you could have my heart (and i would break it for you)

-or-

be gay do crime

By: Aviantei

[Shibuya Operation – Story Storm]

Those Jade Green Eyes, Act Four:

"no telling what i might do (something in my head i'm not sure that i can fight through)"

Spring, 1863

"It's awful; we can't let the boy see her."

"What? You just wanna keep it a secret from him? You know that won't hold up."

"I know, but at the least he shouldn't… Not until she's cleaned up."

"We can explain if we get her a grave marker first…"

"Yeah, 'cause that's gonna be easy."

"We owe her that much!"

"You know she'd rather we spend money on taking care of her kid."

"I'm not just going to leave her without—"

"Miss Penny! Have you seen Mama?"

The tense voices in the room cut off, any and all discussion disappearing into absolute silence. The women all exchanged glances, half having successful silent communication, the other half just as lost as the other. Death wasn't an uncommon situation in their lives, nor was being left behind with a child that couldn't fend for themself. Most of them had seen such things before—some of them had even been the one left behind. Those tragedies were as common as the air they breathed, and a good deal of their number had very little pity left to give. If they hadn't shut down that capacity in themselves, they wouldn't have been able to take the weight of their lives anymore.

That didn't make such things easy, and it was even more complicated when there was no time to prepare.

In the end, all eyes landed upon their matron, the one person who had the authority to make the final call in the situation. Whatever she decided to do, everyone else would follow, even if they disagreed. After all, their matron had earned their purest trust, and so there was no sense in arguing against it.

"Sorry," said the child who'd interrupted the heated conversation with inopportune timing, his voice a near mumbling whisper. "Did I come in when I'm not supposed to?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie." The matron put on a smile, the expression very different than the one she'd trained to lure in customers. No, her current face was one filled with comfort, well developed between all the "children" she'd come to care for as her own over the years. "Did you have something that you wanted to share?"

"Oh! This!" The child's wide smile broke out, filled with that cheerful sort of innocence. He didn't have all that many years left that he'd be able to make an expression like that—and even less time should he come to understand the truth that had just unfurled. Digging into his pockets, the boy produced a bundle of somewhat crumbled but fresh enough flowers. "I went an' helped out that nice lady who sells 'em, and she let me have a few. Mama always smiles whenever she sees 'em, so I wanted to give 'em to her!"

It was a result of long-practiced composure that the matron didn't cry. Even so, her chest tightened in a way that she hadn't felt for quite some time. "They're lovely, sweetie," she said, kneeling down to the child's level. "I'm sure your mama would love them." That girl had loved anything her son did with the purest forms of affection, and that small little gesture would have been no different, were she still around to receive it. "But I'm sorry, dear. You're not going to be able to give them to her today."

There was a moment of silence before a look of understanding dawned on the boy's face. "Is Mama busy with work? I can wait, but the flowers are gonna need water."

He was too young to understand the exact nuances of his mother's work, but he understood enough that there were times when she couldn't see him because she was busy with a customer. That was a simple enough explanation to work with, and it would be easy to lie and say that was the case until they could come up with a better way to break the news—but that would just be delaying the inevitable.

"We can get some water later, sweetie. But for now, I need you to listen." The boy recognized the matron's tone, the one that indicated it was time to pay attention. Just a few seconds, and then his whole world would be broken apart. "You're not going to be able to see your mama at all anymore. She's…she's gone, so you can't—"

"You're lying!"

The declaration was earnest. The boy was well-behaved, and he didn't raise his voice like that, not unless he was playing with the other children and causing a ruckus that way. But his shout had burst out of him with an utter conviction that just hurt all the more to see.

"Mama loves me; she'd never leave!" he shouted. The matron reached for him, but he took a step back. There were tears welling up in his eyes, but he didn't run, for what it was worth. "Doesn't she love me? I've been good, I promise! So why—why—" It seemed to catch up with him that the matron wouldn't ever lie about such a thing. "I don't… I don't… Mama.. Mama…!"

And with that final wail, he broke into a torrent of tears as the crumpled flowers in his hand fell to the ground in favour of him clinging to the matron's skirt, refusing to let go.

January, 1875

"It seems that Albert has taken Jameson out for the evening."

The note in his hands indicated as such in Albert's careful writing, each letter in perfect place, reporting the detail with factual elegance, as if it were nothing more than a missive indicating that Albert would be escorting his current interest—lady or gentleman alike—out for the night, and not to worry about his return until the following day's sunrise, at the absolute earliest.

William did not think that such a circumstance was the situation, but it could be hard to tell with Albert sometimes, and Jameson was, in fact, quite appealing. Still, William had mentioned to his elder brother in passing that Jameson had wished to go out until he'd sacrificed the opportunity for Louis's sake, without so much of a moment's hesitation.

It had been unfortunate, to say the least. Jameson had expressed an interest in exploring more of the world, and he deserved to do that in whichever way he pleased. And yet he'd declined the invitation for the fear of upsetting Louis.

And Louis had now taken the note from William's hands, scrutinizing it as if it contained some additional code the two of them were supposed to decipher. "Shameless," Louis muttered, and it was difficult to tell if he were talking about Albert, Jameson, or the both of them, as each option seemed just as probable as the last.

"Is it all that upsetting?" William asked, hoping to get a read on the situation. Though they'd spent the afternoon together, the topics of conversation had been their lighter, usual fare, without any divergences into the most recent addition to their home. "It will be good for Jameson to familiarise himself with the neighbourhood, and you know that Albert can't resist spoiling people he's taken under his wing." William and Louis alike had experienced that much for themselves, time and time again.

It seemed that William had managed to land upon the exact issue, as Louis's expression clouded over. "If Jameson intends to take advantage of your and Albert's good nature, I have the right to be plenty upset." Louis's tone was tight, as was his hand around Albert's note, the paper crinkling in his grasp. "Don't think that I didn't notice that he stayed in your room last night, Brother. Even if he was forced to do such things before, that doesn't mean he won't try to get something out of you. You have to know that, so why did you let him in?"

It was a more than fair question, and one William couldn't find the full answer to within a matter of seconds. Fulfilling Jameson's request had been natural, and sharing a bed had been an enticing concept; now that William had gotten a taste of what was possible, that more carnal piece of him wanted more. True, he had no issue with accepting the boundary that Jameson had placed up, either, though controlling his disappointment had been much more of a battle than it should have been.

"I know this may be hard to believe, but nothing of the sort of what you're thinking of happened last night," William said. Oh, he knew how it looked, but he would never lie to Louis, and William hoped that his brother understood that. Never mind the night he'd reported Stratford's will to Jameson in his office, the close encounter of that morning. Louis looked as sceptical as one would expect, but William pressed forward anyways. "I don't know all the details, but I think there's something more to Jameson's situation than we understand. Right now, he needs support while he recovers." If it was something he could even recover from. Burning down his former home had been meant to help, but if the scars ran even deeper than that, then how long would such a thing take?

Beneath it all, if there was something William could do to help, then he would do so.

Louis must have understood that about him better than anyone else in the world, and that was why his expression was so conflicted. "Be that as it may, if he causes trouble for us…"

"I trust that you won't let such a thing happen, Louis." Though all three of the Moriarty brothers were vigilant as a natural result of their ambitions, Louis was the most so of them all, reviewing each and every scenario with a sharp eye and the resolve to go through with eliminating issues, no matter their severity. "I do not intend to let things go too far, but if by chance they do, we will take care of things together, as we always have done." William patted Louis's shoulder, offering his brother a smile. Louis, pleased by the acknowledgement, had some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. "Just don't deny me the opportunity to have a bit of enjoyment in the process." Because if it were possible, if Jameson were willing, then…

Nose crinkled in displeasure, Louis sighed and spun on his heel to head off in the direction of the kitchen. "You should be negotiating that much with Albert, rather than me, William."

By the time Jameson returned home, it was with a fuzziness in his head and a faint bit of giddiness fluttering through his heart. The freedom to go out whenever he pleased had been enticing enough for him to accept Albert's invitation, though they'd completed the same dance of Albert offering to buy something, Jameson refusing, and Albert insisting anyways, which almost always went in the earl's favour. Dinner had been scrumptious, and the fact that he'd had the choice to partake in the wine had been enough for Jameson to drink enough to get himself tipsy.

And thus: walking up the stairs at Moriarty Manor whilst using Albert as a support, though that was just a generous way of describing him dragging Jameson along. From so close, the broadness of Albert's shoulders was apparent, and the toned musculature beneath his fine-tailored suit explained why he had next to no issue with hauling Jameson up to his room.

"Sorry," Jameson said, and the word was slurred despite the fact that he didn't feel all that drunk—though perhaps that was an unfair assessment to make, considering most of the times that Jameson had indulged, it had been to an unwilling excess and— "No, don't think about it," he mumbled, the words slipping out of his lips without his consent.

Albert made an inquisitive noise, a pleasant, tenor hum that slipped through Jameson's ears like liquid gold. "Is everything alright?" He'd indulged, too, talking up the finer points of the particular vintage of the bottle they'd worked through, but Albert didn't sound anywhere near as affected as Jameson did.

"'M fine," Jameson said, though the fact that he'd half pronounced the words was more than enough proof to the contrary. "I'm just sorry that you have to carry me up the stairs." At least every three steps, Jameson could feel his toes catch on the lip of the steps, an occurrence that would have sent him tumbling over and down were he without support.

"I don't mind at all. I'm the one that asked you to join me for drinks. It would be uncouth of me to not ensure that you made it to bed safe." A grin drew Jameson's mouth wide, settling him in the moment, no matter how hazy it was now, no matter how much hazier it would be upon the arrival of the morning. For the time being, though, Jameson felt untouchable, as if all the unpleasant memories of the years before were incapable of reaching him, as if he could dismiss them with a wave, and they would behave, defaulting to his authority. "Though I don't wish to pry, but is there something bothering you?"

Jameson shook his head, even if that just made everything all the fuzzier. "Don't want…to think about it." Speaking was getting harder, as was thinking. "I had a good day. I made a nice memory. I want…to keep that." He'd enjoyed himself, and he wanted that to be a pristine recollection to hold onto. The rest wouldn't disappear, but he could preserve that much, that one tiny sliver where he could find a sense of peace. Having reached the top of the stairs, Albert paused, but Jameson continued onwards, the warmth of the arm around his waist giving way to the chill of the dark hallway of the third floor. "I can make it this far on my own, so you should go to bed, Lord Albert."

But it wasn't all that long before Jameson swayed, and Albert's bicep was a much more pleasant landing spot than the floor. "I think not. Five more minutes isn't an inconvenience at all." Happy for the warmth of another human body beside him, Jameson didn't protest. He suspected that he would fall into his blankets without so much as bothering to change. "And I told you, didn't I? Just Albert is fine."

The formality must have slipped out thanks to Jameson's dampened ability to monitor his speech. "Albert," he corrected, for some reason the name seeming rather hilarious. A burst of giggles slipped out of his mouth, and Jameson was forced to stifle himself in the sleeve of Albert's suit jacket. It was difficult to tell whether or not he was being a nuisance, and, by the time he'd composed himself, the sight of his bedroom door was before him. He managed to grab onto the doorknob the first time, though it took two attempts to twist it with enough success to allow him inside. "There. You've fulfilled your duty as a gentleman."

Albert's amused smile was visible in the faint light of the hall lamps. "Have I now?" he asked, and Jameson nodded, using the doorframe as support. "In which case, if you're satisfied, then I suppose I should be as well." And then, in a motion so smooth it might have been pure reflex, Albert took Jameson's hand in his own, placing a gentle kiss against the back of it, sending a jolt of pure warmth all the way up Jameson's arm, to his face, and settling in his chest. "I also made some nice memories today. Rest well, Jameson."

Some piece of Jameson's brain that felt very far away urged him to hold onto that hand tighter, to drag Albert inside with him and see how much longer the night could be.

Some other piece of Jameson's brain that felt even further away but sounded like William's voice reminded him that he didn't have to do that.

So he let Albert's callused fingers slip away, let the sparks against his skin rest in place. "Good night, Albert."

Jameson watched for what could have been half a minute or half an hour, tracing Albert's retreating shadow down the hallway, and it was long past the time whenever Albert was gone that Jameson recognised that it was late and that he should be heading to bed. That reminder prompted him to close the door, but then he remembered the journal that he'd placed with care upon his worktable, and Jameson had dropped himself into the chair there soon enough. It was long after he'd flipped open the pages and picked up a pen that he thought that having a light might be helpful, and what followed was a series of fumbling movements that managed to turn on his oil lamp without breaking the thing to pieces.

His resulting handwriting was sloppy, and there was every chance it would be near impossible to decipher in the morning. But what did that matter? The thoughts and feelings he was having in that moment, the enjoyment of his time, the exploration of places he'd never been before, and the deliciousness of good meal ended with an even more decadent dessert—all of it was a piece of him, and understanding of who he would be in the future, mess and all.

That day, Jameson had felt like he had lived.

And so he scribbled as much as he could, on occasion squinting over disastrous lines and attempting to rewrite them in a more careful form of cursive. Whether or not he was successful would be difficult to tell until the morning, but such concerns were so far from his current ability to think in a critical manner, so he didn't even pause to consider them, and he was so caught up in his chronicling that he almost didn't hear the knock upon his door.

Jameson cast his bleary gaze about, wondering if he'd imagined the sound, but then it came again. It was a casual type of knock, one without much urgency, but that made it all the more unusual for what the dark sky outside indicated was still a late hour. Some of the wine having worn off since he'd sat down, Jameson made it over to the door without much stumbling at all, though perhaps it would have been better to ask who was calling upon him before he'd opened up.

Well, it was too late for such considerations now.

"William," he said, the name not as funny as Albert's had been in his mouth, but bringing a different sort of smile to his lips, nonetheless.

"Jameson," William said in return, and if Albert's voice had been liquid gold, then William's had to be something all the more precious, a priceless substance that Jameson wanted to be filled with from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. "I just wanted to make sure that you got back safe, but I can see that is the case." There was a pause as he leaned closer. "I can also see that Albert convinced you to share some wine with him."

Jameson nodded, though the motion made his mind sway with it. That didn't stop his head from bobbing, though. "It was very good. I had a good time." And then, unprompted, "It would have been better if I'd gone with you."

The words didn't strike Jameson as something he shouldn't have said out loud. Hadn't William made it clear that Jameson was free to be upfront with his desires?

William's chuckle was faint and fluttering, like a butterfly dancing away on the breeze. "You know well enough that I would have gone with you, had you not chosen to change plans." Oh, right, Jameson had passed off the invitation into Louis instead. It seemed like a stupid reason in the embrace of the present and the alcohol still dancing through his body. "Still, I am glad you enjoyed yourself, since that was what I had hoped for."

"I did, I promise. 'M even writing 'bout it, like you said I should." Jameson glanced back to his desk, where the strokes of still fresh ink were gleaming under the flickering of the lamp. "I came up with lots of ideas of things to try, too!" Feeling bold, Jameson leaned closer and whispered, "Lots of them involve you."

He felt the shift in William's expression more than he saw it, but the words to describe such a thing didn't exist yet, or at least they didn't exist when his brain was encased in the pleasant haze of the wine scented god he'd allowed himself to linger in. "In which case, we'll have to discuss such things tomorrow." Jameson was about to protest that there was nothing wrong with discussing them then and there, but William's smile stunned him to silence once more. "I believe that some rest would be best for you, my dear. Which brings me to my other question:

"Do you require some company in bed tonight?"

The inquiry hung in the air as if it were a delicate glass sculpture suspended by a string: so gorgeous and so fragile, so capable of changing in appearance depending on the angle one viewed it from and the way the light struck it, almost infinite in the possibility. Jameson coasted a bit in place, as if that would help him strike upon the correct answer, but who he was and what he wanted seemed to have all been mixed into a jumble, one that he couldn't dissect whenever he was becoming aware of the fact that he was, almost all at once, so very tired.

He blinked, and William didn't appear to be William at all anymore, instead an almost shapeless form of something too beautiful for Jameson to even be allowed to touch, somehow more pristine than anything Jameson could conjure in his imagination.

"I'll be okay," he said, though he wasn't quite sure if he was, in fact, saying it. "I feel safe."

At some point, he must have closed the door, but William hadn't protested when it happened, and soon memory was a splintered thing that wouldn't be able to discern whether the conversation had happened or not.

"You wish to go to Whitechapel?"

William had not raised his voice, but he couldn't keep the surprise from his tone. Jameson had completed a preliminary list of things he wished to do, the lunch they were sharing one of them. It was a fact that William considered himself lucky for, since he'd been hoping for something similar after the previous day's change of plans. However, while William had made his own list of predictions for Jameson's requests, the foremost one had not even been entertained as a possibility.

Jameson nodded, his gaze fastened on the fork and knife in his hands, which had paused their work of cutting a fresh bite of steak for himself. "I know it would be an inconvenience, and I understand that it's not a place that most people of…our standing would choose to go. I also understand that letting me go on my own wouldn't be advisable, so I'd be asking for one of you to step outside your busy schedules to do so. But it's where… I lived there, and I haven't seen anyone since I was adopted. I'd at least like to let whoever is left know that I am alright."

It was more than a reasonable enough request, one that William had no issues with fulfilling. It wasn't even surprising that Jameson was more than aware of the possibility that his former home and the people in it might not even still be around. But no, William's surprise came more so from the fact that he and Jameson were from the same place and, given their respective histories, had been in close proximity such a long time without even knowing about it.

Fate, if such a thing existed, operated in strange ways.

"I don't have an issue with escorting you there at all," William said, bringing his glass to his lips for a sip of water. It was Jameson's turn to be surprised, the feeling obvious in his expression, though it soon made way for happiness, excitement glittering in his eyes. "I believe it's natural to want such things. Not to mention, it's not as if I would consider myself above such a thing." Were it not for the cover of his assumed identity and the fact that they were in public, William would have made it clear that they were from the same place, born of the same squalor and hardship. Instead, he tucked the fact away for later, when it would be safer to share. "I do have lessons to attend to, but I will be free on Friday. We can go then, if that's alright?"

"It's not as if I have any schedule to speak of. I'm just taking my days as they come." Though there were the faintest traces of self-depreciation in his tone, Jameson's face didn't seem bothered at all by the concept, though some of William's concern must have reached his. "I don't mind that my schedule is open. It gives me time to think about what I wish to do and when I should pursue those interests."

"You've written more, have you not?" Lots of them involve you, Jameson had whispered, his voice full of promise while he divulged the words as if they were a great secret. Though William felt the temptation to comb of over the stretches of Jameson's handwriting and see just what those items were, he would let Jameson divulge such things in his own time—a decision made out of careful self-restraint and in no small part because it didn't seem that Jameson remembered William coming to his door to check on him the night before. "While I'm not in a position to give you every waking hour of my day, I can provide you as much of my free time as possible to help."

A pleased blush tinted Jameson's cheeks, and William wished to see that colour spread further, pushing past embarrassment into a different type of overwhelming emotion. It was such an inappropriate thought for the lunch table that William was almost surprised at himself, but it didn't change the fact that Jameson was a temptation without even trying, building up desire inside William, one careful piece at a time.

At least William contained himself enough that Jameson didn't seem to notice. "I know you've said it wouldn't be an imposition, but I still feel like that's asking too much." William quirked a brow in silent inquiry, and Jameson lowered his voice to answer, "If I took as much of your time as I wanted, then I would have it all, and that would be an unfair thing to ask."

"I don't believe so," William said. Still experimenting with which version of his smile would be the most effective, he adjusted his expression, mixing in the slightest hints of a seductive undertone while still not appearing out of place for a casual conversation over lunch. "A request isn't unfair if both parties desire the same thing."

Jameson flushed darker, his eyes darting around the room as if to check if anyone had overheard. The waitstaff and the other patrons all continued with their meals, none of them the wiser to William's remark. "If you go and say things like that in public…"

"I fail to see the issue. I wouldn't mind in the slightest if someone overheard." In fact, such an occurrence would be pleasant, creating a witness to William's intentions and the tenuous relationship building between them. To prove his point, he added, "I am not ashamed of my interest in you, Jameson."

It wasn't surprising that such a declaration would make Jameson break eye contact, though William kept up a careful observation to ensure that he wasn't making his conversation partner uncomfortable. "But that's…I mean, you have such a bright reputation already, I wouldn't want to contribute to ruining that by letting people think…"

"That I'm interested in another man?" Jameson went still, his expression conflicted. It was a fair enough concern, considering the more close-minded tendencies of their society, but William hadn't ever bothered to worry himself over such things. Then again, he hadn't ever had any more than a passing relationship with any of his past partners, either. While calling what was developing anything more intimate would be premature, it didn't change the fact that determining the best course of behaviour while in public was a new challenge. When you added Jameson's own personal history, it became a complicated equation indeed. "Jameson, ignore societal norms for a moment and answer me this: does my expression of my interest in you bother you?"

"What? No." Those jade green eyes went wide at the realization of what he'd just said, though Jameson refrained from covering his mouth. Yes, that fluster was a wonderful look on him, and William was rather at risk for losing interest in his lunch in favour of a much more appetizing meal. "I mean, I… It feels nice. Because it doesn't feel like you're just trying to use me."

Come now, do contain yourself. Jameson was admitting his heartfelt trust, and William, while not attempting to violate it, was already deep in imagining what might come of such a scenario.

Because Jameson was vulnerable, he would be so easy to take advantage of. William had no desire to do such a thing, but he had seen enough of the aftermath of situations like Jameson's that he knew what and how it was possible—their second tryst while Jameson had been vulnerable and, though he'd asked for it, seemed to be toeing the line now that he'd considered it. Jameson had been in an awful situation, had been already taken advantage of, and William had pulled him from that darkness. It would be no difficult of a matter to make Jameson indebted to him, to have that beauty at his beck and call.

William had sent people to their deaths for far less.

"If I were to ever do such a thing," William said, metering out each word to show his utmost sincerity, "I should hope that you would take the vengeance upon me that I deserve." He would even take the retribution for the actions of Jameson's patron, if that were what it took to ensure that Jameson could maintain his freedom.

Jameson's eyes went wide, as if he hadn't even considered such a possibility. That was what made the situation dangerous, what made everything so precarious in their balance, because the simplest of moves could create a dependency that William did not wish to instil.

It did not stop him from wanting, though.

"I…" Jameson rolled the stem of his water glass between his fingers, too preoccupied to worry about things like manners. William did nothing more than file the information as a piece of data to process about Jameson's mental state, a catalogue of which words elicited which responses, creating the ideal map to keep Jameson comfortable and heading in the right direction. "I want to believe that you won't do such a thing." Wanted to believe, not that he had that full trust already. "But I've been burned from my trust before. I think I am wary enough to notice if something should be amiss." He took a controlled sip from his glass, and then those still damp lips formed a smile that was either genuine or well-rehearsed enough to appear so without a fault. "But it does not change the fact that, while my reputation is already tarnished beyond repair, I don't wish to drag you down with me, either, William."

"There is nowhere to be dragged down to, Jameson," William said, and that slapped shock into Jameson's expression all over again, though it was a much more subtle variant. "I would be honoured to associate myself with you."

"But I'm—" His eyes darting across the room, Jameson seemed to decide that whatever he was about to say wasn't appropriate for public, and he instead took a steadying breath. "I'm grateful for you giving me a fresh start," he said, his voice sombre, "but even if others may not know what I am, I am more than aware of those facts than anyone else. It is not something that can be erased."

Frowning, William attempted to provide some reassurance, but soon their waiter was offering dessert, and the moment to speak on the matter passed without an opportunity to reclaim it.

Jameson had not expected Whitechapel to change all that much, but the fact that it had not shifted in the slightest over the past eight years was almost depressing. Oh, there were differences, yes—no place was ever in complete stagnation—but most of the changes were in the matter of places falling more apart than any sort of helpful renovation or update to better the life of the residents there.

At the very least the roads were still recognizable, which made it an easy matter to navigate the familiar streets. Before Stratford had ever even known he'd existed, Jameson had run about the East End with full abandon, marking out adventures with the other kids his age, and he had embroiled the places in his memory, as such that it was difficult to not run towards his old home.

Acting in such a manner would have made him stand out, but at least his attire was not contributing to such a thing. William had already taken care of the preparations, trading out their fineries for the more casual wear of the working classes, the thin fabrics doing just enough to make the chill of the day manageable. For not having been subjected to such unfavourable conditions in years, Jameson adjusted back to it well enough, as if he'd never set a single foot outside the place of his birth.

If that isn't proof that I belong here, then I don't know what is.

But Jameson was not returning to the embrace of his past home forever, nor was he returning alone. Both William and Louis had chosen to escort them, the brothers also in much more casual dress. Though the two of their looks were more than well complimented by their crisp tailored suits, neither of them seemed uncomfortable in the more threadbare coats and flat caps. Without a tie, William's collar was open, and Jameson had to keep his eyes locked forward so he wouldn't be distracted enough by the sight of that pale throat and all the possibilities it offered.

There was one thing that Jameson had neglected to mention before: that though he didn't feel as if William were using him, that didn't mean that Jameson didn't feel as if he were capable of using William instead.

That is not what you are here for today. Focus. Making up an excuse to have William in more casual clothes hadn't even occurred to Jameson, though it might in the future. No, Jameson's intention was to see if his old home was still standing, to see if anyone he remembered was still there. Tucked away in his fancy cage of Stratford's care, Jameson hadn't had a single opportunity to see how things were, but even that place hadn't eliminated the understanding that death clung to the poor as if it were an ever-present shroud. Everyone could be as they were, or they all could be dead; both those options and all the possibilities in between were still on the table.

And then when the final streetcorner approached, Jameson's metered pace slowed to a much more sluggish crawl. With everything he had gone through, it was difficult to tell which parts were real and which were imagined. Were the past eight years an illusion he'd endured; after all, what person would ever put someone through such a thing? Was the time he'd spent as a child under his mother's loving care real, or just a comforting story he could tell himself while he suffered?

What would he do if the history remembered was one he couldn't verify?

Who are you, Jameson Liam Verity?

The change in the clip of his stride meant that it wasn't difficult at all for William to catch up to his side. Jameson made himself keep moving, rounding the corner, but he employed a steadfast refusal to look at where the familiar building would stand further down the street. Such a thing, of course, would not escape William's sharp notice. "Jameson, is something the matter?"

"I haven't been here in almost a decade," he said, and that struck him as strange to admit. He'd spent more than half his life in Whitechapel, but soon that time would roll over, the rest of his experiences eclipsing his origins. "I know it's impossible to achieve, but I'm still clinging to some hope that everything will be as I left it." Even if there was no way to achieve the true image he had in his mind, that of his mother welcoming him home with a hug and a smile.

"I can relate. It is a strange feeling." Right, William had been adopted as well. Albert hadn't divulged all the details of his younger brothers' past, but it wouldn't be all that impossible to imagine William and Louis also taking a trip to their childhood home; they had more than enough means. "I'm sure that anyone who remembers you will be glad to see you."

If there's anyone there to remember me. If they can get over the fact that I've been torn apart from the inside out. No, Jameson promised himself, he wouldn't let anyone here know what would happen. No one would forgive themselves if they thought the salvation they'd ushered Jameson toward had been a hell instead. "I can do nothing else but hope that is the case."

Knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, Jameson looked up, and his heart ceased in his chest. To call the place a brothel would not be accurate; no it was a lodging house on paper, and it served business in that area as well. People could pay to spend a night, even without the offering of another human body beside them, and the expense was cheap enough to serve the people. It was musty, and run down in places, a few windows covered over with boards instead of replacing the glass, but it was there, and it hadn't gone anywhere at all. Jameson had, against all odds, made it home.

The warmth of near tears welled up inside him, and Jameson felt like a child again, a thirteen-year-old with such a limited view of the world. Louis stayed a bit behind them, but William was at Jameson's side, and he offered an encouraging smile. If the place was home—if he could still call it home—then could he just walk inside?

"Whatever you're afraid of happening," William said, "the one way to find out if it will happen is by opening the door," and he was right.

Jameson pushed open the door, it swinging open with ease. It was a boarding house, after all, and it wouldn't do much good to lock potential customers in or out. But a few people were about, most of them already having gone out to earn the money necessary to have another room available to them when the night came. It was such a stark opposition to Jameson—who had the freedom to go visit Whitechapel for fun and go back to a soft bed without ever lifting a finger for work.

Why? Because I happened to look a certain way? Because I was lucky enough to cross the path of a kind stranger? The sensation crawled over his skin, clammy and shameful that he, through no effort had been propelled into much better circumstances than the ones he'd been born into.

"You lot just gonna stand in the doorway, or are you gonna let me know if you're worth the business?" a woman said, striding from the direction of the small dining area in the back. She was, as to be expected of such a place, beautiful, her dark hair swept up into a ponytail that flowed like silk. She looked rather healthy, too, though Jameson recognized the slightest mismatch of colour between her face and neck that indicated some coverup was at play, and the shape of her frame had a brittleness to it that reminded Jameson of how very easy it was for one person to break another into pieces. The wary look in the woman's eyes didn't help.

It also didn't help that Jameson didn't know who she was.

It made sense. Pretty young women were the best to put up front, and age was a progression you couldn't stop. New faces were bound to crop up in eight years, and not all of them would be children that Jameson had grown up with, either. It was just disconcerting to feel so disconnected from a place that he should have belonged to.

"Apologies," William said, stepping forward and responding whenever Jameson's mouth ran dry and failed to provide anything close to an answer. "We do hate to impose, but we're interested in meeting with someone today."

Those words could be taken in a very different way thanks to their current location, and the brunette didn't look in the slightest bit impressed by a group of three men seeming to be there to request a single prospect. Still, she didn't seem opposed to the possibility of some extra coin, as indicated by her acceptance of a shining coin that traded hands too fast for Jameson to notice the worth. "Hope you're not expectin' the change for that," she said, drawling out each word as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Who're you lot looking for?"

William glanced to Jameson, who managed to part his lips and say, "Miss Penny." The childish referral slipped off his tongue, earning him a raised eyebrow, though maybe that was more for the nature of the request. Jameson wanted to retreat from the hard stare the woman pressed him with, but he forced himself to maintain it as he added, "If you tell her Jameson, Verity's boy is here, I'm sure she'll understand."

There wasn't a single trace of recognition in the woman's dark brown eyes, and that stung, too. The two of them exchanged glances for a while before she sighed, jerking her head over her shoulder. "Go wait in the dinin' area. I'll see if the madam thinks she's worth your time." And then she spun off in a swirl of skirts, navigating the halls with an ease that Jameson was no longer permitted to explore himself.

"We best not cause any trouble now," William said, resting his hand against Jameson's forearm. Not having any issue with the contact, Jameson let William guide him along. It was nothing but the even cadence of footsteps that indicated that Louis was following as well. "It sounds like who you were hoping to see is still here, dear."

The tender endearment did nothing to help Jameson settle his nerves. "That or she's going to tell someone there's a group of fools with money to burn." He would have been suspicious if he were in the woman's position. In an unnecessary gesture, William pulled out a wooden chair for Jameson to sit into, the legs wobbling as he deposited his weight into it. William then claimed the seat at Jameson's side for himself, while Louis took the spot across from his brother, though those wine-red eyes were scanning the room as if assessing for a potential threat, despite there being nothing more than a few late risers munching on their morning bread or chatting over a shared pack of cigarettes. "You gotta know that if you go flashing that much money in a place like this, you're asking for someone to snatch your coin purse."

"Yes, I'm well aware." Neither William's voice nor his smile contained the slightest bit of concern for the prospect. "But acting as if I don't know makes us seem much less threatening, doesn't it?" Which was a fair point, and one that Jameson didn't have a counterargument for. "You just handle what you need to do, Jameson. Should anything happen, Louis and I are more than capable of taking care of it."

Given William's physique, Jameson shouldn't have been surprised by such a statement; if nothing else, he had ample physical strength at his disposal. Could Jameson take that as evidence enough that Louis, too, was in similar shape? He casted an appraising glance at the man, but it was difficult to tell, even with his lighter dress for the day.

Louis caught onto Jameson's gaze without a single moment of being left unawares. "You don't handle the sorts of things that we do without being at least proficient in defending yourself," Louis said, which, much like what William had said before, also made perfect sense.

There was so much that Jameson didn't know, and the gap to filling that seemed to be even greater than before.

"Jameson?" a familiar yet aged voice asked, and Jameson looked up. Madame Penny, with her straw-blonde hair and blue eyes stood there, staring in ample disbelief. The pace of her breath suggested that she had rushed downstairs, and she was almost a picture-perfect recreation of Jameson's memory, save for the deepened crows-feet around her eyes and the additional age lines across her cheeks. Still, she was imposing, beautiful, and home all at once, and Jameson's breath caught in his throat, bringing his entire existence to a standstill. "Oh, Jameson, it is you!"

Penny rushed across the room, and soon Jameson was swept up into a hug that he had no time to brace himself for. He couldn't stop the initial flinch at the contact, but soon the warm scent of a familiar presence stilled his nerves, instead making away for a hot rush of tears. Jameson wanted to be a child again, wanted to wail into Penny's skirts like he'd done in the few years between his mother's passing and his adoption, but the prospect of breaking down in such a public place felt atrocious.

Jameson's emotions seemed to have other ideas, if the sniffle he let out was any indication.

No, don't, don't do it, you can't let her know what you went through, you just can't, control yourself!

Tapping into that place inside him that had kept him from shattering the past several years, Jameson took another deep breath and summoned up his smile. "Miss Penny, you're going to smother me."

"I haven't seen you in years. I have every right to smother you." Jameson breathed out a sigh and let himself remain in the embrace for as long as Penny preferred, which happened to be a handful of minutes. That was fine by him, seeing as it gave him more time to get himself together. By the time that Penny had taken Jameson's face in her hands to get a better look at him, he'd assembled a smile that managed to be more genuine than fake. "Look at how you've grown up! Goodness, just yesterday you weren't even up to my knees…"

"If you talk like that in front of others, you'll embarrass me." Penny seemed to at last recognise the other two men with him. If she felt any surprise at the presence of two rather attractive men following Jameson around, then the years in her line of work had wiped any outward expressions of such from her repertoire. "Still, I'm glad to see you. You're just as beautiful as ever."

Penny blushed, waving a hand through the air. "Now, it doesn't do any good to have a silver tongue like that," she said, though Jameson knew well enough that she was responsive to the praise. "Still, I haven't heard from you in such a long time. Whatever are you doing back here?"

"Well, before I was too far away to see you. But I'm more than old enough to travel on my own to take a trip whenever I want now." Jameson made a point of not looking at William or Louis while he said it, though he knew they must have noticed the lie. "I wanted to see how you and everyone else were doing, since I missed you. Is everything alright? Do you need help with anything. I have—" Remembering where he was, Jameson lowered his voice. "I can donate to you. If you need it."

He hadn't come to Whitechapel with that intent, but Jameson realised he meant it the moment the words left his mouth. Within the past week, the processing of Stratford's will had moved forward, and it wouldn't be long before Jameson had the viscount's fortune for his own. Some of that would be going towards the Moriartys, yes, as payback for taking care of him, but why not give to the people who had taken care of him first? He could give Penny more than enough that she could live the rest of her life in comfort, without ever scrambling for food or shelter again. Jameson knew he would have leapt at the opportunity offered to him back then.

He'd done it, after all, chased after that opportunity without any foresight for the consequences that could follow.

And yet Penny didn't give an answer right away, instead letting out an affectionate sigh. "I should've known that you'd come back to say something like that," she said, and Jameson blinked. Even after all these years, she was more than capable of seeing right through him. "Come along, boyo. If we're going to talk about these things, you should come upstairs. As for your friends…"

"Ah, apologies for skipping over introductions. This is William, and this is Louis."

"Charmed," William said with that heart-stopping smile on his face, and Louis gave a polite nod in recognition. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring the both of them along; even when dressed to blend in, their handsome looks were enough to make them memorable. At least Albert hadn't also joined them; that would just be a dangerous trifecta. "If you need some privacy to discuss matters, it isn't a trouble at all."

Louis's eyes flashed across the table, and Jameson held back his swallow. To let him go unsupervised was an exceptional amount of trust, and William was just handing it off without a moment's hesitation. Jameson didn't intend to do such a thing, but it would be easy to run away; Miss Penny would help him with whatever he asked. And then Jameson would be a liability that knew a handful of their secrets with no supervision. "It's okay," Jameson said to Penny. "They can come along; I trust them."

Besides, if I'm going to be sending them money here, it's not like the others won't know about it anyways.

Penny gave the Moriarty brothers another appraising glance before nodding her approval. "If you trust them, sweetie, I don't mind. Come on, we can use my room. It's in the same place as ever…"

And with that, she was leading the way. Jameson hopped out of his seat to follow, feeling as much like a duckling following after its mother as ever. William and Louis fell into step behind them, and soon they were climbing up the familiar stairs. While the banister had been replaced, it seemed that the fourth stair up and the third stair from the top still squeaked if you stepped on the dead centre. Jameson avoided the spots out of habit, but he could hear them creaking from the two sets of feet following behind him.

It was almost enough to make him want to come back and never leave again.

You deserve better than this kind of life, sweetie. Go ahead and live in comfort. Your mama would want the same for you.

At least, unlike before, staying with the Moriartys would be safe. It had to be safe, or Jameson wouldn't be able to take it.

He shoved those thoughts away, instead preparing himself for a different set of negotiations. Miss Penny wouldn't even let Jameson suggest returning to Whitechapel, but at least he could send some money their way. Hell, he could buy the whole building out and make sure every woman and girl who had to use it as their central location could live without ever needing to work another day of their lives. That was something he didn't want to compromise on.

And, judging by the look on Miss Penny's face as she sat down behind her desk (which was just a cobbled together table, but its purpose was clear), she wasn't about to compromise, either.

"Alright, Jameson," she said as Louis shut the door behind him, "what's this nonsense about you giving us some of your wealth?"

"It's not nonsense," he said, determined not to be on the defensive the whole time. No, he was going to take control of the conversation. "I have far more than enough money to live on, and that's even at a high quality of life. I wouldn't be giving anything up if I helped you, too. I can survive the rest of my life on what I have, and keeping that all to myself is ridiculous. You all helped take care of me; I want to repay that." And then, because there was no point in holding back all his cards, "You can either accept it upfront, or you can start receiving anonymous donations." Jameson wasn't above hiring a girl for the evening and giving her a ridiculous amount of money in the process. "Your choice."

"I didn't send you off to some fancy noble just to make you pay us back. Besides, your mother did more than enough to contribute. Like hell I need paid off to take care of her child." Penny crossed her legs and folded her hands over the table. "I take care of people who need it. You don't owe me anything."

"And you can take care of more people if you take the damn money." There was something that people didn't get: that prostitution paid well enough to keep someone in good shape, even in a place as run down as the East End. Oh, it was nothing compared to what nobles enjoyed, but it was something, and it could keep a person afloat. But when it came down to taking care of others—children that were too young to make do such work, women that couldn't take it anymore—you needed far more resources. Add in the fact that a sex worker's income was often connected to her appearance, which meant they had a limited number of working years in them, it could be much more difficult to keep everyone fed and housed, even if you accounted for the number of people that might die due to illness or injury.

Or other unfortunate circumstances.

"I already know that you're going to refuse to leave here," Jameson continued; he'd been imagining Penny's responses the whole week, and he didn't have the capacity to convince her otherwise. "No matter what, you're going to look after whoever you can. And I know I can't fix everything with money, but I can at least make it easier to feed everyone. I don't…I don't want to just live in luxury anymore whenever I can help you."

Penny sighed. "You sure are your mother's child, aren't you?" As far as Jameson was concerned, that was the highest compliment possible. "If you're going to push through, there are some rules." Jameson nodded; he'd take conditions over an all-out refusal. "You can send us money, but I'm setting an upper limit."

"But then what's the—"

"Quiet down a moment and let me talk." Ah, even when he was an adult, that tone still made him snap to attention. It was no wonder that Miss Penny had been in charge since before Jameson had even been born. "This ain't a nice neighbourhood to live in. You know that. What do you think is gonna happen if we start dragging in a bunch of money? My girls can take care of themselves, but if someone wanted to overwhelm us with brute force, there wouldn't be much we could do to stop them." Just the thought of such a thing happening made Jameson's stomach twist in discomfort. If he caused something like that, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. "So, yes, I'm putting a limit on your spending. But if there's anyone else I think would do better out of here, I'll let you sponsor them." Due to his own circumstances, Jameson hadn't even considered doing such a thing, but there would be a difference. After everything he'd gone through, he'd never make anyone else live through it. "Money helps, but you can't fix the world by throwing enough coin at it. If that were the case, it'd be a much different place, sweetie."

Jameson looked down, trying to contain the disappointment dwelling within him. The terms weren't bad, and he was still going to be able to help. He'd just hoped to help a lot more. If I can't even take care of the people I care about, what good is inheriting that bastard's money, anyways?

And then a hand lighted on his shoulder, and Jameson recognized William at his side far later than he should have. "You don't need to look so disappointed, Jameson. I know it's not much in comparison to your total wealth, but even that little bit can make a drastic difference." William squeezed Jameson's shoulder. "You're going to be in a position to help plenty of people, remember?"

We're going to change the world, he'd said with utter confidence. Jameson had been too caught up in himself to recognize that there was more he could do. If they could succeed in that regard, then Miss Penny and everyone else…

The matron's sharp blue eyes didn't miss the casual touch between the two of them, and Jameson tried to not squirm under the recognition to make it obvious. Miss Penny's line of work meant she didn't judge in that regard, but it seemed just the slightest bit mortifying to have it be clear how far they'd gone together. "And what's your role in all this, boy?" she asked, tone as piercing as ever.

William had an expression that was the perfect illustration of innocence; such was its effectiveness that Jameson almost believed it, even if he knew far better. "I'm just here to help Jameson be able to accomplish what he desires," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Whatever it is he wishes to do, I will do my best to assist."

Miss Penny's stern expression didn't waver in the slightest. "And that would be because?"

"Because he deserves whatever freedom is available to him." William's voice was soft, and Jameson glanced to him, trying to figure out why. If nothing else, the expression on his face seemed genuine enough, but that made his motivations all the harder for Jameson to decipher. "If I'm not mistaken, you also think the same, ma'am?"

Not even bothering to give a response—though Jameson knew the answer would be yes, and he suspected William knew it, too—Miss Penny next asked, "And that one behind you?"

Jameson didn't bother to look back at Louis, already able to imagine the near glower on his face. For a moment, William's pleasantness flickered, as if he was well aware of what must be happening. "You'll have to forgive my brother. He's a bit tense being somewhere unfamiliar." That was a generous assessment, and everyone in the room had to be well aware of it. "Rest assured, Jameson is in good hands."

Miss Penny's eyes flickered across to Jameson again. "Is that true, Jameson?"

"Yes." His answer came without hesitation, because he believed it. "I've been doing well since I left, Miss Penny. There's nothing that you need to worry about." And just like any other time he pulled himself together, Jameson mustered up a smile that ensured that no one could see through to the lie underneath. "I'll be staying in London from here on out now, so I'll be sure to come by and visit often, if that would help you feel better."

"I'd appreciate it, sweetie." It seemed that Jameson's approach had worked, since any of the seriousness drained out of Miss Penny's expression as she stood from her seat and offered out her arms. Jameson had missed her far too much to even contemplate refusing the embrace, and he crossed the room to accept the hug. It was strange, being about the same height as her, how thin Miss Penny now felt in his arms in comparison to when he'd been a child. "You keep taking care of yourself, Jameson. And you two," she said to William and Louis, "if anything happens to this boy, you'll have to answer to me."

"Don't worry, ma'am," William said with utmost seriousness, "I plan to keep Jameson as safe as possible."

"You lied back there."

Louis's voice was quiet, but the accusation was more than obvious in it, even amongst the clopping hoofbeats of the horse drawing their carriage. The negotiations about the lodging house complete, the three of them had hailed a cab to take back close to Moriarty Manor, though they would walk the rest of the way, just for security purposes.

"Louis," William said, and there was a gentle pressure in his voice, too, "I don't think that something like that—"

"Please don't worry about it, William," Jameson said, not wanting to be the catalyst for a potential argument between brothers. He felt exhausted, though it was far more from the mental exertion he'd put forth than any of the travel on foot through the East End. Even so, he wasn't so worn out that he couldn't manage to stick up for himself. "Now, Louis, what is it that you're so worried about my lying over?"

Louis didn't seem to appreciate Jameson's much more casual tone. "You know what," he said, and Jameson did. He just didn't know how in the world that happened to concern Louis. "You told her that you've been fine since you left, like you didn't have any issue with your life." Jameson couldn't deny that, though he supposed he should be grateful that Louis hadn't called him out in front of Miss Penny. That would have been an awful situation to navigate. "Excuse me if I find it difficult to trust someone who'd lie to the person that helped raise them."

Ah, so that one action was to be a further point in Louis's ongoing suspicion. "As I told you, you're free to think what you like." Louis clicked his tongue, and William pursed his lips. Undaunted, Jameson flipped a hand through the air. "But what good would telling her the truth do? Whenever that bastard came to adopt me, Miss Penny encouraged it, since he could give me a more comfortable life than she could. If she knew, then she'd just blame herself for everything I went through, though it wasn't her fault." No, it was no one's fault but the perpetrators'. Hell, at the start, it had been nothing more than a better life, and there weren't any warning signs.

Jameson would know, seeing as he'd combed over every memory, trying to find something that should have cued him to the fate he'd found himself in. But there was nothing, nothing, nothing, and there was no need to burden someone else with that truth.

The smile slipped onto his face, and Jameson could tell it was much more twisted of an expression than he allowed himself. "Besides," he continued, not bothering to stop though Louis's expression showed that he was somewhat conflicted, "if I told her that, she'd have been much harsher with the two of you. I figured you wouldn't appreciate the extra scrutiny, considering the circumstances." It crossed Jameson's mind that those words might have sounded like extortion to some ears, but it was too late to take it all back. "Not to mention that if Miss Penny knew, she'd be even less willing to accepr my donations. And seeing as I can't change the system right away, I at least want to give them all something better."

They all deserved such things, much more than Jameson did.

"There's no reason to be so wary, Louis," William said, filling in the silence. Each of the three of them was stubborn enough in their own right, so Jameson didn't bother to cut William off. "A lie like that is rather kind, all things considered. Besides, it's Jameson's right to decide who he wishes to share such information with. It isn't our place to judge, alright?"

For a moment, Jameson thought that Louis might continue to argue, but it seemed that William was an effective damper on such feelings, seeing as Louis let out a long sigh. "If you say so, Brother," he said with a tired sort of resignation. "I'm just saying that if I knew I could have been told something like that and I found out later, I wouldn't be pleased at all."

"Well that's an easy enough problem to solve," Jameson said, not letting his sharp smile falter in the slightest as he made his intentions clear, "so long as I make sure she doesn't ever have a reason to know."

The timing of their trip meant that Louis had yet to go shopping for dinner, so he left the manor almost as soon as they all arrived. Though Jameson didn't feel all that out of place in his more working-class ensemble, William went to change back into his usual clothes, so Jameson did the same thing. Once he was done, he picked up his journal (just so he could have it for when he was done with business) and headed towards the library.

Jameson may have inherited a large sum of money from Stratford, and the Moriartys' connections meant that he would soon be in full possession of those resources. However, Jameson had never had free range of such things before, and managing them was a different matter. If he were to both pay back the Moriartys and send regular coin to Whitechapel, he needed to know how to handle all the technical details. Lucky for him, William was more than willing to teach him, even with his busy schedule.

That said, it would have made even more sense to learn from Louis, seeing as he was the one in charge of his family's finances, but William had been kind enough not to suggest such an alternative in the first place.

And so the two of them once more rendezvoused in the library, both of them in seats around the same worktable that Jameson had used before. William had been considerate enough to start tea, and, with the addition of his own blanket after the latest shopping trip with Albert, Jameson was rather comfortable in comparison to the cold outside. The drink also had the benefit of keeping Jameson alert through the instruction, though that might have also been contributed to the alluring properties of William's voice.

"…So that should be what you need to know for this much," William said, finishing his explanation. It had been clear and concise, and Jameson had followed along well enough. With the help of the few scribbled notes that his journal now held, Jameson felt confident he could make do without running himself into bankruptcy. "Once your inheritance is settled in full, we can establish some investments to earn you further capital, but you don't need to concern yourself with much more. We can also save a full audit of your sources of income later, too, but you should be in a good enough position for what you wish to accomplish." Jameson nodded, torn between a distaste for combing over his former patron's business ventures and the possibility of having more private lessons from William when the time came. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask about?"

"No, no, that should be all." Jameson pulled the sheets of paper they'd spread out into a pile, tapping them against the table to keep the edges in line. "I can't thank you enough, William. I wouldn't be able to do this without you."

"Now that's not true. I can tell you're a sharp man, Jameson. You would have been able to figure things out even without my guidance."

The compliment set off a warm feeling inside Jameson's chest, but he still shook his head. "I mean, I think I could. If I had to. But I mean today…" He inhaled, the memory of entering his old home coming back to him, and it was almost like he was still standing there he could smell the remnants of breakfast and smoke and that low undercurrent of sex all over again. "I'm sure if you didn't encourage me, I would've just talked myself out of going. And you even…when Louis asked…" He swallowed, his voice trembling as he admitted, "I didn't just lie for Miss Penny's sake."

"I didn't just lie for Miss Penny's sake." William had suspected as much, but he hadn't seen the point in bringing it up in front of Louis, not when he and Jameson were both so guarded in front of each other. Jameson looked down, not willing to look William in the eye. "I lied because I was scared."

It wouldn't do any good to come across as accusatory, so William kept his voice soft. "Scared of what?"

"Scared that if she knew what he'd been through, she'd look at me with disgust." Putting that much into words must have been difficult, but Jameson chuckled, the sound empty of anything even resembling joy or amusement. "It's foolish. I know she wouldn't. Not just because she's a prostitute, but because she loves me. No matter what, she'd never blame me. But if she did, I…I wouldn't be able to take it."

William could understand that much. Penny was one of the few tethers that Jameson still had to his childhood, and the fear of losing that so soon after getting it back would be difficult. "Even if that's the case," William said, "I still stand by my earlier statement. You shouldn't feel obligated to share the full extent of what you went through with anyone. You can choose when to tell people, or you can choose to not tell them at all. That's a right you have. So don't feel guilty for deciding to hold back for the time being."

A jade green eye peeked at William through copper bangs. "And what if I hold back forever?"

"Then that will be okay, so long as it's what you want to do."

Jameson let out a breath, but there was the faint curl of a smile on his lips. That seemed like victory enough. "Goodness, you always seem to have the right thing to say." William was glad that Jameson felt that way, seeing as navigating the scenario felt like balancing on a tightrope some days. He went to respond, but then the gentle brush of fingers across his cheek stole away any possibility of words forming in his mouth. Jameson's look was admiring, as if he were observing a work of art. "I want to kiss you. As thanks."

William's first instinct was to close the distance between them both then and there, and it felt like a miracle that he managed to maintain his composure long enough to say, "You don't owe me that, Jameson."

"I know. That was just the first excuse I could think of." Jameson had stood from his chair, though he was still leaning over to keep the two of them at an equal eye level. William kept his gaze steady, not wanting to look away out of respect for Jameson's intentions. "I want to, William. So may I?"

"By your leave, dear," he said in the most inviting tone he could muster, and Jameson did just that. The first kiss remained chaste, but the second one didn't, hot tongue pressing into his mouth, and whenever Jameson's knee landed on the chair between William's legs, William leaned his head back to provide a better angle. Jameson's hand fisted into William's vest, and William allowed himself to grab onto the other man's sleeve, the sound of one's pleased moan following the other. It was oh so tempting to relinquish any form of self-control, but William schooled himself into following Jameson's pace, though it seemed to be picking up without any sign of slowing down once those lips left William's own, instead finding delicious purchase against his neck.

Jameson's hands were ready to pull apart his collar and tie, granting him even more skin to indulge in. "Why is it," he said between kisses, "that you manage to be compelling with even the slightest change in your dress?"

Remembering his earlier ensemble, William couldn't help but chuckle. "I believe I could say the same about you." Being careful not to disrupt Jameson's work, William ran a finger down the side of Jameson's own neck, earning a shudder. "Though I feel I should let you know that you don't need to sneak glances at me. Feel free to look as much as you like." Jameson's face was flushed, and he pulled in for another full-mouthed kiss that William suspected was for the purposes of silencing him out of pure embarrassment. It just made him want to fluster Jameson even more, and the laugh he released into their kiss seemed to serve that purpose just fine. Extracting himself, William set his mouth right by the shell of the other man's ear and purred, "Jameson."

The reaction was an exquisite half-whimper, further cementing William's theory that hearing his name called was one of Jameson's preferences. Since he was there already, he repeated Jameson's earlier pattern of kisses down the neck, though, out of consideration for dinner that night, he refrained from leaving marks behind. Right now, he was following Jameson's pace, and he wouldn't take more than he was allowed, though he was working on the assumption that he could give Jameson as much as he gave.

I came up with lots of ideas of things to try, too! Jameson had said in the dark, giddy on wine as a precursor to his promising whisper: Lots of them involve you.

Yes, and there are many things I'd like to try with you, too. To have such a ready opportunity to attempt some of them was not something William was going to pass up, not when Jameson had taken the initiative. Jameson's tie came apart with the whisper of silk against silk, and the tiny buttons along his collar popped free seconds afterwards. Still keeping himself from going too far, William pulled Jameson flush to his chest, continuing to wind his tongue down the centre of Jameson's neck and into the hollow between his collarbones. William's hand slid up Jameson's spine, and the other man's breath caught as he gripped onto the shoulders of William's jacket, his body soon taut and rigid.

Not wanting to see what he would find, William pulled his head back anyways, looking up to Jameson's face. His eyes had squeezed shut, and there was a tension in his jawline that hadn't been there before. Disappointment swirled in William's mind, but he set it aside for the time being. "Jameson," he said, keeping his voice even, "do you want me to stop?"

There was a long pause, the silence stretching out. And then, his eyes still closed, Jameson nodded.

William brought himself to total stillness, not intending to fight in the slightest. "Whatever you like." That was a promise he intended to keep to the fullest. "But you should say it, Jameson. It will have more meaning to you that way."

Jameson trembled a bit, but he managed to part his lips. "S-stop," he said, his voice shaking. "I-I want to stop." William let his hands fall to his sides, giving Jameson plenty of room to back away. He dropped back down into his chair, and William retrieved his fallen blanket, offering it out. Jameson accepted it, wrapping the covering around his shoulders as he hunched over in his seat. "I hate this."

"Hate what, Jameson?"

"I hate that I can't forget." Jameson spat out the words, and William waited and listened, not wanting to interrupt. "I want you. I want to. But then I remember their hands on me, and I just…" He let out a frustrated growl. "I want it to go away so I can enjoy myself, but it doesn't work like that, and I hate it!"

Such words were enough to make William want to provide Jameson with a hug, but such things wouldn't be favourable just then. He'd have to make do with words. "I cannot say that I can empathize with what you're experiencing, since I've been fortunate to never have to go through such a thing. But I can say that what you feel is more than understandable, Jameson." Jameson looked up to him, frustration still draining into his face. "I think that you even have such desires in the first place is proof enough that you'll be able to act on them soon enough. And remember: you made the choice to kiss me." He offered a smile, as paltry as it seemed for a form of reassurance. "If you should still desire me when you feel safe enough to continue, then know that I am more than willing."

"…This is the second time I've started something without following through, though."

"Are you worried that I'll think you a tease?" Jameson waved a hand to indicate somewhat. "Shall I let you in on a secret, then? Even if you don't proposition me, Jameson, I'll still want you anyways. That's my responsibility to handle, not yours. I'd much rather have you enjoy yourself than press while you're uncomfortable." And while he should have thought better of it before he spoke, William continued on to say, "Besides, if you take more time, that just gives me more time to devise a way to drive you mad with pleasure when the time comes."

Jameson had been somewhat flushed before, but that statement was enough to turn his entire countenance a red deep enough to put the blanket over his shoulders to shame. That alone was satisfying enough for the day. Still, he managed to regain his composure enough to give William an alluring smile. "I'll be sure to return the favour, then." William took a deep breath to further steady himself, and it was just as quick as Jameson's confidence came that it flittered away. "Ah, before, that first time, when you helped me put myself together… I think I can handle that."

It took William a few seconds longer than it should have to recall what Jameson meant, and then it occurred to him. "You'd like me to fix your tie for you?" Jameson nodded, and William couldn't help but smile in amusement. "If that's what you want, who would I be to refuse?" Besides, something simple like that would help Jameson further consider William to be a safe presence, which could help eliminate such hiccups in the future.

Perhaps because it could lead to fingers touching the skin, Jameson redid the buttons of his collar himself. When that task was done, though, he adjusted the blanket so that William had full access to the ribbon still hanging off his shoulders. Their previous interactions had led to some distance between their chairs, and William scooted his seat closer so he could reach without any issues. Jameson let out a small breath whenever William took the neckpiece into his hands, but his reaction was nowhere near as extreme as before, so William continued with the task until it was impossible to tell by looking at Jameson that he'd been in a near tryst at all.

And yet Jameson still continued to look at him, expectation making his eyes sparkle, and William did his best to restrain the laugh that almost bubbled out of him. "Did you want to fix me up as well?" he asked.

"May I?"

"I'd just as much welcome you dressing me as I would you undressing me, I'll have you know." William paused. "Forgive me if that's too much—"

"I-it's fine. I like hearing it." Well, if Jameson were to give him that permission, who would William be to refuse that permission? Adjusting his blanket so it wouldn't slip away, it was Jameson's turn to shuffle closer, and William let him have the buttons as well. It was soon apparent that Jameson was much less experienced in putting clothes on someone else than he was taking them off, but that was no matter as far as William was concerned. Jameson completed the job, though there was a frown on his face by the end. "It's…harder to do it to someone else than I expected."

William kept his stray thought that Jameson's pout was also adorable to himself. "If it makes you feel better, I used to have to help Louis with his tie all the time. That's where I picked it up." It just so happened that such skills were also applicable in a number of other situations. "If you ever want to practice more, you know where to find me."

"Implying that I also have permission to take it off whenever I like?" Oh, there was that sly side of him, and it was one that William very much approved of. He'd have to give it more opportunities to emerge. "Still, you might want to fix that before we head to dinner. It won't do for you to be anything but presentable." The otherwise they'll know something happened went unsaid. William wasn't opposed to such assumptions being made, but, given the state of mind Jameson was in, he'd be sure to refrain for the evening. Jameson sighed, his expression still somewhat wary. "…Are you certain you're not upset at me, William?"

"How could I be upset whenever you gave me such a delectable treat?" he asked, and Jameson seemed to consider that without an argument. William offered a reassuring smile as he went about adjusting his tie into its proper place. "I think that you'll find I can be rather patient, Jameson. If I consider it foreplay, then that just means I have all the more to look forward to in the future." Satisfied that he no longer looked ruffled, William stood. "I believe I'll clean up after our tea. Would you care to—"

The sound of the door opening stilled the words on William's tongue. After all, the timbre indicated that the action had been conducted in much more of a hurry than usual, as did the footsteps that followed. Seeing as that the Moriartys aimed to keep their library as silent as possible in most cases, it seemed the case was quite serious, or at least urgent enough to permit a dismissal of decorum.

That hypothesis held further water as Albert came into view from between the bookcases, the tension obvious in the crease between his brows. "Brother," William said as Jameson, too, stood up from his seat, "is something the matter?"

"That depends," Albert said, holding up what appeared to be a letter from the morning's post in his hands. William's eyes flicked to his side, half from following the flow of the conversation, half from the sudden grasp that Jameson had taken a hold of his bicep as Albert asked:

"Jameson, are you familiar with the Earl Charleville?"

[Author's Notes]

Hey, look, the main plot thread is surfacing. I swear this isn't just a character study (but it's also kind of that). And we're also almost to the end of the season, too!

Happy slightly belated birthday to Louis, and also the Holmes siblings from even further back in February, whoops.

Bonus props to beta Noiz for looking over this chapter while recovering from being sick. We were both sick between last chapter and this one, and it was kinda sucky, but we pulled through! We're both feeling better now, but damn was it wild that we got sick about the same time when we live states part.

Title of the chapter is from The People's Thieves' "Now That We're Alone."

Next time: His First Bow. Please look forward to it!

-Avi

[02.11.2022]