AN- Alright quick one-shot that I might make into a couple chapter at least. So beyond pissed that Time After Time got cancelled. I wrote this quickly at work so it isn't proofread. Enjoy.
The Anders' mansion was quiet that night. Jane had no doubt that HG was still passed out from the drugs the doctors had given him after they'd come back from 1918. Ordinarily, she'd go and check on him to reassure herself, but after what he'd said it was too painful. He was leaving her soon, going back to 1893 London, and the thought caused her heart to ache painfully.
She loved him and that sucked.
But tonight she had other things to do, things that didn't involve HG but his darker counterpart. Not once, but twice John had went against his darker nature and had saved rather than killed. He didn't have to. He could've let HG die and taken the key for himself. He could've killed the girl in the apartment just to spite her pleas for mercy. He was Jack the Ripper, for Pete's sake. By all accounts, a soulless monster who ripped up women for sport. Except he had a soul. She'd seen it more than once. If he was going back to his own time, she wanted to at least say…
What? What exactly did she want to say? More importantly, why did she care at all?
She cared because sometimes there was a look in his eyes that was too vulnerable, just for a fleeting moment. Possibly, his emotions overwhelmed him? She knew that it made him furious that he was forgotten by history. The real him, not the Ripper. It was interesting to consider that he didn't think of his murderous alter-ego as the 'real' him, but his career as a renowned surgeon.
Jane made her way down to the sub-level holding John. Outside the door, a guard stood alert and ready for any possible scenario. She smiled warmly at him. "Hi, I know it's late but I was hoping to talk to him."
The guard looked unimpressed by her smile. "Sorry, no one allowed. Order from Miss Anders."
Jane opened her mouth to attempt to persuade him, but it was unnecessary. A familiar voice spoke behind her.
"It's alright, Dave. Let her in."
Jane turned and saw Griffin. "Thank you. After everything's he's done, I just wanted to talk to him before he leaves. I promise I won't be long."
Griffin gestured at the guard. "She's okay. Miss Walker wouldn't jeopardize Dr. Stevenson's return to his own time." He turned to Jane. "We'll keep an eye on the monitor to make sure he doesn't try anything."
Jane nodded and slid past the guard, Dave. He shut the door behind her and she swallowed. The room was relatively large and bare, all except for a strange sort of clear box in the center. It was more than big enough for a grown man to stand up in and have a few feet of space between him and the ceiling. John sat on the floor propped up against the farthest wall. Sharp lights illuminated the corners of the room, casting light on the cell so that she could see everything inside.
The moment he recognized her, his expression changed from dark calculation to confusion to slight humor. "Miss Walker, a pleasure as always. To what do I owe this visit? Has HG gotten himself into another scrape?"
Jane swallowed once more and walked closer to the walls of the cell. John stood up, probably to appear more in control, she reasoned. "No, HG is fine thanks to you. He's sleeping."
John gave a brief smile. "I aim to please. Your welcome."
"I came down here to talk to you. Before you leave." She glanced away at the last sentence, hating even the thought of the man upstairs leaving her forever.
His eyebrows raised. "Oh?"
"I wanted to say how sorry I am about your son. As important as the timeline is, part of me hoped you'd be able to save him. From what I observed in 1918, he seemed like a good man." She held her breath for some stinging retort for her foolish naiveté and pathetic 'sorrys' but none came. Instead John came closer to the wall and put his hands on it. She stepped back a fraction.
"Yes, he was a good man, my son. A good and stupid man. And because of it, he's dead." His voice was even. He could've been talking about the weather for all the emotion he showed.
Jane's temper rose slightly. "What's the point of being alive if your own life is worthless? We're measured by the things we do and accomplish, John. Your son died a hero, doing what he loved—saving others. When you die, will be able to say the same thing?"
His expression shifted slightly. Something coy entered his eyes. "You know, I do love it when you say my name, Jane. In my time, a woman who wasn't a close relative or a wife would never do so. It's always 'Dr. Stevenson.' 2017 is so full of delights and new experiences. It's going to be quite painful to go back to 1893. For you too, I suspect."
She set her jaw before responding. "HG has to go. I understand that."
"You could come with us," he suggested lightly. "The both of you could live happily ever after walking around on sunshine and rainbows, righting all the world's wrongs."
God, she wanted to go back with HG so badly. It was all she could do not to beg him to take her with him. Shaking her head, she replied, "Sometimes we have to do what's right, not what we want to do." Annoyed, she spoke again, without waiting for him to respond. "I didn't come down here to talk about my love life with you, John."
He braced himself against the wall with both hands, leaning into it slightly. "Is that right? What did you come here for then? Did you simply miss my face?"
"No. I wanted to talk to you about … you."
"Me? My favorite subject. Do go on."
"There's good in you. I've seen it. When you go back to 1893, you can change. Be better. Be the brilliant surgeon I know you are and make the world a better place instead of a darker one."
She'd moved closer to the wall during her little speech and now he stared down at her with fascination. "Oh, Jane, always the do-gooder. I like killing. There's no other feeling that comes close to the rush I get when I thrust my knife into a woman's body, embedding it to the hilt inside her." He spoke slowly, almost seductively, staring down at her appalled and confused expression. "Most of all, I like watching the tiny fleeting emotions cross her face as the life flickers out and she knows without a doubt she's going to die. And there's nothing she can do about it."
"And you hold all the power," Jane said softly. "All the control."
"Yes," he said in a low voice, "I am a bit of control-freak."
Jane suddenly felt as if she'd made a mistake in coming down here. The flirtatious look in his eyes that he usually had when they spoke was gone. In its place was something deeper. Darker. Something dangerous. The air between them changed growing thicker even with a bulletproof glass wall between them. He was describing killing a woman in the same manner that most men would describe having sex. Was that what it was like for him?
She shivered and took a step back. "If a killer is all you ever want to be, that's fine. I just thought a man of your drive and intellect would want to achieve something more giving into his animalistic urges."
He let his eyes drop down to her body. "Oh, there are quite a few animalistic urges I'd like to give into right now, Jane."
"Always the romantic, John." The new voice startled both of them. Jane turned around and saw a redhead woman standing in the doorway. She smiled at both of them in a condescending way and put a hand on her hip. "Watch out for that one, Jane. He's killer in bed."
John's expression went from playful to deadly in the span of a heartbeat. "My only regret is that I didn't kill you before going to bed with you, bitch."
The woman pretended to be shocked. "Such language from a gentleman? Is that how you talk to a lady in your time, John?"
John practically molded his body against the wall in an effort to get closer to her. "A lady? No, of course not. A conniving hag like you, though, I'd make all sorts of exceptions for."
She actually looked briefly annoyed and hurt by his insult. Instead of retaliating, she snapped a finger. Four men dressed in tactical gear and body armor carrying assault rifles rushed in surrounding the cell. Jane's heart pounded.
"What are you doing? Who are you?" she asked.
"Take them both," the redhead ordered. "I can use to girl to keep him in line this time."
"No, you can't do this. You don't know what you're doing," Jane protested, wishing she had her gun.
The woman walked up to her and grabbed a handful of hair. John looked murderous behind them, watching every movement they made. She smiled at him and then glared at Jane. "I know the Ripper better than you ever will."
"He's more than just Jack the ripper," Jane bit out and earned a tight grip around her throat for her trouble.
"Aw, that's so sweet, John. She really believes you aren't a monster. We know better, though, you and I, don't we? You're a psychotic animal who keeps himself relatively chained up, but every now and then the urge to kill just takes over." She gave a quick jerk on Jane's head. "It's who you are and you'll never be anything else. Not without my help, of course."
She let go of Jane's throat and shoved her toward one of her men. Some sort of strange gas began filling John's cell.
"Let her go, Brooke," he snarled at the redhead.
She smiled. "As soon as you agree to cooperate, of course. I must admit to being a little jealous with the way you interact with Jane Walker, but I suppose we're too alike, you and I. Everyone is drawn to the opposite. It's why you and HG were such good friends for so long. He's everything you're not. Don't worry," she said, watching as he sank to his knees and started to pass out, "I won't hurt her too badly."
