Warning: Non-con/rape. Woman on male attempted rape. Non-con drugging. Brief mention of violence.

This story goes to DARK places. Darker than my other stories. The non-con is all off screen, so to speak, but the discussion of it is not. Heed the warnings and rating. This is not a 'happy ending' sort of tale.

Also, while I have a sort of head cannon that all my other Mary Poppins stories take place in the same universe, more or less, this one turned out dark enough that I couldn't do it to my Jack so this is an alternate universe to my other stories, a sort of 'what if' aside.

The Story

The pounding on the front door started at around 10:30 in the evening, and Michael, who should have already been in bed but in fact had gotten caught up in his artwork and hadn't even quite gotten around to changing into his night clothes, reacted by rushing to silence whoever it was before they woke the children.

If he had taken a moment to think beyond 'loud noise, what inconsiderate person is trying to wake my children' he might have paused to think 'could be dangerous' and at least tried to look out the window before opening the door. Later, much later, he'd curse himself for not thinking, as his mind would go through possible scenarios of who could have been on the other side of the door. The police. Ruffians. Wilkins, driven mad and out for revenge. His sister, having found out about a certain incident involving Michael's brotherly 'improvements' to one of her SPRUCE flyers. It could have been anyone or anything, and he'd just unlocked his door and opened it wide.

Not that it turned out to matter whether he'd checked first or not. The person on the other side was about as far from dangerous as it was possible to be…at least dangerous to Michael or his children.

"Jack?" Michael said, the annoyance at the lateness of the visit draining away at the sight of the man before him.

Jack looked a mess. He was missing his jacket and his hat, and one of his buttons and, Michael would later notice, a shoe. It wasn't his disheveled state, however, that had Michael's heart sinking with a deep sense of foreboding. He didn't actually look injured, either; no black eye, no blood, nothing obvious. He just looked…lost.

It had to have been him banging on the door only moments before, but one would never know it to look at him. He stood still and silent and didn't answer Michael, just looked at him while swaying slightly on his feet.

"Well, come in then," Michael said after a long moment when Jack made no move to explain his presence, and when the man still made no move to enter, Michael reached out his hand to guide him.

Jack flinched away, then sort of crumbled in on himself, sinking down to hug his knees, hiding his face.

He still didn't make any noise. Michael later thought that was the worst part, how silent Jack was.

Michael hesitated, then sank down with him to sit on his own front doorstep. It was cool outside, cool enough for Michael to wish he'd grabbed his own jacket or robe. Jack was shivering.

"Jack?" Michael said again, unsure if he should try reaching out again. He felt rather like he were dealing with a wild animal, and the wrong move might send the man running away into the darkness.

"'m sorry," Jack said into his knees, the words slurred. Michael hesitated, then put his hand on Jack's shoulder. He felt the man flinch at the touch, but he didn't pull away or try to run so Michael left his hand there. He could feel shivers running through Jack.

For a long moment they just sat together, Michael not knowing what to say or what to do, just knowing he couldn't leave Jack like this, and wishing he knew what was wrong. Then, finally, Jack lifted his head (and he was crying, silently, so silently Michael hadn't even known until that moment) and he looked Michael in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he said again, making a clear effort to keep his tongue in order to get the words out. "I promise, I'm sorry. I didn't…want to. I told her I didn't want to. I didn't want to cheat on Jane."

If it had been just about any other man, coming to him with slurred words (and smelling pub, of smoke and alcohol and…and a hint of perfume) and that man had begged for forgiveness for cheating on his sister, Michael would likely have decked him.

This wasn't just any man. This was Jack. Jack didn't get drunk, and Jack didn't cheat, and…okay, anyone can make a mistake, even Jack is allowed to make mistakes but…something was seriously wrong.

So Michael kept his hand on Jack's shoulder, warm and solid, and said, again, "Let's go inside."

Jack ducked his head into his knees and said something that might have been, 'Don't deserve inside' only it was hard to make out so it could have been 'No serve ties' or something else entirely. Michael went with the most likely and answered, "Well, I deserve to be inside, and I refuse to leave you outside, so you'll just have to come in or we'll both have to suffer."

And then Michael felt just a bit guilty because Jack looked up and he looked so distraught and Michael knew the whole time that the way to get Jack to do something was make out that you would suffer if he didn't and it probably wasn't fair to use that…but he was telling the truth. Michael did deserve inside (and so did Jack, but it was no good telling him) and he needed Jack to come inside with him.

He needed to know what Jack meant by his words. Because he knew in his heart that nothing was how it sounded, because he knew Jack. And there was a growing dread in the pit of his stomach and he had to know.

So Michael stood up and Jack tried to, but needed Michael's hand to manage it and they staggered into the kitchen and Michael settled Jack at the table.

Ellen was there. Of course she was; she must have heard the pounding at the door the same as Michael. She had the kettle on already, but when they staggered in she only gave Michael a sort of look, and then she left them alone with the sputtering kettle. Michael wasn't sure what that look meant. He was so tired.

Jack sat silently in his chair like a lost child and blinked his eyes a lot and didn't seem to notice his face was wet.

Michael waited until the kettle whistled, until the tea was steeping, and then he sat down in the chair next to Jack.

"Jack," said Michael, his voice low and gentle, and still Jack startled as though he had shouted. Michael hesitated, decided against reaching out like his instincts were screaming at him to do, and started again. "Jack. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I…" Jack said, his eyes sliding from Michael's to stare down at the table. He blinked his eyes again, as though he were having a hard time focusing. That was a bit alarming to say the least and Michael began to wonder if Jack wasn't hurt somehow after all, some way he couldn't see, perhaps a knock to the head or, well, something to explain why the man seemed so small, so lost, so helpless when the Jack Michael knew was anything but.

"Let's start simpler then," said Michael, knowing it was no good to just shake the man out of it and demand answers. "Where were you?"

"Red Cow," said Jack, which sounded a bit like nonsense if Michael hadn't known that was the name of a pub the leeries frequented. So Jack had been out with his friends. A pub could explain the slurred speech too. It wasn't like Jack to drink to the point of staggering drunkenness but it wasn't impossible, and who was Michael to judge? Jack was an adult, and he knew his own limits. Somehow, Michael didn't think that was what was going on here, though. This wasn't Jack overindulging and then getting upset over it. Something happened.

"So…you were with your friends…drinking…" Michael prompted, working hard to make sure his tone did not sound judgmental. He just wanted the rest of the story.

"Felt funny. Hot. Went out to get air. I didn't…I didn't…"

"What didn't you do?" Michael asked gently, when Jack trailed off.

"She followed. Said I asked for it but…I didn't…I didn't mean to ask…and my words wouldn't come and…and she wouldn't stop and…and I cheated on…on…"

And without any warning Jack leaned over and was sick all over the floor. It clearly surprised Jack too, as he stared at the mess, then looked at Michael with wide eyes, and he looked frightened, and that wasn't how Jack was supposed to look.

"Hey," Michael said with the same gentleness he used towards his own children when they were ailing. "Let's move away from that, and I think the tea is ready."

The smell of sick was strong in the kitchen, and after a moment's hesitation, Michael carefully led Jack out to sit in the living room instead, hopping back to grab their teas before joining him. He left the mess for later, which was unlike him, but he didn't want to leave Jack alone.

"Sorry," whispered Jack. Michael tried to hand him his tea, but found Jack's hands shaking so much they threatened to slosh all the tea out of the cup so he settled it on the table instead.

Michael didn't know what to say in response. He could tell Jack it was alright…and of course he wasn't angry about Jack being sick or…he didn't know what Jack meant by 'she wouldn't stop' but it didn't sound like something that could possibly be Jack's fault and how could Michael say 'it's alright' when this situation was about as far from alright as it was possible to be. In the end, it was Jack who spoke again.

"Don't know why I came here. Couldn't…couldn't go to Jane after…and I don't remember…Angus was angry and shouting and I wanted…wanted…"

Instead of saying what it was he had wanted, Jack put his face in his hands and started to sob, but just as silently as before.

Michael hesitated over what to do next, whether to sit down next to him or…or just watch him weep, or…or find the right words to make things better. Words were never Michael's thing; Kate would know what to say, but just then in that moment, when it was only Michael there, and he had to find the right words…all he could think of to do was complete Jack's sentence.

"Family," Michael whispered. "You wanted family."

"Ruined it," Jack said, his voice so muffled and slurred that Michael had to guess at what he said.

"No," Michael answered. "Family isn't that weak, that it breaks at the first sign of trouble."

"Cheated," Jack said then, or perhaps 'beaten' or 'defeated'.

"Jack," said Michael carefully. "You said 'she wouldn't stop'. It isn't cheating if you…if you say stop. Even if she doesn't stop."

"Didn't say," Jack's muffled voice answered. "Couldn't."

Michael didn't know how to answer that. He thought perhaps he should try to find out exactly what it was that she did when she wouldn't stop, but he was afraid to ask. He didn't have the right words for this. He had never even entertained the idea that such words might be needed. Sure, in the darkest recesses of his heart, he sometimes feared for Jane. For his children. That some monster in the night might hurt them. It had never crossed his mind to worry about a man like Jack. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There were always those fears in the back of his mind, in the dark of the night, the worries that he had for all his family. He knew Jack didn't always stick to the safest neighborhoods. It was a real possibility that Jack might be attacked, beaten or robbed but…but not robbed by a woman who didn't let him say no. That worry had never crossed Michael's mind.

He just knew with every fiber of his being that Jack hadn't cheated, couldn't have cheated.

Michael still hadn't found the right words when, for the second time that evening, there came a knock at the door.

This time the knock was gentler, the visitor clearly aware of the late hour and not inclined to wake anyone not already awake.

Michael, clearer headed than the first time, took the time to see who was outside before he opened the door.

"Mr. Banks," said the man on his doorstep as he clutched his hat nervously in his hands. No…not his hat. His hat was on his head. Someone else's hat, then.

"Jack's here," Michael said, before the other could figure out how to ask. Then, "You're…Angus? You can come in."

"I…yes…one moment." He ran back to the street and did something to the closest lamp, making the light flare. A few moments later, someone on a bicycle arrived from the darkness, and there was a muffled conversation. Then Angus returned and followed Michael into his house.

Jack had mentioned Angus, Michael remembered a bit belatedly as he led him to Jack. Something about being angry. He didn't look angry now. He looked upset, worried, fearful even, but not angry.

When he found Jack, hunched up on himself and weeping, he had a new expression: devastated.

"Jack?" Angus said, and Jack flinched at the sound of his voice. Michael half expected the leerie to approach Jack anyway, perhaps to hold him or to whisper to him. Instead he just stood there, staring, until Michael took him by the arm and dragged him back into the foyer.

"What happened?" Michael hissed, not wanting Jack to hear them. Angus gave Michael a sort of unimpressed look, like maybe he didn't appreciate being dragged away from his friend and hissed at, but it was late and Michael was tired and emotionally exhausted and he needed to know. "He just showed up, said he cheated on Jane, because she wouldn't stop. He was out with you…you and the other leeries. What. Happened."

Angus deflated somewhat at that. If Michael had to place his expression now, it was guilt. And Michael was good at reading expressions. He waited.

"We think he was drugged," Angus whispered at last. "We didn't know. He said he felt funny and he…he was acting drunk but I know he didn't have more than the one and…our Jackie can handle a drink or two. He said he needed air and…we didn't know. I came out to see if he was sick or…well just to see, and there was a woman. Had him back against the wall and she was…she was touching him. And if it wasn't our Jack I'd have said 'well, someone's having a good time' but…but Jack has his girl and that wasn't her. And…and I went closer and…and he was crying and…and she wasn't that big, he should've been able to push her away and I could see he couldn't and her hand was down his…"

Angus trailed off and Michael belatedly realized his jaw hurt because he was clenching his teeth so hard and he didn't know what expression was on his face but Angus glanced at him and couldn't meet his eyes and turned to look past him. Towards where Jack was silently weeping in the other room.

"I pulled her off him, and she tried to say he wanted it and…I think I scared Jack. I was just so…angry and…I must have hit her. I don't even remember doing it, just one second she was standing and saying all those horrid things and the next she was on the ground and my hand hurt and Jack… He looked like he couldn't even stand on his own but somehow he managed to run away. And I got the boys and we went out to find him and I thought…where would Jackie go if he was scared and…out of his head…someplace he thinks safe. And he wasn't in the flat so…"

"He thought you were angry at him," Michael said, his voice somehow managing to come out gentle despite the rage that still burned deep inside him. "He came to me because he thought you were angry."

"He came to you because he trusts you," Angus answered. "Because he sees you as…" But he didn't quite seem to feel it his place to finish the sentence. Again, Michael finished it for him.

"Family," he whispered.

"his brother," Angus said.

And Michael couldn't say how, in all that confusing anger and worry, but there was still room inside him for a bit of warmth, like pride and joy combined.

Then, because Michael really had to know, he said, "Exactly how far did this…woman…"

"Kissing. A bit of touching. Nothing more. I'm certain. She was only just trying to open…there wasn't time anyway."

"And you said he was drugged? Do we need to call for a doctor?"

"I don't think so," Angus said carefully. "It's not…an unusual drug. Usually the person sleeps it off and doesn't remember what happened."

How could something so awful be considered 'not unusual'? Something Angus knew the effects of well enough to be certain they didn't need a doctor?

Michael didn't ask. He turned and went back to Jack.

They found him asleep, hunched over on the sofa, his face still a mess of tears, not relaxed even in sleep. The fact that Jack had cried himself to sleep while Michael and Angus were having their conversation in a different room left an unpleasant lump of guilt sitting in Michael's stomach.

They contemplated what to do next. The simplest would be to throw a blanket over Jack and leave him to sleep it off, but he'd likely awaken to aches and pains from the unnatural position, and the children would find him there and have questions and, well, Michael probably couldn't carry Jack to a bed on his own but he did have Angus there to help.

They tried gently shaking his shoulder first, in case they could get him to walk to bed, but when he didn't stir (and Angus said it was normal, and they didn't need the doctor), Michael took his shoulders and Angus his legs and between them they managed to get him to the guest room. They took off his shoe (that was when they realized there was only the one, but the bare foot had no obvious wounds so they didn't worry too much) but left his clothes. The clothes might be uncomfortable for sleeping in but the idea of undressing the man after…after what had happened made both of them sick to their stomachs, so they left it.

Angus sunk into the chair near the bed, then sort of looked at Michael with wide eyes, not seeming able to ask for what he clearly needed: permission to stay the night.

"I can make up a cot for you," Michael said, giving permission anyway. Angus nodded, his expression filled with his gratefulness, then turned his eyes back on Jack. Michael left them. He went to the kitchen, intending to clean up the sick, only to find it already done.

Ellen really was a wonder. Even their mugs of tea had been emptied and cleaned and left upside down to dry.

Then Michael went to check on his children. They slept, undisturbed by the drama that had unfolded downstairs. He probably watched them sleep for longer than he should have, what with Angus waiting on him, but somehow he found it hard to leave. He did, in the end.

Then he set up the cot for Angus. A part of him felt a flare of something unpleasant…perhaps jealousy or maybe just more anger, that Angus was taking the spot of watching over Jack that night. In the end, Michael was too exhausted for jealousy or anger or worry and he went to his own bed at last and he lay down without even undressing himself and he let his head sink at last into his pillow.

There were still worries and anger and what-ifs and maybes and what-will-bes floating around in his head. He'd have to explain to Jane what had happened, for one. He couldn't trust Jack not to lead with 'I cheated on you' and Jane couldn't be blamed if she reacted to his words before she understood, and then they'd all feel awful and…and things were already awful enough. He'd have to find out what happened to that woman (and the answer couldn't be nothing, because that wasn't right). And maybe Jack would be clearer minded in the morning, enough to understand that he hadn't cheated, he'd been robbed. (Perhaps he wouldn't remember anything, and…would that make things better or worse?)

The morning would come soon enough.

Michael was too exhausted to feel one more worry. He slept.