A/N: Hi! This little one-shot came to me quite randomly, but it mostly revolves around John Chivery, whom I felt quite sorry for after watching the mini-series. It seemed to me the man was very sweet but unfortunate. So walah! This is what came forth! Enjoy! :)
John Chivery was most definitely not a happy man. Miss Amy Dorritt, the one woman he had thought would become the woman to work beside him. The woman whom he would have given anything. The woman whom he had wanted to become, some day, his wife; had married Mr. Arthur Clennam not two months ago. Little Miss Amy Dorritt. Beautiful Miss Amy Dorritt. Now Mrs. A. Clennam.
It wasn't that he didn't like Mr. Clennam. In fact he rather liked Mr. Clennam. That was wherein the problem lay. If Mr. Clennam had been a rather unsuitable and unlikable person, it would have made it much easier for John to dislike him. Instead, Mr. Arthur Clennam was quite amiable indeed; and John was left to regret his bad luck. All around bad luck.
"S'all right John, you'll get over her eventually." his father had told him, a gentle pat on the back his only means of offering some small consolation to the younger mans devastation.
"No pa. I won't. Not ever." John had replied, his words lost into the sounds of the Marshalsea as his father walked away. He could see the inscription on his tomb, a testament to the young woman he loved so much. "Here lies John Chivery, who requested to be buried with a single etched name upon his grave, and his heart...Amy."
So there he stood, two months later, still assistant gatekeeper at the Marshalsea prison for debt under his father; and there he would remain. The tolls for six in the morning had sounded and with a sigh, John Chivery made his way over to the door that locked so many more people out, than it did in. The heavy key had just turned with a satisfying click in the lock and the wooden door swung ajar, when his father called.
"I think you need a day off John." the older man said, his eyes kind. "You won't get this kind of freedom as head gatekeeper. Take it while you can boy."
John Chivery was an obedient young man. He really had no inclination to leave the Marshalsea, he just didn't feel the need; but if his father insisted, he would. So, John Chivery put on his coat and hat and left the Marshalsea for a wander around the streets of London.
Sometimes, when he closed up the gate into the prison of a night time, he would look up to the room where Amy used to live and his heart would ache. But he had to put that behind him now and look forward to his life as head gatekeeper. It did not matter that he would have no-one to share his life with. She was much happier where she was anyway.
John sighed, trying to push the glum thoughts from his mind as he peered at his surroundings, the hustle and bustle of London life. Suddenly, the clouds that had been hovering threateningly overhead, decided to burst; fat droplets of rain pouring from the sky. With cries and shrieks, the street burst into a flurry of activity. Vendors hastily packed away their goods, and men and women ran for cover.
John almost didn't feel the rain, he pulled his cap lower and shifted up his collar; making his way back towards the Marshalsea. Suddenly, not two feet in front of him, a woman, her face hidden in bonnet and cap drawn against the pelting rain, dropped her basket; bright, red, delicious looking apples falling all about the cobblestones.
Forgetting his own woes, John raced forward, gathering apples as he went, and helping her replace them in the basket. Quickly he cast his eyes around for more as the woman hurriedly returned them to their proper place, before spotting another, languishing in the gutter.
Purposefully, John strode over and plucked it from the ground, wiping away the bits of grime and filth that had spotted it, as water continued to drip down the end of his nose. "I do believe this is yours Miss." he said, turning to the woman.
The sight that met him was a pleasant one, the rain had slowed to a faint drizzle and bright green eyes peeked out at him in a youthful face from beneath her bonnet. "Thankyou Sir," she said, blushing a little as she took it from him, "You are too kind."
It was the lightest, briefest touch, their hands just brushing as the apple moved from his large hand to her small delicate one; but it was enough. "Chivery, John Chivery at your service Miss."