Freedom: Between 9x01 "Nolo Contendre" & 9x02 "Marked Twain"
Freedom. It felt strange.
George shivered as he stood outside the Don Jail on a cold, October morning. His first real breath of fresh air in six months. His first steps in his own shoes in six months. He paused on the steps, looking around at a view unobstructed by bars and gates and bricks and mortar.
Now what?
He began walking. What a concept, he mused, that one can simply walk wherever one wanted to, without someone telling you to keep moving. To walk in straight lines, or across streets. He tried a jog, and instantly slowed, looking with panic behind him as if one of the wardens might find the motion suspicious and chase him down.
He walked for so long that soon he didn't notice the cold. Being able to do what one wanted, when one wanted, how one wanted, sent a tingle of warmth all the way to his toes.
However, when he arrived at his boarding house, a new chill set in as Mrs. Keening looked at him with an arched eyebrow.
"You no longer live here, Mr. Crabtree," she informed him, her tone clipped and businesslike.
His own eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I-what do you mean?"
"You haven't paid your rent in six months!"
"I was i-in jail!" The proclamation sent several overly interested stares his way, and he felt heat creeping up the back of his neck. He swallowed, ran a hand through his (greasy) hair and down to the hint of stubble that was shadowing his jawline. "I mean," he said, quieter now, "I had no way to-to pay my rent, as I was incarcerated. Didn't…didn't-"
Of course not, George. Why would they? After all, you led your own station house on a wild goose chase. You couldn't be bothered to trust any of your friends, to tell them the truth. Why would they bother?
George bit his lip. Then, he took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts to ask one final question. "May I inquire as to what happened to-to my possessions?"
He thought of the shirt his aunts had sent him two Christmases ago, the wool one in deep blue. The boots he'd broken in and owned since he first arrived in Toronto and worked sweeping chimneys. His book of the supernatural that Aunt Iris had given him when he was a young lad in Newfoundland.
The furniture had been rented with the room. Those possessions though…they were his, and he couldn't bear the thought that they might have been thrown out like trash in the bins in the back alley.
Mrs. Keening sighed, seemingly annoyed with the question, and, George supposed, annoyed that he was likely holding her up from making supper for her tenants. She turned her back to him, rummaging through a file box on her desk. "Your possessions-what few there were-were picked up by a Mrs. Julia Ogden. I suggest you inquire with her."
He gripped the edge of the counter to keep from sagging to the floor in relief. George nodded. "I shall. Thank you, very much," he told her, giving her a nod before exiting the boarding house and this time, he did take off at a run towards the direction of the Windsor Hotel.
He received much of the same looks as he burst into the lobby of the Windsor, acutely aware he was in desperate need of a bath and a meal. George did his best to conduct himself properly as he made his way to the stairs, counting the floors in his head. Then, he was half walking, half running down the hall to the final door at the end of the hall.
He paused. Took a breath.
The was the first he would see either Julia or Detective Murdoch since…He shook his head, drew himself up, and rapped twice on the door. Then, he waited, his fingers playing with his suspenders.
George heard the door locks being pulled back, and the door opened. He gulped. "S-sir," he stammered, seeing Detective William Murdoch standing in front of him in casual dress. "I-"
The hug came out of nowhere. George felt the detective lifted slightly off his feet as George wrapped his arms around him in a fierce hug. "George. It's good to see you a free man," Murdoch told him warmly, if not a little surprised, clapping him on the back. He released the hug almost as quickly, and George astutely caught the slight wrinkle of his nose.
"Oh, sir, I know," George said quickly. "I-I must look a fright, and I'm sure I smell even worse. I-you see, today I was released from the Don Jail, and I made my way to the boarding house a-and Mrs. Keening informed me that I no longer resided there, but that my things were picked up by Doctor Ogden." He took a breath. "And so if you happen to have them, I could take them a-and be on my way."
"Is that George?" Julia's voice echoed from inside the hotel room. She appeared from the bedroom, pinning her hair up. Her eyes lit up when she saw George standing there, and practically shoved her husband out of the way to envelope the younger man in a hug. She gave no indication the smell bothered her, and he supposed she'd smelled worse in the morgue. "Oh, George. Look at you!" she exclaimed into his shoulder. "You must come in. William, call down for some supper, and we'll get George a bath and a change of clothing." She let go of George and stepped back. "Oh! We have your things from the boarding house. The moment you were convicted, I rushed to get them because I knew you would need them again someday! I'll go find those for you."
Julia disappeared into the room again, leaving the two men inside the door. "Your wife is an incredible woman, sir," George told him.
Murdoch nodded fondly "That she is, George." He turned, took a step to go back inside.
"Sir." George reached out, grasped his elbow. "Sir, I…thank you. I know I didn't exactly make it easy-"
Murdoch shook his head. "George. Nonsense. You were protecting Edna. I can't say I wouldn't do the same were I in your position." He gripped George's elbow, looked him in the eye, and smiled. "It is good to have you back." He gestured into the room and George, freely, followed him inside.
Author's Note: Another prompt from Kiki's Fanfiction World. SO sorry it's been so long. Not being able to the watch the new season has equaled no plot bunnies. Now that Acorn's got it, though, the bunnies are coming out of hibernation!