Chapter Text
The fog cut through the inky darkness of the warehouse alleys, wrapping around the disheveled bodies of vagrants curled into themselves. Jamie pulled his collar up against his neck to ward off the damp, cool air rolling in from the wharf and did not slow his pace as he stepped over them, knowing he’d find who he was looking for in the brick skeleton just ahead. The air was thick with the smell of oil-soaked rags and refuse burning in a barrel. The empty warehouse’s entrance lay just ahead, guarded by a one-armed man who went by the name of Duncan. Jamie tipped his hat back, letting the flickering light hit his face. Duncan’s nod and grunt served as greeting and admittance.
John had learned early on to stake out his place, to not waver in his claim of concrete. Consistency was essential to survival. There were some who preyed on the uncertain; those who might stumble in unfamiliar surroundings would find themselves beaten, stripped of anything remotely useful. That was the fate of the lucky. The unlucky never got a second chance to stake a claim.
John rolled onto his back and groaned, a wave of nausea causing sweat to bead on his forehead. The light suddenly disappeared, and he grasped the wet mattress below him in panic, unable to move.
“John! Wake up, man! John!” The voice was so close; the breath on his face sweet with whisky and tobacco. He was going to die in a cloud of that breath and he was so grateful. Then that voice became a body. Hands gripped under his arms and hauled him up so he was sitting, his body slumped forward.
John swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “You shouldn’t be here, Jamie.”
“Neither should you.”
John slung his arm over Jamie’s shoulder and they stood together, clumsily steadying themselves in the darkness. As they limped out, Jamie dropped some coins into Duncan’s hand and received a grunted farewell in return.
Once out of the alley Jamie picked up the pace, nearly carrying John up the dark city streets. The five blocks to Jamie’s apartment always felt a great deal longer on these nights, not from the weight of carrying his friend, but from a despair that crept over him. Helplessness. But tonight was different. As they neared his building he felt within him a hopeful tug, like the heavy draw of an anchor pulling up from the deep.
John’s breath was labored, and his voice ached with exhaustion. “You don’t need to do this, Jamie.”
“Aye, I do. And there’s someone waiting upstairs who might be able to help ye.”
She must have seen them from the window overlooking the street as she was there in the doorway when they turned down the hall. John rasped in Jamie’s ear. “What are you into here, my friend?”
Claire stood aside as Jamie hauled John into the tiny apartment, lowering him gently onto the sofa. He pulled off John’s boots and wrapped a worn old blanket over him, tucking it up under his chin like he was putting his child to bed. John hated this. And loved this.
Jamie remained kneeling next to John and spoke softly to him. “This is Claire. She’s a nurse. She’ll help ye get past the worst of it if ye’ll let her. She has a good touch.”
John’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Does she now?”
Jamie realized what he’d said and laughed quietly. “Don’t say a word. Now I’ve got to go bathe. Ye’ll do as she says.”
Claire sat on the edge of the coffee table, and without a word, lifted John’s head and touched a glass of water to his parched lips. She didn’t speak to him until Jamie had gone to bed. Until John had lost what little was left in his stomach. Until his body stopped shaking for a brief while and the only sound in the room was the quiet ticking from the radiator.
“Why did you do it? Why did you go down there, amongst those men, to shoot up?”
John smiled, admiring her wild curly hair, springing out from the pins that had long ago lost the fight to contain it. “It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in.”
She looked into his eyes, just a hint of amusement on her face. “We all have bad habits, John. Trying to kill yourself with them seems a tad unnecessary.”
“And I suppose it is necessary that I live? Who, exactly, requires my existence?”
“Jamie. He loves you. He would be devastated should anything happen to you.” She rubbed her ring finger absentmindedly, humming lightly. “Is there no one else in your life?”
“There are always people. But…” He swallowed the lump in his throat, annoyed at her for asking him to think about these things. Annoyed at himself for desperately wanting her reassurance. “Men like me cannot have people the way we might want. No matter what we...no matter what I do, I am, at best, someone’s bad habit.”
“We are more than our habits. Jamie says you are clever and well-read and a very fine friend. Quite lovable traits.”
John pushed himself upright and finished his glass of water. He was suddenly aware of how badly he must look and smell. “Well, you flatter me.”
“I don’t intend to flatter. I’m wiping away some of the grime that’s accumulated on your mirror, so you can see who you really are.” Claire stood abruptly, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms above her head. “Can you stand?”
John eyed her curiously, uncertain what she had planned. “I believe so.”
“Good. Go wash up and then join me at the table for a game of chess.”
“You want to play chess at three in the morning?”
Claire pulled the chess set out from the bottom of the bookshelf and began setting up the pieces, paying no attention to him as he swayed weakly in the dim light of the living room. “I’m quite terrible at the game, so this should be interesting.”
He smiled, a wide and heartfelt grin. “Perfect.”