It was always raining. It was London, after all. It seemed as if there was always some sort of rain falling from the sky.
The house, if you could call it that, as it was more like an apartment/loft/hideout thing anyways, was eerily empty.
The date on the newspaper lying at his feet informed him that it was April 18th, a Tuesday. And that meant, of course, that like every other day, everyone was out doing what they did best- but he did better- and the old one was gone, too.
And that left him alone.
Jack Dawkins was alone.
The Artful Dodger was alone, with the apartment/loft/hideout thing to himself. And he was hungry.
One, of course, could ask why he was alone and why he didn't feel the need to go make himself food. Making food, of course, in the same way that one made wipes when they lived with Fagin.
The answer was simple. The Artful Dodger, for all his skill and majesty had gotten himself in a spot of trouble the night previous. He had been down at the Three Cripples in the usual company, drinking, when things began to get violent. A man whom the Dodger had never seen before fancied himself a bigger man then anyone else in the pub and thought it was a good idea to get a little too friendly with one of the ladies working. And who was a downright gentleman such as Jack Dawkins to let a man push a lady around? Well, no one, truth be told, as he'd let quite a few men pushing a few ladies around go without so much as a glance the other way. Especially if the man was Bill Sikes. But this man, clearly, wasn't, and so it fell to Dodger to step up to the plate and defend this good lady's honor.
Unfortunately, this man didn't step down as Dodger kindly asked him to, and instead picked up his mug of ale and smashed it on the ground, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. He then grabbed Dodger by the collar, hit him once in the stomach, once in the face, and sent him flying into the largest shard of glass. All would have been well except for a large amount of pain- had Dodger previously not taken off his overcoat for once in his life.
With what little pride he had left after that incident, he got up off the floor, grabbed his coat and left, hoping to get home before anyone he knew saw him. The next morning, he had managed to fob Fagin and the other boys off by telling them he was sick and was staying in. There had been protestations, of course, but his general refusal to even so much as look at them only helped to prove his point. So, arm aching from where he had landed on the shards and gotten cut as well as face and stomach aching, the Artful Dodger was alone. And hungry.
He had attempted to make the pain go away and shut out the light by lying on his bed and holding the pillow over his head for several minutes now and it was slowly dawning on him that there was no way in hell that that was going to work. His stomach grumbled and Dodger began to think of a way to get food without having anyone see him in this state. He had already checked through the entire apartment/loft/hideout and had found nothing and was just thinking about how everyone would react when they came back from a hard day on the job and found his emaciated skeleton lying there on the bed. There would be tears shed. Fagin would hold a little service, Bill would speak about how much he had admired the boy and how well he had been on his path to becoming just like the housebreaker. And there would be song. Oh, yes, there would be song.
Nancy, with her beautiful voice that he had often heard glimpses of, would lament the loss of such a wonderful young gentleman, and then, her tears would overpower the song and it would become too much for her and she'd have to be carried out by Bill, who she'd tell that she was only with him because Dodger had been too young and how much it pained her that she had never gotten to be with him before the cruel, cruel world had taken him away from her. But, Bill would react calmly and still hold the unconsolable girl in his arms. It would be a splended scene. If only he was going to be alive to witness it. Oh! And then Charley and the others would erect a statue to him! And that lovely woman who made pies about a quarter of a mile away would give everyone a free pie after the funeral. But Nancy wouldn't eat. No, she'd waste away, too miserable to go on. It'd be a terribly dramatic affair. They'd bury her next to him and they'd meet again in Heaven and finally, in death, be together.
"Plummy and slam!" Dodger, for a moment, thought it was rediculous that that password had carried on to his and Nancy's proper house in Heaven. They'd have a better password, if they had a password at all. He replaced the pillow over his head but not before the voice called again, this time stronger. "Plummy and slam! I know someone's there so they best open up." This was followed by the sound of the door opening.
What was the point of having a password but not having a key? he wondered for a moment before he realized that someone was entering the apartment/loft/hideout. They were going to be robbed! Quick as a whip, he was on his feet, his fists up, ready to fight whomever had thought they were going to rob Fagin and his gang. "Don't even think about tryin' to steal from us cause we can get it back an a hundred times more if you don't watch your step!" he yelled before finally getting a look at the alleged robber.
"Only to have Bill take it right back," Nancy said, laughing as she put her basket on the table and her shawl over it. "God in Heaven, what happened to you?" She asked, realization dawning on her as to Dodger's current state. As with many women, upon seeing Dodger's bruised face and bloody shirt, Nancy's motherly side kicked in and she went to him.
"Oh this? It was nothin'. Just a man at the bar troublin' a fair lady and you can guess that he didn't welcome the competition I posed." He smirked as best he could.
"Funny," the girl said dryly, "What really happened, Dodge?"
"I told you!" he protested. "I was only doin' my civil duty as a young citizen of the Crown."
"Oh, you're a fine one to be doing a civil duty," she said. "Oh, Dodge, you look dreadful." Were his ears decieving him? Or did Nancy sound terribly worried about him? The thought didn't occur to him that she would have acted that way had any of the members of their little gang been injured.
"You really think so?" he asked a little too brightly.
"I do. Sit down, now, and let me look at you." Dodger didn't need to be told twice. He promptly went back to his bed and sat down, trying his best to look weak, injured, and cute. He waited patiently as the girl came and sat beside him and began to survey his face, poking it gently once or twice only to recieve an "Ow!" in return for the prod.
"Wot'd you do that for?" he asked after the second time.
"Making sure you're hurt," Nancy replied. "Let's see your arm." He held his arm out to her. She frowned.
"Wot's wrong?" he asked innocently, looking up at her, still trying to appear pathetic.
"Take your shirt off." Dodger blinked.
"Now, Nance, wot'll Bill say?" He asked, his eyes twinkling roguishly.
"For heaven's sake, Dodge!"
"No, wot'll he say!" The boy challenged, crossing his arms and grimacing from the pain it brought.
"He won't say nothin' because there's no way for me to make sure your alright without you takin' off your shirt. Now do as I say!" He frowned, but removed his shirt, nonetheless. He slowly undid every button, if only to get on Nancy's nerves. "Hurry it up!" And, to his great pleasure, it worked. Finally, removing the shirt, he looked up at Nancy, who, to his surprise, looked terribly shocked.
"Wot's up?"
"Dodger..." She said, staring at his chest. "I haven't seen a bruise this bad since Bi-" she stopped, catching herself.
"Since wot?" He leaned forward, wincing as he did so, as if he were going to hear what the girl clearly wasn't going to say if he leaned forward. Gently, he placed his hand just above her knee, hoping the contact would comfort her into continuing.
"Since none of your buisness, Dodger." Nancy said, flinching away from him. It hurt, it really did. "How hard did he hit you?" She asked softly, still clearly worried.
"I could've hit him harder, if only he'd given me the chance." This was met with a simple look from the girl so the Dodger continued. "Hard enough. That's how I got this." He held up his arm for Nancy to get a better look at. She gasped.
"Oh, Jack-!" To his surprise, Nancy not only used his first name, a name he rarely came in contact with- unless he was in serious trouble- but also wrapped him in a fierce hug. The surprise of the hug made him let the usage of his proper name go. "I'm going to get this fixed up, hold on." Removing herself from the boy, Nancy stood up and made for the make-shift kitchen.
"I-" he couldn't think of any words, so he fell silent as he listened to Nancy mess around in the make-shift kitchen, trying to find one thing or another. Then a thought dawned on him. A terrible, painful thought. "You're not goin' to cut me arm off, are you? Honest, it's not that bad! An' we need this arm!"
"We?" She asked, making her way back towards Dodger, carrying, to his surprise, a bottle of gin and two mugs. "Last time I checked my business had nothing to do with your arm."
"Well, I do. And your business could very well have to do with my arm!" That was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say as Nancy took her seat next to the Dodger quietly. She set the mugs down on the floor and went about uncapping the bottle and pouring them each a drink, not even pausing to look at him. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, putting his hand again just above her knee. Not surprisingly, the girl flinched out of it again.
"Wot for?" She asked, recapping the bottle and taking a drink of her mug. "It's just the way it is. Here-" she handed him his mug as she set hers down.
"Mmm, thanks, Nance." He took a long drink and didn't realize that Nancy had pulled her skirt up a bit and was messing around with her underskirts. His face brightened considerably as he sat up straighter. However, once he heard a ripping sound, his face fell again. "Wot're you doing?"
"Cleanin' it. Come on, Dodge, haven't you never had to clean a wound?" He shook his head as Nancy took one of the two strips she had ripped from her skirts and placed it in Dodger's drink.
"Wot was that for?!"
"I'm not going to clean your wounds wiv my drink." He couldn't argue with that logic.
"Now, this may sting a bit," she said, removing the strip and gently dabbing at his worst cut with it.
The pain was there. No doubt about that. However, long ago The Artful Dodger had learned that when he was in any sort of pain to grin and bear it and pretend it didn't exist. Clenching his teeth, he smiled at Nancy. "Well, that wasn't that bad," he finally managed to say. "I've had worse."
"I'm sure you have." To his surprise, instead of throwing the strip away, the girl proceeded to pour a little more of his gin onto it and gently dab at his other wounds received from the night before. Un-clenching his teeth again once Nancy finally finished her work, he scowled. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"Fagin," she responded, taking the second strip she had ripped off of her petticoats and beginning to wrap it around his largest wound on his arm. "He taught me when I was little, an' it's come in handy ever since. Wot with all the trouble you lot get into."
"I don't get into trouble!" Dodger responded, yanking his arm away from the girl. Proving her point, Nancy gently sat him back down by grabbing his arm and continuing to bandage it.
"Then what was this? Just a little bit of fun got out of hand at The Cripples?" The boy grimaced as she tied the make-shift bandage and patted it. "There. Now just keep it clean. As for your face an' chest, well, the swelling will go down soon enough and the cuts will heal just fine. The bruises will disappear in time an' no one'll ask any questions. They never do." The final sentence came out quietly, almost bitterly, but it was subtle enough that the Dodger barely caught it's meaning. The poor girl.
She stood up for the door. "Nancy," Dodger said, standing up and placing a hand on her arm. She flinched away again.
"Don't." Firmly. He couldn't argue. But that wouldn't stop him.
"Just wait-!"
"I've got to go anyways, Dodge. There's work to be done an' Bill should be home soon enough." She grabbed her shawl, placed it on and picked up her basket.
"But-!"
"You know how he gets."
"Why do you love him?" It came out before he even realized it, and it was too late to take the words back. A deafening silence filled the air as Nancy stood, glued to her spot.
"I've got to go. Goodbye, Jack." She made for the door.
"Nance- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-."
"It's fine. Don't you worry nothing about it." To his surprise, she came over towards him and ruffled his hair.
"Alright, then. I won't." Nancy smiled at him and bent down to his level.
"You promise?"
"Of course I do!" Not like his word meant much. He was a thief, after all, and there was no honor amongst them. But even he could make an exception.
"Good." She then did something that even Dodger would have never, in a million years expected. She kissed him. On the cheek, mind you, but it was good enough for the boy. Before he could even register what had happened, Nancy had left, closing the door behind her, leaving a stunned Dodger to stand there, his hand on his cheek, trying to make sure this entire thing wasn't a dream caused by delirium from pain.
He stood there, for a few minutes, still in shock until there was a knock at the door.
"Plummy and slam!" Charley Bates.
"Come in?" He managed to say, still glued to the spot.
"You alright, mate?" Bates asked, his eyes twinkling with ever-present laughter. "You look like you've been to hell! Never mind that we're livin' with the old 'un himself!" The boy laughed, clearly picking up idea from Sikes. He paused his his laughter for a minute to glance at his friend. "Dodge, you've got no shirt on."
"I know that," he said, returning back to his old self. He hastily buttoned it, finding Nancy's words true. No one asked any questions.
It only then occured to him that he hadn't been wearing his hat the entire time.