Part XIII: Only If for a Night

"...And I heard your voice
As clear as day
And you told me I should concentrate
It was all so strange
And so surreal
That a ghost should be so practical
Only if for a night

And the only solution was to stand and fight
And my body was bruised and I was set alight
But you came over me like some holy rite
And although I was burning, you're the only light
Only if for a night..."

Only If for a Night" - Florence + the Machine

Sunday

June 1, 1923

Sliding off the bed, Rebecca could barely hold herself up. Collapsing down on the ground, she tried to stop her trembling hands, but they wouldn't cooperate. By some miracle, Rebecca managed to force herself to stand up. Grasping the vanity tightly beneath her, she stared into the mirror. The lifeless woman who stared back barely looked alive to her. A harsh, black and blue bruise covered her left cheek and a bloody, split lip matched the smeared red lipstick she'd worn. The dress that she'd been wearing earlier was gone and her she was completely naked. Hand prints were etched into her skin where Ares had grabbed her tightly and bite marks were scattered across her once white, marble skin. Bruises colored every inch of her skin and bloody marks were printed in patterns from where Ares had beaten her with his leather belt.

Her wrists were raw from the rope biting into her skin. She'd tried to fight him, but it only seemed like Ares enjoyed her struggling even more. Not able to stare into the mirror for a moment longer, Rebecca turned away and reached out for the bed. She barely made it to the bed before collapsing back down. Sitting with her legs dangling from the side, Rebecca couldn't move. Even though exhaustion penetrated her veins, she couldn't bring herself to move. She couldn't bring herself to look away from the blood on the inside of her thighs.


Gatsby tapped his finger tips against his dark wood desk with a frown. It was nearly eleven o'clock in the evening and Rebecca still hadn't returned home. A pit of fear was forming in his stomach that she might have actually gotten on the ship with the Earl. Just the thought of Rebecca sailing a world away made him sick to his stomach. He didn't want her to go somewhere he couldn't follow. Logically, Gatsby knew that he was piss poor excuse for a husband. Matthew would love Rebecca and treat her the way she'd always deserved to be treated, but he was too selfish to let her go.

He was too selfish and he knew it.

Leaning back in his chair, Gatsby glanced at the clock and swore softly. One a few minutes had passed since he'd last checked and it drove him crazy. It was late and his body felt tired, but the idea of going to sleep and not knowing where Rebecca was didn't appeal to him in the least. Gatsby doubted he'd be able to fall asleep anyways. Ares' appearance in New York had caused a stir and many people were worried about Ares Patrick expanding into the North. Gatsby knew for a fact that the Southern bastard would never move his business to New York. Still, other people didn't believe that and Gatsby had spent most of the past few days trying to calm others who were panicking.

Glancing at the clock again, Gatsby closed the ledger he'd been working on. There wasn't a point to even trying to work because he couldn't get his mind to quiet. Scenario after scenario, kept popping up in his mind about what could have possibly happened to Rebecca that she would be so late coming home. Each thought was worse than the one before it and they were becoming scarier by the minute. Gatsby jumped when the wire rang and he quickly grabbed the phone. Before he could say anything, a familiar southern drawl floated through the receiver.

"Old chap, how's your wife?"

"Patrick," Gatsby growled. "You have a whole hell of a lot of nerve calling me."

"I thought you might want to know about your little rose," Ares replied sounding highly amused. "She is a darling, after all."

Before Gatsby could say another word, Wolfsheim burst into the room with his right hand man, Hermann. Looking up at the intrusion with a raised brow, Gatsby was sure he'd never seen Wolfsheim look so pale in all the time he'd know the man.

"What is that you want?" Gatsby hissed into the phone.

"You should go to the Plaza Hotel," Ares said with a smirk evident in his voice. "I left you a surprise."

Violently hanging up the phone, Gatsby looked at Wolfsheim.

"What?" he snapped angrily.

"You better come with me," Wolfsheim said quietly, "You need to see this, Jay."


The drive to New York City had passed in a tense silence.

Wolfsheim's driver had gotten them there quickly, but it did little to alleviate Gatsby nerves. A silent Wolfsheim was never a good thing and Gatsby had never seen Wolfsheim acting like he was. Nervous and on edge, Gatsby was sure he was seeing a side to his old friend that he'd never seen before. The smooth, confident Wolfsheim was gone and in his place was a man who looked like he'd seen a ghost. Stepping out into the warm air of the very early morning hours, Gatsby looked around to see that everything looked normal. Buildings were lit up and cars passed them. It didn't matter that it was a little after midnight; New York was always alive and moving.

Walking into the Plaza Hotel, Gatsby followed Wolfsheim to the elevator with a few of his men trailing behind. The ride passed in silence until they reached the floor Wolfsheim had asked for. Stepping out into the hall, Gatsby followed Wolfsheim down the hall to one of the last doors. The murmur of soft voices from the other side of the door could be heard as Wolfsheim put the key into the lock of the door. Turning the door knob, Wolfsheim entered the room first and Gatsby followed. A few windows were open to let summer air in and dilute the smell of alcohol. A Doctor, Gatsby recognized as Wolfsheim's, was crouched down in front of a young man he recognized instantly as Brighton, Rebecca's drive.

The man's face was swollen and bruised from an obvious beating and even though Gatsby was elegantly dressed and looked every inch the gentleman he was, he felt an anger unlike anything he'd ever felt take hold. The anger he felt dissipated quicker than anything as fear took hold of him in the next minute.

If Brighton was here, where was Rebecca?

As if sensing his thoughts, Wolfsheim looked at him for a moment before turning to Hermann.

"Get everyone out of here," Wolfsheim told him. "Make sure we can get out of here with no one seeing us. Got it?"

"Sure thing, Boss," Hermann nodded before telling everyone to clear out. One by one, Wolfsheim's people trickled out of the room. Gatsby's closest man, Edwards, looked at him for direction.

"You want us to go too, Boss?"

Gatsby only nodded at Edwards. It only took a minute for the room to be completely emptied with the exception on Brighton and the doctor.

"I can't do much for him," the doctor told Wolfsheim after a moment of silence passed. "The swelling will go down on its own. There's no brain damage or broken bone that I can see of feel. Mr. Brighton here will just have a nasty headache for the next week, I'm guessing."

"Thank you, Doc," Wolfsheim replied. "Wait in the hall until we call you."

With a nod, the doctor quickly packed up his things and was out the door. Taking a seat in the elegant arm chair across from Brighton, Gatsby rested his forearms on his knees and looked at his driver. Hiding all the worry and fear he felt, Gatsby cleared his throat.

"What the hell happened, Brighton?" he asked with a frown as the young man pulled the linen ice pack away from his face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gatsby," Brighton groaned. "I couldn't stop it."

"Stop what?" Wolfsheim barked, "What couldn't you stop?"

"It was after Mrs. Gatsby saw Lord Kettlemore onto the ship," Brighton started. "She was just standing on the dock for a long time after he left and I didn't want to intrude on her. She looked so broken, so I didn't do anything. All of a sudden, three black cars pull up and they block us in. One of the men put a gun to my head and told me that if I did anything, he'd shoot me and he'd shoot Mrs. Gatsby."

"Who did it?" Wolfsheim asked. "Who was it that grabbed you both?"

"I heard Mrs. Gatsby say his name once. She called him Mr. Patrick and she asked him if he was going to kill her. I didn't hear the reply, but he brought us here. His men tied me up here and Mr. Patrick took Mrs. Gatsby into a different room."

"Where is she?" Gatsby demanded as he stood up and violently kicked the small table closest to him. He barely registered the sound of wood breaking and the crystal glasses that had been on the surface as he looked at Brighton. The young man pointed towards the dark, elegantly carved doors with a shaky hand.

"Patrick took her back there," Brighton whispered. "She was screaming for hours and I don't know what he did to her and why. All I know, Mr. Gatsby, is that I don't want to know what happened behind those doors. No woman deserves what probably happened to Mrs. Gatsby."

Gatsby turned to the doors and walked to them slowly. Resting his hand on the door knob, he closed his eyes. Brighton was right. No one wanted to know what happened behind the doors and knowing Ares Patrick, Gatsby had a vague idea of what Rebecca had endured. Anger swept through his veins again and he resisted the urge to violently break something. Taking a deep breath, Gatsby willed himself to be calm. Rebecca had probably seen enough anger and violence and he didn't want to frighten her. The only thing he wanted to do was protect her and be there for there. Those feelings were foreign to him, but somehow, despite everything, they felt right.

Slowly turning the door knob, Gatsby looked over his shoulder one last time to make sure no one else was in the room. He wasn't going to let anyone see Rebecca, no matter what condition she was. He wouldn't let her be humiliated anymore than she already probably was. Pushing open the doors to the hotel bedroom, Gatsby wasn't prepared for what he saw. Stepping into the marble floored sitting room, Gatsby barely took in the details around him as he looked through the twin set of double doors. A bedroom was on the opposite side of the sitting room and sitting on the bed was Rebecca. He closed the door behind him and walked slowly towards her. Rebecca's back was towards him and his heart nearly stopped.

He'd seen those marks before on women and Gatsby closed his eyes for a moment. The last woman he'd seen those marks on had been brutally beaten and raped by Ares Patrick. Praying silently that Ares had violated Rebecca in anyway, Gatsby stepped into the bedroom. He had barely taken two steps when he stopped. Bending down, he picked up and a familiar piece of fabric. He'd seen Rebecca wear the dress before, but it was barely a dress now. The fabric had been ripped in several places and it was obvious that Ares hadn't been gentle or kind about it.

He'd been violent.

Gatsby heard a sniffle and looked up. Rebecca's bruised shoulders were shaking and a sheet was clutched to her body tightly. Kneeling down next to her, Gatsby could see her bruises more clearly than ever and his heart ached as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Rebecca?" he asked softly. "Rebecca?"

She nearly jumped when he said her name and she turned to look at him. Her jaw quivered and her hands shook. Gently slipping the photographs that she was holding out of her hands, Gatsby stared down in disgust at the smiling face of his idiotic sister-in-law. In that moment, Gatsby was sure he'd give half his fortune to resurrect Mary Harper from the dead to strangle her himself. It seemed her stupidity knew no bounds and he knew that he wasn't the only one who wanted to strangle the stupid bitch. Kneeling down in front of Rebecca, Gatsby gently took her hands in his. Harsh angry red marks around her wrist looked painful and it was obvious that the skin had been rubbed until it was raw and bloody.

"Who did this?" he asked her softly, feeling sick.

Brighton had told him that Ares Patrick had done this and Gatsby silently prayed that Brighton was wrong. He desperately wished this was all a nightmare and he'd wake up soon in his library. Rebecca would be sound asleep in bed and all this would have been some horrible dream. Rebecca made a choking sound as she tried to blink back tears. Her hands still trembled and when Gatsby's tried to cover her hands with his, Rebecca flinched.

"He told me he would publish the photographs if I didn't….if I didn't…do what he said," she told him tearfully after a few minutes. "He…he…he said I had no other choice. I tried to offer him money, but he said he wanted me…for one night. My body was supposed to be his payment."

Rebecca's voice broke at her last words and she began to sob. Covering her face with her hands, Gatsby watched as she let out an agonizing scream. Quickly taking his coat off, he wrapped the light wool around her shoulders. He could see the bruises and bite marks that marked her skin. She didn't need to tell him what Ares had done because Gatsby already knew. The bruises on her body looked like hand prints and he'd seen them before on other unfortunate women who'd crossed Ares Patrick's path.

"Shh," Gatsby whispered softly as pocketed the pictures of Mary. "No one is ever going to see those pictures. We'll burn them Rebecca. I promise no one will ever look upon them again."

His words did little to stop her crying as she collapsed down on the bed. Her face buried in the sheets, Rebecca continued to cry and scream. Wolfsheim must have heard her because he raced into the room. Gatsby was on his feet in a moment and stopped Wolfsheim before he could enter the room any more than he already had.

"Have my car brought to the back of the hotel," Gatsby told Wolfsheim in a quiet voice. "No one can see her or me."

"It's already done, but I'll make sure it's perfect myself."

Gatsby nodded and looked back at Rebecca's huddled and shaking form. Moving to take a step towards her to tell her about the plan, Gatsby stopped when he felt Wolfsheim's hand on his shoulder.

"Jay," Wolfsheim said quietly, "Patrick didn't…"

Knowing what he meant, Gatsby shook his head, "I don't know, but I think he did."

Gatsby wasn't sure how they managed to get out of the Plaza Hotel unseen, but he was sure Wolfsheim had taken every single precaution to make sure they weren't seen. Somehow, a clean sheet had been delivered to the room shortly before Wolfsheim called and told Jay he could come down.

By the time they'd been ready to go, Rebecca had been claimed by exhaustion and had passed out. Using his coat and the sheet, Gatsby had been able to wrap her up and carry her down the hall to the elevator. Wolfsheim had met him there and the way out had been smooth and clear. Relief had flooded through Gatsby when they'd gotten to the cars unseen. The whole drive back from New York to West Egg, Gatsby had held Rebecca and he hadn't let her go. Wolfsheim's driver had driven with as much care as possible and had apologized with every bump and dip he hit on the road. Seeing the gates of Gatsby Manor, Jay had never been so grateful when the car had stopped and Crawley had opened the door. With a grave face, the butler had said nothing as he'd slipped out of the car. Carrying Rebecca up the steps, Gatsby had issued orders to have Tilly and the housekeeper met him in Rebecca's dressing room with a warm bath.

Quickly walking to Rebecca's rooms, Gatsby was relieved to see Tilly there along with his aging housekeeper. Water was already running and the large claw foot tub was rapidly filling. Mrs. Miller, the housekeeper, instantly moved to set up a screen to block anyone's view of what was happening. Lowering Rebecca to the vanity chair, Gatsby was loathed to set her down in case he caused pain. Rebecca was alert enough to keep herself upright and she did when Gatsby helped her to sit. Kneeling down in front of her, he gently held her upper arms.

"I'm going to sit on the other side of the screen, alright?" he said softly. "Anything you need, all you have to do is ask. That's all you have to do. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you get what you want. Okay?"

Rebecca raised her head and looked at him. Dark circles marred her bruised face and her skin was paler than he'd ever seen it. Her hands had barely stopped trembling since he'd found her and from the way her bottom lip trembled too, Gatsby knew she was barely holding it together.

"Mr. Gatsby, sir."

Mrs. Miller's soft voice forced Gatsby to look away from Rebecca. The older woman wore a look of concern as she nodded at Mrs. Gatsby, "Mr. Crawley said that Mr. Wolfsheim called your personal physician. We can help Mrs. Gatsby, sir, if you want to go speak with Doctor Williams."

Gatsby nodded and looked back at Rebecca, "I'll just be in the other room. All you have to do is call for me and I'll be at your side in a moment."

Rebecca didn't say anything and with one last gentle touch to her arm, Gatsby stood up. The minute he was behind the curtain, he heard it, a soft sobbing sound from Rebecca and the hushed soothing voices of both Mrs. Miller and Tilly. A cry of pain came along with the sound of sloshing water. Closing his eyes, Gatsby did his best not to let his own anger carry him away as he listened to Rebecca's sobs as they grew louder. Any intention of seeing Doctor Williams left his mind as Gatsby settled himself down into the single chair Mrs. Miller had left for him. Resting his forearms on his knees, Gatsby stared at the screen.

Nothing had ever prepared him for what was happening. He'd only just started imagining what life with Rebecca could be like now that he was free of the chains Daisy had imprisoned him in. The future had seemed so bright only days ago, but now…Gatsby wasn't sure. He wasn't sure what he could do to help Rebecca. The truth was that the trauma she'd experienced changed people. She would change as a result of what Ares had done to her and Gatsby wasn't sure how she'd change. He'd met men whose wives had similar things happen to them. Some of them hadn't spoken in years, while others couldn't stand to be touched, but no matter what happened, Gatsby promised himself that he wouldn't do anything to further Rebecca's pain and hurt. He'd keep her as safe as he could and shelter her from the vicious world. Her birthday was coming soon and she'd suffered far more than any young woman should. Gatsby couldn't help but to feel he was to blame for everything.

Listening to her whimpers of pain, he barely felt the tear falling down his cheek until it hit his hand. Not able to bare it, he stood up and walked out of the room. He hoped that Rebecca could forgive him, but he could barely stand to sit and listen to her cries of pain. God only knew that she was far stronger than him. Just as his hand reached the door knob, Gatsby stopped and turned back around. He'd made Rebecca a promise to sit. Leaving her when she needed him most wasn't something he would do. Going back to the chair, Gatsby sat down and did the only thing he could do.

Plan his revenge on Ares Patrick.


It was nearly an hour later that Gatsby stood and watched as Tilly helped Rebecca into bed in a loose fitting nightgown. Both the housekeeper and Tilly had done their best to bandage up Rebecca's back and her many bite marks. The doctor would look at them further, but Mrs. Miller had assured him that she didn't think Rebecca needed many stitches. They had asked Gatsby to leave the room earlier when they had examined Rebecca between her legs. Without a word, Gatsby had left and he was relieved to learn from Mrs. Miller that Rebecca's body wasn't damaged badly. The housekeeper was confident that nothing would prevent Rebecca from being intimate when she'd healed.

Neither of them spoke of the lingering 'if' in the air. The only way Rebecca would ever be intimate with him was if she let him touch her. Considering what Ares had done, Gatsby knew that it would be a very long time before he ever touched Rebecca. Stepping into the bedroom, Gatsby nodded at Tilly as the young maid scampered out of the room, leaving him alone with Rebecca to await the doctor he'd sent Mrs. Miller to retrieve some medicine.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked her gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"My vanity drawer," Rebecca whispered in shaky voice. "There's a note in the drawer on the left. May I have it?"

With a nod, Gatsby stood up. He walked quickly to the drawer she had told him about and opened it. The only content of the drawer was a familiar note. Picking up the note he'd written over a year ago, Gatsby stared at the words with dread. He hoped to God she wasn't about to ask him to let her leave him. He knew he'd tell her yes, but he didn't know how he'd have the strength to gone on without her. Turning and walking back slowly to her, Gatsby held out the note.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked.

"I'd like to cash it in now," she replied tearfully. "Can I?"

Quickly sinking back down onto the bed, Gatsby suppressed his rage as he stared at her bruised and tear stained cheeks. The oversized nightgown that Tilly had recommended she wear for comfort had fallen down one of her shoulders and the bite marks he'd seen earlier spoke of the violence Ares had used against her.

"You never have to ask permission," Gatsby told her gently as he reached out to touch her, but Rebecca flinched away.

"What is it you want?" Gatsby continued as he ignored the pang of hurt in his chest that she regretted his touch.

"C-c-can you s-s-stay with m-m-me for the n-n-night?" Rebecca asked as tears rolled down her cheeks, "I don't want to be alone. I'm afraid to be."

A violent sob escaped her chest and her breathing came in short gasps. It sounded like she was choking and Gatsby grabbed her shoulders. His touch only seemed to make her attack worse as her violent sobs continued. She tried to push him away, but only succeeded in nearly falling out of the bed. Gatsby let her go so not to her bruised skin. Rebecca scooted as far away from him as she could and hugged the foot board post tightly as she sobbed harder than ever.

Standing up and striding to the front doors of Rebecca's suite, Gatsby yanked the door open. Wolfsheim stood on the other side of the door with Tilly, who looked like she was under investigation for something.

"Fetch the doctor, now!" Gatsby snapped at Tilly before he turned away. Returning to Rebecca's bedroom, Gatsby grabbed one of the blankets off the bed and gently wrapped it around Rebecca's shivering form. She'd stopped crying and the dead look in her eyes frightened Gatsby more than anything.

"Rebecca," he started softly. "Why don't we get you back in bed?"

Rebecca didn't say anything to him as she continued to stare blankly at the wall. Debating on what to do, Gatsby was grateful when he heard the door open and the familiar voice of his personal physician floated to him.

"She's over here with Mr. Gatsby," Tilly said as she directed the tall, red haired man to them.

Crouching down with his leather bag, Doctor Williams wore a concerned look on his face as he stared at Rebecca.

"How long has she been like this?"

"A few minutes," Gatsby replied as Williams dug around in his bag. "She was hysterical before and I went to see if you were here yet, Williams."

"Is it alright if I give her a sedative?" Williams asked it will let her rest and sleep while we examine her.

Gatsby gave permission with a nod. Neither man was prepared for the violent fight Rebecca gave the moment Doctor Williams gently touched her arm to give her the shot with the sedative.

"Stop it! I said stop it!" Rebecca shrieked as she shoved Williams' hands away from her, "Don't touch me! Leave me alone!"

Gatsby grabbed her quickly and wrapped his arms around her thin frame. Holding her against his chest, he watched as Williams administered a sedative to a combative Rebecca through a needle. It only took a few moments to work and slowly, Rebecca's whole body relaxed in his arms. Her head rolled back and rested against his shoulder. Scooping her up, Gatsby turned back towards the bed. Tilly scrambled over to his side and quickly fixed the pillows and sheets that had been displaced. Gently lowering Rebecca down, Gatsby stared at her for only a moment before he stepped out of the way. Tilly quickly made sure that Rebecca was fully covered before slipping back.

"Mr. Gatsby?"

Turning, Gatsby stared at the young face of the personal physician he employed. At twenty-eight, Doctor James Williams was an eager man with a brilliant mind when came to medicine. He never asked too many questions and Gatsby knew he could always rely on the young man to give his people the best care possible. He just never thought he'd have to introduce his wife and the physician, who mainly dealt with gunshot wounds.

"Williams," he breathed. "I'm glad you're here."

"Do you think that my colleague, Doctor Stevens, and I could examine Mrs. Gatsby?" Doctor Williams asked in a soft spoken voice as a severe looking man entered the room. "We'll treat her and make sure she's comfortable and then we'll report to you our findings if that's acceptable."

"Only if Tilly stays with you," Gatsby said quietly, already not liking the idea of leaving Rebecca alone with the two doctors.

"Of course," Williams agreed quickly. "Tilly is more than welcome to stay at her mistress' side."

With one last, lingering look at Rebecca, Gatsby forced himself to leave the room. Telling himself over and over again that he was doing the right thing by having Williams examine Rebecca, Gatsby retreated to his library where Wolfsheim sat quietly with a tumbler of whiskey. Remembering the pictures in his pocket, Gatsby walked to Wolfsheim and stopped. The older man looked up at him with a worried expression.

"How the hell did this happen?" Wolfsheim asked quietly. "How the hell did Ares leave that hotel without anyone knowing? We both had eyes on that hotel!"

"I don't know how he got out. But, I know this! Mary Harper is like a goddamned ghost that just won't go away. She's a bitch that can't leave people alone. I'd like to resurrect her and kill her myself," Gatsby growled as he tossed the pictures down on the desk for Wolfsheim to see.

"How the hell did he get these?" the other man asked as he looked at the scandalous pictures of Mary Harper.

"Probably that jackass, Tom Buchanan, sold these pictures off to Ares when he found out that he was broke. Buchanan is the only one who would have these pictures unless that slut I call 'sister-in-law' has another secret lover no one knows about."

Taking out a lighter from his pocket, Wolfsheim grabbed a photograph and lit the corner of the photo on fire. Tossing the fiery image into the fireplace, Gatsby watched as the flames eagerly licked up the photographs as Wolfsheim tossed them in one by one.

"One problem solved," he said quietly as Gatsby continued to stare.

Both men sat in silence until the arguing of two men broke the silence. The yells grew louder until Crawley opened the door to the library and let the two arguing doctors into the room.

"She clearly is hysterical about what has happened," Doctor Stevens argued. "A few months spent in a hospital will help and if that doesn't there are other ways to treat hysteria."

"So, you think she has hysteria now?" Doctor Williams argued back, "The woman was attacked for God's sake! I think she's entitled to be hysterical!"

"So she claims!"

"Did you or did you not examine her yourself? She has all the symptoms of a woman who was attacked. Bite marks, bruises, her body is in a horrible condition and she's in much physical pain and discomfort. That's not hysteria!"

"The best thing for her would be to administer a clitoralectomy or hysterectomy," Doctor Stevens shot back. "It will clear up her hysteria very quickly and she will be able to move on with her life. It can be administered at the hospital where she will receive the best possible care and comforts to help her through her condition."

"She doesn't have a condition! She's a victim of abuses, not some surgical patient for you to operate on!"

The doctors continued to argue until Gatsby snapped and threw his glass of brandy at the wall.

"If you think for one goddamned moment I will put her in a mental institution or hospital, you must be crazy," he snapped angrily as he pointed a finger at the Doctor Stevens. "I know what you people do to your patients and I will be damned to hell first before I ever let you lay a finger on my wife. Don't you dare think for one moment I will let you rob her of the ability to a pleasurable marriage bed or the chance to, God willing, bare her own children."

"Mr. Gatsby," Doctor Stevens implored. "Please try and be reasonable."

"Reasonable? You think I should be reasonable? You just told me what you want to do to her and you want me to be goddamned reasonable?" he shouted. "How about you two act like doctors in instead of recommending I send her to an asylum! Come up with a more reasonable course of action. Maybe then I'll be more goddamned reasonable. Doctors Williams, you may go see Mrs. Gatsby and give to her maid the treatment you approve and believe will help Mrs. Gatsby the most. However, before any treatment is administered, you will speak with me before you leave."

Doctor Williams nodded and left in hurry as Gatsby furious eyes turned to the aging Doctor Stevens.

"I still stand by what I said before," Doctor Stevens said stubbornly. "I believe that Mrs. Gatsby suffers from hysteria and has evidently harmed herself as a result. I can cure her of the illness, if you let me, Mr. Gatsby."

"Mr. Crawley can show you to the door Doctor Stevens," Gatsby said tightly. "Your services are no longer required here Doctor."

Without another word, Gatsby turned back towards the window trying to control his breathing.

"Have you ever heard of such a stupid operation?" Wolfsheim said quietly as the door clicked closed after Doctor Stevens had left, "The cure to hysteria is making sure one's wife is highly satisfied in bed, not ending any chance of her experiencing pleasure."

Gatsby poured himself another brandy in a new tumbler and sank down into the closest chair that overlooked the bay. He was weary in his bones and his soul was exhausted. The only comfort that he had was that Rebecca was asleep and she didn't have to deal with the horrors that had happened to her until she woke up. Running a hand over his tired face, Gatsby closed his eyes. He didn't know how to help Rebecca when she did wake up. There were not any words he could say to her that would offer her comfort and no promises would ever make her feel truly safe. He'd already increased security around the house and the grounds in the hopes that maybe if she knew plenty of people were around making sure that no one entered the house, she'd feel somewhat safe in her own home.

Opening his eyes and staring out at the annoying green light that blinked in the distance, Gatsby clenched his fist tightly. Ares wasn't going to get away with what he'd done to Rebecca. If Gatsby only ever kept one promise to Rebecca, it would be that he'd have revenge against Ares for the sick bastard had done to her. He'd move heaven and earth to see Ares Patrick dead. Gatsby didn't care if it took him a lifetime to hunt that bastard down, he would. Ares Patrick was a dead man walking and Jay Gatsby was sure that Patrick knew it too.

"We'll get him, Jay," Wolfsheim said quietly as if he could read Gatsby's mind, "We won't let that disgusting son of a bitch get away with what he's done to her. I have my men and your men canvassing the city and area. We'll find that disgusting excuse of a man."

Gatsby twisted his signet ring on his finger as he stared out at the bay. He didn't say anything as a knock on the door sounded. Both men turned to see Crawley enter the room with a solemn face.

"Mrs. Gatsby is still asleep," Crawley said quietly. "However, Chicago is on the wire."

"Tell Chicago that I will call them back later," Gatsby replied quietly. "I promised Mrs. Gatsby that I'd stay with her and I don't intend to break that promise anymore than I already have. You can go, Mr. Crawley."

With a nod, Crawley left leaving Gatsby alone with Wolfsheim again.

"I meant what I said before, Jay," Wolfsheim started again. "We will have revenge. That despicable prick won't hurt anyone else once we're through with him."

"As a long as I get to be the one to kill him," Gatsby growled angrily before throwing his tumbler into the fireplace. The glass smashed and the flames from the fire eagerly licked up the alcohol. Exiting the library and walking to Rebecca's room, Gatsby slipped quietly inside. Instead of being asleep like Crawley had said, Rebecca was sitting up and bed. She looked exhausted and her braided hair was threatening to come undone.

"You should be asleep," Gatsby said softly as he crouched down in front of her. Taking her hands, Gatsby rubbed his thumbs over the icy cold skin of her hand.

"I couldn't sleep," Rebecca admitted so softly that Gatsby barely heard her. "I close my eyes and all I can see…is him. I didn't think you'd come back either."

"I made you a promise," he told her. "I won't break anymore."

Rebecca stared at him for a moment. Her eyes were filled with sadness and her tear streaked face was pale. Gatsby knew that she didn't believe him and he didn't blame her. Trusting him wasn't something that would come easy, but Gatsby promised himself that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. He'd been the source of her pain for a long time and he would be damned if he remained that source.

"Will you lay down with me?"

Her soft words startled him and without thinking, Gatsby nodded. Taking off his suit coat and shoes, he awkwardly laid down on the bed next to Rebecca. He wasn't quite sure what to do, but he was surprised when Rebecca curled herself up next to him. In the darkness of the room, Gatsby could feel the weight of her head resting in the junction where his shoulder and neck met. The light weight of her arm around his waist was comforting in many ways and even though her body was broken and bruised, Rebecca's skin was soft like velvet. It was a pleasant feeling until he felt teardrops on his neck. Hugging her closing to him, a wave of protective feelings unlike anything he'd ever experienced flooded his senses. The urge to get out bed and hunt Ares Patrick down himself was overwhelming. However, Gatsby willed himself to stay in the bed with Rebecca. She needed him in that moment more than she'd ever needed him before and he wasn't going to abandon her. He'd abandoned her enough for one life time and he swore to himself that he wouldn't abandon her ever again.

"Go to sleep," he mumbled to her before pressing his lips to the top of her head. "I promise you Rebecca that he can't and won't ever hurt you again. I swear that nothing will ever hurt you again."

Slowly, Gatsby could feel the tension leave her body and relax and soon, she was asleep.


The first thing Gatsby was aware of when he woke up was being alone. Sitting up in bed, he looked around the bedroom. The curtains that had been drawn the night before were open and he could hear movement in the sitting room. Getting out of bed and walking to the sitting room, Rebecca was seated on one of the settee's with a cup of tea between her hands.

"I think the cream colored linens, Mrs. Miller," she said in a quiet voice.

"Ma'am?"

"Did you forget that my sister is getting married in a few weeks and we're hosting the reception?" Rebecca replied coolly. "Honestly, just because we haven't told my parents yet that they're getting married, doesn't mean we can't plan ahead."

"Are you sure that's wise ma'am? In your condition?"

Gatsby watched as Rebecca's shoulders stiffened. The tea cup rattled as she put it and the saucer back down on the silver breakfast tray.

"What condition Mrs. Miller are you speaking of?" she snapped coldly. "I don't what you mean."

Her words were enough to bring Gatsby to his knees and all he could think of was how he should have let, no begged, Matthew Spring, Earl of Kettlemore, to take Rebecca with him. It didn't matter the scandal that would have been caused. In that moment, Gatsby knew he would have rather taken a hundred scandals if it meant he could have prevented what had happened to Rebecca. Closing his eyes, Gatsby knew she'd never speak of what had happened. No, Rebecca would pretend it had never happened while inside, her rape ate away at her heart and soul, devouring it alive.