A/N Merry Whatever-the-heck-you-celebrate-in-winter Days! Have a new chapter!

Don't own them, no bashing, please and thank you!

I hope that any readers are enjoying this story, if you have any comments questions or suggestions please feel free to leave a review! They're much appreciated!

To clear up a bit of confusion, the relationship between Pellinore and James is not going to be conventionally romantic, because of James' situation as a married family man, Pellinore's reserved nature and the time period. However I believe there is a deep emotional sentiment between them, and I hope I can come to portray that in coming chapters. Thanks for reading!


Chapter Three:

"What of Me James Henry?"

I slipped inside my home, leaning against the door momentarily as I listened to silence on Clary Street. My bones ached, my limbs sagged and I hadn't slept or eaten in at least thirty six hours. I had cleaned Doctor Warthrop's wounds and given him something to make him sleep after a long process of dressing the lacerations, but he would likely come out of it right as rain, the way he always did. I pushed off the door, making for the stairs and a welcome bed.

"James Henry, where in God's name have you been?" A voice snapped from the kitchen as I tried to sneak past, and I flinched at the silhouette of my wife in the doorway.

"The doctor needed me-" I tried to explain, and she put her hands on her hips frustratedly, her face settled in an angry glower.

"Well of course he needed you, he always needs you. But you and that man were nowhere to be found when I was about just yesterday, and you couldn't be bothered to come home last night either," she said sharply, and I sighed, approaching her. Mary was a pretty woman of nearly thirty with soft brown hair and pale brown eyes that could snap fire or admonish gently depending on her mood. She fended off my hands that I tried to place on her shoulders.

"Doctor Warthrop is ill, I had to attend him, Mary. He can't do these things on his own," I tried to make her understand, and she huffed, folding her arms.

"You treat him like a child. Better than your own child," she accused, and I glanced up the stairs where young Will was doubtlessly listening to every word.

"I am all he has," I said helplessly, and she gave a long suffering sigh.

"James, someday you're going to go off with that man and you're not going to come back. Are you willing to take that chance? What of Will? What of me, when you die on one of his horrible excursions to heaven knows where?" she demanded, and I took her hands, kissing them apologetically.

"I will not stray from the path he has laid for me, Mary. I owe him everything," I explained, and she turned away from me.

"Make yourself useful and put Will to bed," she said in her clipped angry voice, and I tramped up the steps to my young son's bedroom. I opened the door to find him holding a candle close to his book and smiled.

"Find yourself an interesting book, did you son?" I asked, sitting down beside him on the edge of his bed, and he nodded vehemently, setting it aside.

"It's a story about pirates," he explained, "but Mother thinks I shouldn't be reading such things. It's such a wonderful story, can't I continue Father?" he pleaded, and I rested my hand on his thin shoulder as his large hopeful eyes gazed up into mine.

"I don't see why not. Maybe keep it our little secret," I suggested, and he grinned, pushing it beneath his pillow.

"Will you keep my secret as well as you keep Doctor Warthrop's?" he asked, and I felt sadness gnaw at my chest. He just didn't understand, but hopefully he would never have to.

"To my last breath," I swore solemnly, and he burrowed down into his blankets contentedly. We spoke his nightly prayers softly and I kissed his forehead softly, wishing I could explain to my blood why I did the things I did.

"Father?" his voice called out plaintively, and I paused in the doorway. "I had a nightmare last night, and...well there's no such thing as monsters, are there Father?"

I came back to his bedside, smoothing down his flyaway hair. "Nothing can hurt you here, William, I'll keep you safe," I promised, and he pulled the blanket higher nervously. I couldn't promise him nothing lurked in the darkness, but I could calm his fears.

"Move over, boy, I'll stand guard," I assured, climbing into the small bed with my small eleven year old. He laughed and rolled to the edge, and we settled down into the blankets quietly as the house creaked into silence around us.

William curled against my chest, and I let my weariness overtake me as the darkness of slumber pulled me into a pleasant embrace.

I hurried up the stairs without bothering to discard my coat or hat and rushed directly into the room where I had left Doctor Warthrop the night before. I nearly bowled over the lanky figure standing by the foot of the bed, leaning on a bedpost for stability.

"James Henry! Just where have you been?" He demanded as I stumbled to a halt, grabbing Warthrop's shoulders to slow myself. My brake of choice was neither stable nor prepared and we would have gone down in a flailing heap had I not caught the bedframe. His hands clasped my shirt in surprise, and dark eyes looked into mine disapprovingly as we regained our balance.

"You ought to be more careful, you'll do yourself harm," he chided, and I let him ease his hands from my shirt slowly, helping him to sit at the foot of the bed. He wouldn't say a word of thanks for my service, but I had come to understand his ways and the sting of rejection was not so sharp now.

"How are your wounds feeling?" I queried, and he grunted with a sharp jerk of his shoulders, trying to rise again. I caught him in the chest with the heel of my hand, sending him back to the bedcovers where he belonged.

"I am not an invalid, James, and am perfectly capable of nursing myself. And on the topic of your disregard for my capacities, you have failed to answer my question," he pointed out sharply, and I glanced at him from my place by the washbasin, ringing out a rag with which I intended to clean his wounds.

"What question would that be?" I asked, failing to remember what exactly the doctor has asked me, and he gave a long suffering sigh.

"Where have you been, James Henry?"

I returned to his side, bearing fresh bandages and alcohol solution. "I went home for a brief rest," I explained, reaching for his shoulder. His eyes were dark and his brow furrowed as I began unwrapping the dressing.

"And if I had required you more urgently? What of me James Henry? You traipsed all the way to Clary Street for a snatched respite when there are several spare bedrooms here that could easily serve such a purpose without removing you from my presence," he admonished, and I looked up at him in bewilderment.

"I had been absent for nigh three days, Doctor, my wife had cause to fear for my life," I pointed out, and he huffed like a spoiled child.

"Wife. More of matrons than matrimony in that woman," he muttered, and I sighed, passing the cool cloth across the raw flesh of his shoulder.

"Be gentle with her, doctor, she has a right to be upset occasionally. I swore a vow to her before I swore my oath to you," I reprimanded, and he threw his hands up, nearly knocking the rag from my hands.

"This is precisely the reason I shall never wed, James Henry. The fairer sex is entirely too demanding and confounding for the likes of a man of science," he cried, and I could not suppress a chuckle. Even he, the most brilliant man I dare say I shall ever meet, was at a loss when it came to the female race. He fell silent as I redressed the bruising puncture in his shoulder, a bit unnerved by the pressure beneath the surface. If infection set in, the need to consult a more qualified individual would likely arise. Explaining to origin of his wounds could be difficult to say the least.

"When you married her, were you in love?" he asked suddenly, and I paused a moment to contemplate this uncharacteristic statement. That the doctor had an understanding of the concept of love was a new development to me. Why he had asked me of my own feelings proved even more confounding.

"Well...yes, I do love her. I wouldn't have married her if I didn't. And Will too," I explained, and he hummed softly, a similar noise to the one he made when observing a particularly interesting amoeba beneath his microscope. I rewrapped his shoulder and moved on to the bandages about his midsection. He made no reply, simply observed me with the singular intensity that was at once exhilarating and often quite unnerving.

"And you doctor?" I asked, stripping the bloodied bandages from his narrow waist. This wound looked noticeably worse than the one on his shoulder, and he hissed in pain when I applied the rag.

"What of me, James Henry?" he asked, his voice low in pitch, and I glanced into his storm dark eyes. The held me there for a moment before I broke the eye contact, unable to withstand his intensity.

"Have you ever been in love, doctor Warthrop?" I asked casually, perfectly aware that I knew so little of his personal life that we were practically strangers at times. To my surprise he laughed harshly, pushing his hair into cyclonical waves.

"I would have to answer no to that, James, love does not come to men such as myself. I have an unfortunate tendency to infect everything I touch with the darkness of this philosophy."

The resignation in his voice mirrored the self-mockery in his laughter, and I felt a twinge of sadness for him. Pellinore Warthrop was a solitary man by choice, but perhaps not by choice only.

"You shan't drive me away, sir," I promised, and felt that piercing gaze on me once more. He sighed and leaned forward, his tousled head resting against mine in a sort of unconventional embrace.

"Your voluntary departure is not my concern. What of me, were you to meet your demise? I will bring an end to you, James Henry, one way or another," he murmured, and I let out a short huff of indignation.

"I should like to see you try, Pellinore. I believe you'll find me harder to rid yourself of than a common house servant!" I retorted lightly, and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, melancholy momentarily forgotten.

"If you were to leave my side I would surely fall to ruin within hours. You had best keep your promise, James," he warned, and I nodded abruptly, finishing his bandaging with an unnecessary flourish. He was unsteadily on his feet almost instantly, pulling a shirt over his narrow chest.

"Now, to see to that Kappa! Snap to, James Henry, we waste daylight with infirmary!"


Have a wonderful New Years and I hope to see some more readers in 2013!

Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am home again
Whenever i'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am whole again

Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am free again
Whenever I'm alone with you
Y
ou make me feel like I am clean again

~Firegirl