon."

"Right," Tim wonders around the back of the shop and into one of the rooms, a few things clang and Jack could here a couple piece of metal get thrown before Tim returns back with a stumped piece of oak that looked like it belonged with a pirate. "Are ya sure you can't trade a hand in for a leg?"

"I'm sure, Tim," Jack sighed, tired and stressed, he just wanted to go back prevent it from ever happening. "I need both of 'em like you do."

"Legs are easy, I can make a stump up within an hour. However, I've never made a hand before, they're complicated things they are, all those catching and moving."

"You're not helping me at all," he sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get out of this one easily.