Chapter Eleven – Fagin's Bedside Manner

"And how are you, my dear?"

Early the next morning. Fagin had arrived unexpectedly to see if Bill had made it back. Once Nancy had explained his condition to the visitor in hushed tones (Bill was finally asleep), Fagin had hobbled off again, returning a few minutes later with an assortment of vials and jars, claiming that they had medicinal qualities. Nancy had reluctantly let him re-enter the flat whereupon Fagin had began attempting to 'cure' Bill's injury with one of his many herbal remedies. Needless to say, this being one of Fagin's medicines, it stung and jolted Bill awake; he was now bolt upright in bed, glaring daggers at the offending party.

Fagin repeated the question.

"All the better if you'd leave me alone!" snarled Bill, attempting to wrench his arm from Fagin's clutching fingers, gritting his teeth. If anything, Fagin's cures thus far had only made it worse.

"Hush, hush, my dear!" snapped Fagin with a roll of his eyes, applying some more of the mysterious powder and causing Bill to wince in pain. "You're an invalid, you're supposed to lie still and keep your trap shut!"

Bill glowered.

"You would say tha', wouldn't you Fagin? You wouldn't be speakin' so brave if I wosn't stuck 'ere unable to lift a finger against ya!"

Fagin chuckled, sealed the lid on one jar and prized the cap off another. "Your words ring true, my dear, but would you deny me this small pleasure?"

Bill made a guttural sound at the back of his throat, sinking back onto the pillows in a vain attempt to make himself more comfortable. Whatever the old fence was up to, it hurt. Bill wasn't used to pain and he couldn't say that he liked it.

"What happened last night, my dear? How come this happened to you? You, Bill Sykes, of all my acquaintances!"

Bill made another growling sound and closed his eyes. Why should he tell Fagin that? Why should he humiliate himself further; wasn't it bad enough that he was stuck in bed, a bullet in his arm?

"Bill? I'm simply curious-"

"Jus' 'urry up and get the b***** bullet out of my arm, Fagin. Your jars of stuff ain't doin' me no good."

Fagin frowned. Who was Bill to tell him how to perform his doctoral duties? He should be grateful that he was even here; he really should have been at home to look after the boys. Luckily for Fagin, Nancy had agreed to step in.

The old man fumbled about in his pockets, trying to find the appropriate tool with which to remove the aforementioned piece of metal. Finding his tweezers at last, he set to work.

Removing the bullet took little more than a minute, but to Sykes it felt like an eternity. When at last the offending metal was taken care of and the wound, now bleeding afresh, bandaged once more, he struggled out of Fagin's grip and attempted, once again, to get comfortable.

"That's right, my dear," wheezed Fagin, wiping the tips of the tweezers with a gin soaked handkerchief. "You sleep it off. Sleep'll do you some good."

Bill made no reply but pulled the blanket up so it covered his head. He didn't want to hear from Fagin no more today.

Fagin chuckled dryly to himself and took a quick swig from his special bottle of medicinal gin. Who knew; if it was medicinal it must be good for him! He replaced his various vials and jars in his pockets and made to leave.

Donning his hat, he spared at glance at the now slumbering form of Bill Sykes. He was, of course, still curious as ever about how the injury had come about, but he figured now was not the time to pose the question. Instead he retreated quietly from Sykes' flat and made his solitary way homeward.

--

"Nance? Wot 'appened? Why won't you tell us wot 'appened?"

There Dodger went, pestering her again. Nancy didn't feel like talking about Bill at the moment and she reckoned he wouldn't want her to tell the others what had happened to him anyway. She figured it would humiliate him; after all, Bill Sykes never got caught.

"Nothin' 'appened Dodge," she lied smoothly but with some exasperation, wondering vaguely when Fagin would be back and what sort of mad methods he was using to try and cure Bill.

Dodger looked a little crestfallen at her snappy reply but returned to his breakfast with nonchalance. Nancy really should come here to cook more often; Fagin's bacon and eggs were nowhere near as good as this! But of course, Fagin didn't cook bacon and eggs. Sausages and bread, that was his lot.

As luck would have it, Fagin re-appeared at that moment, a small frown on his face. Nancy rushed to him in an instant and the two conspired together in hushed voices for a moment or two. Nancy looked relieved and Fagin still looked troubled; what was going on?

Nancy soon left the loft, with a rushed and somewhat subdued farewell to the boys. Fagin made his way to his usual spot at the head of the table and began eating what was left of Nancy's fare.

"You should cook this sorta stuff more often Fagin!" piped up one Master Bates.

Fagin opened his mouth to reply, closed it again and took another swig of gin from the bottle in his pocket. He then retired to his 'office' and began replacing his medicines in their appropriate place.

"Hats on boys, time we wos off!"

Dodger took charge and soon the boys were herded out the door and on their merry way.

Fagin returned to the table and sat down, cupping his chin in one gloved hand, deep in thought. There was no guarantee that his cures would work…what then? What would become of Bill Sykes?

A/N: Sorry for the lack of drama/fluff/concrete 19th century medical pratice facts in this here chapter. D:

Any ideas for future chapters? Please, send them my way. ^^

R&R, my dears! =)