Chapter Thirty-Eight – The Fever

When Bill awoke the next day, it was to find the flat empty; all except for Bulls-Eye, who was hunched over a greasy plate, licking it clean in a very noisy and unappealing manner. Bill groaned dispiritedly and considered simply going back to sleep, before realizing that the realm of nightmares was somewhere he didn't want to be.

He was Bill Sykes, tough as old boots, and yet those nightmares…scared him. His own words and the words of others, memories of years long past which he wanted to forget, things he wished he'd never done or said…all coming back to haunt him. He hated how he couldn't control his dreams nor make himself wake up when the nightmares began. He wasn't used to not being in control, to losing it.

But, he reasoned, as he got out of bed and dressed for the day, preparing to leave the flat, there were things he could control. Not to mention people. He had the whole of Spitalfields in the palm of his hand; a simple glare could send strong men scurrying away like frightened mice.

He wouldn't let anything, or anyone, make him give up this position. He was going to be the greatest man of all time; Fagin had always told him so.

He called for the dog and left the flat, the idea of going to the pub for his morning meal suddenly dawning in his mind. Strange that Nancy hadn't left him any breakfast…where was she, anyway?

The conversation he'd overheard last night between Nancy and Fagin began replaying itself in his mind so that, of their own accord, his footsteps fell in the direction of the old 'un's lair, rather than the Cripples as he'd intended. That was where Nancy would be…with Dodger.

He hated how that sounded, even though it had been long ago established that he and Nancy were together. Nancy and Dodger…how stupid had he been to have thought she'd be better off with him?

Before he climbed the rickety steps to cross the bridge to the den he took a quick detour to the back way, where Jeremy's crude headstone still stood, after all these years. How long had it been? Bill himself wasn't sure. He recalled the events of that night as if it had been yesterday, but years had passed since that fateful gunshot.

Bill didn't know how long he'd stood there, simply staring at the gravestone, lost in thought. It must have been awhile, however, as he soon heard footsteps and the creak of rotting wood, indicating that someone was crossing the bridge, heading for the steps. He whipped around, furious at an intrusion, just in time to see Charley Bates, looking as mournful as Bill had felt moments ago, looking down at the grave of his old housebreaking partner.

Charley, looking up at Bill, touched his cap by means of a more formal greeting; a fearful look flitting across his solemn features. Bill's harsh expression softened a little; Fagin had mentioned fever and the Artful Dodger in the same sentence last night, and Nancy had said it was Dodger Fagin should be worrying about. Charley, Bill reasoned, must feel equally worried, if not more so. Bill had seen the pair of them together and knew them to be thick as thieves.

This sympathy, however, didn't show in his tone.

"Wot're you doin' down 'ere?" he growled

Charley muttered something unintelligible and Bill proceeded to ignore him.

A few moments passed in silence.

"F-Fagin's in, if tha's who yer after…" said Charley eventually, jerking a thumb in the direction of the den.'

Bill shook his head.

"Wot 'appened to Dodger?" he asked, amazed at the concern making itself apparent in his voice. "Fagin came by last night, said somethin' 'bout the fever…and the traps…" He shot a quizzical look at the small boy before him; Charley stared back, biting his lip.

"It's kind've a long story…" he began, looking apologetic. "An' I don't know the whole of it neither. All I know is Fagin sent us out on the job, Dodge 'eaded off towards the bridge, didn't tell any of us why…'bout 'alf an 'our later I saw 'im runnin' towards me, a look of pure terror on 'is face…then I saw the traps runnin' after 'im…a whole lot of 'em too, blowin' their whistles an' shoutin' for the people about to 'elp 'em catch Dodge…Him an' me got back to Fagin's in one piece but Dodge…'e 'asn't been the same since…'e got a fever las' night…Fagin reckons its somethin' to do wiv all them rats down near the river…" Charley shrugged. "Tha's all I can tell yer, Mister Sykes."

Bill nodded. Now he understood how the words meshed together but there were still questions left unanswered. Why had Dodger gone to the bridge, so soon after Ezra's murder? Had the traps been lying in wait for any of the gang members Archie had betrayed? How had Dodger contracted the fever? And, a very selfish question, what did it mean for him? If the traps found Fagin it was only a matter of time before he was snatched too…

With this chilling thought in mind, Bill took his leave from Bates and hurried across the bridge to the den, opening the door and shutting it softly behind him, one of the many tricks he'd learnt as a housebreaker. The loft was quiet and relatively peaceful this morning at first glance, but, taking a closer look, Bill could see that it wasn't as tranquil as it first appeared.

Fagin was sitting in his usual chair, his eyes tired and rimmed with grey. He looked close to falling asleep where he sat, but he kept himself awake by fixing his attention on his best pickpocket, still a-bed, being tended to by none other than Nancy.

The young girl was crouched beside Dodger's bed, a caring smile gracing her features as she watched him. He was asleep at last; the fever had died down an hour or so before and it would only be a little while until he was fully recovered. Neither she nor Fagin knew the exact cause of the illness and Dodger had not been in a fit state to tell them.

Having smoothed Dodger's tousled hair and straightened his blanket about him, Nancy got to her feet, intending to leave, just in time to see Bill lurking near the door. She gave a gasp of surprise at his unexpected appearance; this in turn caused Fagin to start and nearly fall out of his chair.

Bill couldn't help a small smirk.

"G-good morning, m-my dear…" Fagin stammered, ending the greeting with a small yawn. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "Charley told me wot 'e knows about all this," he said, meaning the Dodger's current situation. "Wot else can you tell me? Are the traps onto us?"

Fagin chuckled most uncharacteristically; usually he began to tremble with fright at the mention of the police.

"Don't you fret about the traps, my dear," he said airily, all his former tiredness seemingly gone. "I've had one of my associates tip them off…according to him we now all reside somewhere around Petticoat Lane…" He chuckled again.

"But the traps found Dodger at the bridge, when 'e went there?" Bill snapped, still fearful and not appreciating the fact, nor Fagin's mirth.

"Y-yes…that they did, my dear…" Fagin replied, regaining a little of his former composure. "Dodger went to the bridge to pay homage to poor Ezra, it would seem. There 'e was seen by the traps and chased back to the Cripples patch. Luckily, Charley caught up with him there and they made their escape…but he got that blasted fever soon after he got back here…I sent all the boys out to steer clear of him for a bit; poor dear needs his rest…"

Bill nodded again. It seemed they were safe, and Dodger would soon recover. Now all he needed was a large mug of gin to set him to rights.

"Nance, you comin' or you stayin'?" he asked, heading for the door once more, Bulls-Eye trudging along at his heels.

"Comin'," Nancy replied, pulling her shawl about her thin frame before hurrying to join him.

"Thank you, my dear," Fagin called after her as she and Bill exited the den. "I'm most grateful!"

"'E should be," snarled Bill in an undertone as he let the door slam behind him. "Askin' you to go an' look after Dawkins like tha'; can't 'e do tha' 'imself?"

"Fagin's got a lot on 'is plate," Nancy replied diplomatically, stifling a yawn of her own.

"Maybe I should've got the fever," said Bill, without meaning to, dislike evident even in the few words he spoke. "Then you'd've been 'ome lookin' after me."

Nancy, not sure what to make of the statement, simply smiled up at Bill.

"You get plenty lookin' after from me, Bill Sykes," she replied, after a pause.

Bill chuckled.

"Does tha' mean you'll pay fer the gin then?"

Nancy gave a short laugh of her own.

"'Course. I'd do anythin' for you, Bill."

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A/N: Yay for fluffy song references! XD Here's hoping you all liked this chapter! Any ideas for fluff/drama you'd like to see in future chapters? Please let me know. ^^ I have a plan, but I'm curious as to what my reviewers think would happen between Bill and Nancy before the tale of Oliver Twist itself unfolded.

Please R&R!