Chapter Seventeen – It's Not Weak To Cry

Bill's first instinct was to pull the trigger on the home owner, but the man had vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared. The door to the house was soon slammed shut after him by the fierce gale; the bang, even over the sound of the storm, brought Bill back to reality.

The shot, the blood, the scream of agony…

He looked down at Jeremy, with his glassy eyes and red hair plastered to his forehead, his face still etched in its final frown. Bill checked his wrist for a pulse, although he knew it was no use.

Jeremy was dead.

The dogs had stopped growling now, but Bill hardly noticed. Bulls-Eye limped over to Jeremy's side and began to lick his rain streaked face, as if that would somehow revive his fallen master. Bill, of course, didn't take kindly to this and tried to push the dog away, muttering furious curses, but the animal refused to budge, whining pathetically as Jeremy didn't move.

For a few moments they simply stayed there, Bill kneeling at Jeremy's side, Bulls-Eye crouched beside him, his head drooping, the rain continuing to fall soaking them both to the bone. But soon it became apparent that they had to move; they couldn't just stay here waiting for the traps to find them…

But what about Jeremy? They couldn't just leave him here…

Bill attempted to lift Jeremy in his arms, but the young man's weight (not to mention the weight of all the items stuffed in his pockets) was too much for Bill (he had his own loot to contend with as well). What was he going to do?

Gingerly, he tugged Jeremy's overstuffed coat off, wincing at the sight of the bullet wound in his friend's back. The blood had mingled with the rainwater, which meant the stain had dispersed all across his shirt, making it look even more gruesome than it really was.

Bill placed Jeremy's coat on the ground and now lifted his partner easily. He could feel the blood from Jeremy's back oozing over his fingers, a sensation that made him feel sick.

He had to get back to Fagin's…

Bulls-Eye, loath as he was to leave anything belonging to his master behind at this dreadful place, clamped his teeth onto Jeremy's heavy coat and dragged it along the ground, following in Bill's wake.

The solemn procession wound its way through the streets and all the way back to Fagin's; there were no hackney cabs to be found at this early hour of the morning. The rain still continued to hammer down as the city clock struck two, accompanied by the creaking of the attic door as Bill forced it open, staggering a little now. Bulls-Eye just managed to drag the muddy and blood-stained coat inside before the wind whipped the door closed with a bang, starting some of the boys awake.

"It's two in the flippin' mornin'!"

"Shut it, eejit, tha's Bill! 'E's back!"

"Bill! How'd it go; what'd ya nick? Let's see!"

"Why's Jer-"

"Jeremy! Wot's wrong wiv 'im?"

"'E's bleedin'!"

"What's all this racket about, my dears?"

Fagin had emerged from his quarters, rubbing sleep from his eyes. All the members of the gang were awake now, clambering out of beds and scrambling from their berths to see what had happened. Bill didn't want the boys to see Jeremy…not like this…

"Bill what…oh…oh gawd…oh gawd…"

Fagin clapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the scene before him. Jeremy was cradled in Bill's arms, Bulls-Eye at his heels with Jeremy's coat still in his mouth. Both the young men were soaked through, flecked with mud. The worst of it was the crimson, vivid even against their dark winter coats, the stench of it overpowering.

"Get to bed all of yer…" Fagin said, in little more than a whisper, addressing the wide eyed boys (not to mention Nancy who had just joined them, her own mouth open in shock).

No-one moved, they were all transfixed, awed, dumbstruck, horrified at the sight before them. Bill's head was bent, his eyes closed, biting his lip until a trickle of blood ran down his chin…None of them had seen Bill like this before. Something about him had changed. Something was missing.

"GET TO BED I SAID!"

The old man's sudden yell in the silence of the flat prompted the gang to action. They all scuttled back to their beds, muttering amongst themselves, speculating what had happened, mourning the loss of their friend…

Nancy stole one last look at Bill before she too scarpered; he looked defeated, helpless, weak…it scared her to see him like that; to her, Bill was always strong, powerful, the toughest and bravest of them all! But that expression on his face, that look of hopelessness…

She shivered as she pulled her blanket around her, trying to compose her mind to sleep.

--

"Wh-what happened, my dear?" Fagin asked, his voice hoarse. He looked from Jeremy to Bill and back again, as if trying to discern the image before his very eyes.

Bill explained as best he could, his own voice strained and constricted with held back tears. He wasn't going to cry…Bill Sykes never cried. Never.

Fagin nodded slowly as Bill told his tale, shaking his head sadly at its conclusion. If only he hadn't…if only… He couldn't even string together a coherent sentence inside his head, let alone something that would help stem the flow of grief that threatened to overwhelm them all.

Poor lad…he'd shown such promise…

He bent down to Bulls-Eye's level, managing to wrest the coat from the dog's fervent grasp. Most of the items of china and porcelain were chipped or damaged beyond repair from their trek across the cobblestones but everything else was in relatively good condition, save for the bloodstains. They could be washed out, with a bit of hard work.

Bill looked away as Fagin rummaged in Jeremy's old coat, feeling sicker than ever. Didn't he see that he was robbing a dead man? Didn't he care?

"Wot're we gonna do wiv 'im Fagin? I couldn't just leave 'im there…"

Fagin nodded, trying to be businesslike as a way of covering up his grief. "You're right, my dear…you were right to bring him back…he could've been identified by the traps and that would've done us no good…"

Bill ground his teeth, furious that Fagin could be so self-absorbed at a time like this. Fagin clearly sensed his disapproval and changed tack, explaining that they would have to bury the young man's body at the first possible opportunity, alias just now. They couldn't just leave it in the doorway overnight; that would never do.

He and Bill proceeded outside, but not before Fagin had procured the tools necessary for digging a modest grave, as well as an old blanket for a shroud. They proceeded along the bridge and down the worn wooden steps, eventually spotting a good place, set aside from the walkway, close to the 'back way' that Fagin had discovered years ago; a ladder, inside a trapdoor in the main loft, led to a large gap in the wall of the building beneath the chimney; a well disguised escape route, should escape from the den ever be necessary.

Fagin certainly hoped not.

The place was caked in dead leaves and frost, not to mention rotting wood and debris, but the pair made quick work of clearing a space for the grave to be dug. The digging was easy work, since the dirt beneath the leaves was wet from the storm.

Bill covered Jeremy's body in the blanket, having closed his friend's eyes for eternal sleep. He looked peaceful now, somehow, despite the dirt and blood, the bullet in his back. He placed the body as gently as he could into the crudely dug hole, biting back tears as before. He couldn't cry, he wouldn't…

"It's not weak to cry, my dear…" Fagin said softly, laying a hand on Bill's arm.

Bill shook his head firmly and shrugged Fagin off, turning his back on the grave and stalking away, trying with all his might to deter the lump forming in his throat, the tears welling in his eyes…

"Goodbye, my dear…" Fagin whispered, tugging a brooch (Jeremy's worthiest item) from his pocket and placing it beside the covered corpse. "You died a hero's death, and I couldn't be more proud." He sniffed. "We'll miss you, my dear…"

He filled in the grave, his hands shaking slightly as he patted the earth more firmly in place. He scavenged about to procure a suitable headstone, finally settling on the least rotten piece of wood he could find, for lack of anything better.

This done he stepped back to admire his handiwork, a sad smile forming on his features as tears began to fall from his eyes. It's not weak to cry…it's not…

Bill, watching the proceedings from a few feet away, added his own parting words.

"Goodbye Jeremy…you were a true friend. I…I'll miss ya."

With that, he retreated up the steps and returned to the loft, huddling under his blanket and trying to stem the flow of thoughts whirling through his brain…he wanted things to go back to the way they had been…but that could never happen…

Nancy awoke suddenly an hour or so later, jolted awake from a terrifying nightmare. It could have been her imagination, but she was sure she heard sobbing from the bed next to hers.

If she wasn't dreaming she guessed Bill would want to be left alone, but at the same time she wanted to comfort him somehow, make him feel better. Leaning over slightly, she managed to wrap her arms around one of Bill's, in an awkward sort of hug.

Bill stiffened at her touch, realizing who it was and cringing at the thought of her hearing him cry. But, realizing she only did it to be comforting, he relaxed again, his breathing becoming more even as he drifted off to sleep.

Nancy smiled gently.

It wasn't weak to cry.

--

A/N: Sorry for all the sadness my dears, but that's the way my plot goes, I'm afraid. D:

Hope you're all enjoying this (despite the subject matter); please R&R!

I'm hoping Bill wasn't too ooc there… XD