#the worst versions of it can leave you forgotten/used up/destitute

[shallowseeker]

Here’s the thing. Becoming a joiner is selling your body to war. It’s got implications

[mindfulwrath]

On Lawyers, and the Care and Keeping Thereof

A short fic about how Jekyll and Lanyon came to be friends with Utterson.

Words: 2,530 Pairings: Jekyll/Lanyon Warnings: None

Robert and Henry were traversing the halls of Cambridge arm in arm, as was their wont. It was a chilly October afternoon, after the last class of the day had let out, and Robert had snagged Henry before he could dart off back to his room. Henry had, admittedly, allowed himself to be snagged. Robert had been pining lately, and a little indulgence was called for, although not too much.

Certainly, he wasn't indulging anything of his own; he was not unduly warmed by Robert's presence, nor at all set aflutter by his touch, because—as a gentleman—Henry didn't feel those sorts of things.

"Ah, here we are!" Robert said, coming to a stop in front of a nondescript door. They were in a half-enclosed corridor, barred from a courtyard on one side by Doric columns and a waist-high wall. It was fairly deserted, and nobody was paying them any attention.

"Where is here?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why, you don't know?" said Robert, twinkling. "You really have been spending too much time shut up in your room. Here, after you."

He opened the door and bowed Henry in. Henry spared him a dubious look before stepping inside.

It was a very small room, dim, occupied mainly by rakes and pruning shears. Robert stepped into the room behind him and closed the door. It was a very small room.

"Robert," Henry said.

Robert took his face in his hands and kissed him. Henry's eyes rolled back in his head. He couldn't help it. It was just so damnably good. He hooked his fingers into Robert's waistcoat and pulled him in closer, chest to chest, then draped an arm over his shoulders to keep him there. Robert tangled a hand in Henry's hair and rested the other on the small of his back. His breath was hot in Henry's mouth, intoxicating. Absently, Henry loosened Robert's cravat for him.

"You've been avoiding me," Robert accused, breathless and swaying.

"I've been avoiding everyone," Henry said, although a pang of guilt shot through his chest.

"That's not better," said Robert. He kissed Henry again, deeply, drinking him like fine wine.

"I'll make it up to you," Henry promised, when Robert allowed him to come up for air.

"Yes you bloody will," said Robert. A chill raced up Henry's spine, and he dipped his head to kiss Robert's neck, tugging his high collar aside. Robert's head tipped back obligingly. "And at great length."

Henry bit him, just hard enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. Robert pulled him up by his hair and kissed him again. The two of them overbalanced and Henry's back slammed into the wall. A couple of rakes fell over with a clatter. Henry hooked a leg around Robert's thigh, hopelessly drunk on feeling already.

So much for not too much.

Robert undid the top button of Henry's shirt, tugged his collar aside and suckled at the tender flesh underneath. Henry's head thunked back against the wall, his hips pressed up against Robert's of their own accord. He had to put a hand over his own mouth to keep from moaning aloud.

Suddenly, light burst down over the two of them. Robert yelped, and Henry nearly climbed the wall behind him.

A tall, handsome, dark-skinned man stood in the doorway, his eyes wide as dinner plates. Henry locked up in abject terror.

"Oh!" the man squeaked. "Terribly sorry!" And he shut the door again.

Robert buried his face in Henry's shoulder and laughed while Henry, mortified and paralyzed, could only stand there gawping like a fish out of water. Footsteps hurried away, clicking smartly on the marble floors.

"Stop laughing!" Henry hissed, shaking Robert by the shoulders.

"Oh God, sorry, I'm sorry," Robert said, hiccuping with mirth. "It's only—did you see the look on his face?"

"This isn't funny! We could be expelled!"

"Yes yes, it's dreadfully serious, but Henry, did you see his face?"

And he dissolved into giggles again, helpless.

"Let go of me, you lunatic," Henry said, peeling Robert off of him. "What are we going to do?"

"Oh, heavens, Henry, let's buy the poor man a drink," said Robert, wiping tears from his cheeks. "He—hah—he looked like he might've needed one!"

"Would you please take this seriously!"

"Henry, darling dearest Henry," Robert said, clasping Henry's face in his hands and continuing to choke back laughter. "That was not the face of—hgghk—the face of a man—hee—who was thinking of making trouble. It was not."

Henry glared at him. Robert pecked him on the lips. Henry continued to glare.

"You don't know that," he said. "We don't know who he is, we don't know who he might tell!"

"Oh, do calm down," said Robert, patting his shoulder. "It's smoothed over easily enough. Let's go catch him, he can't've got far."

"Looking like this?" Henry cried, but Robert was already out the door, retying his cravat as he went. Cursing under his breath, Henry made a quick attempt at re-sheveling himself before dashing after him.

"Worse comes to worst, I suppose we could bribe him," Robert mentioned, while Henry hovered at his elbow. "Now, where could he have—ah!"

Before Henry could stop him, Robert was off across the courtyard. Hunched and blushing, Henry scurried along behind him, acutely aware of every gaze that happened to brush against him.

"Sir!" Robert called. "Oh, sir!"

The dark, lanky figure paused, turning back. Between his figure, his long black coat, and his hat, he looked remarkably like an American cowboy. His eyes were still very wide, and only got wider as Robert approached him. Henry wished fervently that he could sink into the ground or, failing that, die instantly.

"My apologies," said Robert, somehow perfectly at ease. "I do hope my friend and I weren't in your way."

"Ah," said the man, looking about as dazed as Henry felt. "Hm. No."

"So sorry, where are my manners?" said Robert. He extended a hand. "Robert Lanyon, and this is my friend, Henry Jekyll."

"Utterson," said the man. "Gabriel . . . Utterson."

He transferred the book he was carrying to his other hand, then shook Robert's hand, and then Henry's. His skin was quite warm. He had the wild-eyed look of a horse about to bolt.

"Gabriel! A pleasure," said Robert. "May I call you Gabriel? Delightful. Henry and I were just talking about how we'd like to buy you a drink, weren't we, Henry?"

"Robert, I am going to kill you," Henry hissed.

"Thank you," Gabriel said carefully, "but no, I couldn't possibly."

"Nonsense! We're all friends here."

To Henry's horror, he clapped the poor fellow on the shoulder and shook him. Gabriel was clutching his book so tightly it had turned his knuckles pale. Gold glinted under his hand.

"It's quite all right," Gabriel said, his voice thin.

"Is that—sorry, is that Kinder- und Hausmärchen?" Henry interrupted.

"What?" said Gabriel. He looked down at the book in his hand like he'd forgotten it was there.

"The Grimms' fairy tales," Henry clarified, in case it was an English version.

"Oh," said Gabriel. "Yes. So it is."

"I've been looking everywhere for a copy, where did you find it?" Henry asked, peering at the cover.

"Ah? It's one of mine," said Gabriel. "I was . . . intending to donate it. Little use for it, now. In law. As I am."

"May I see it?" Henry asked, holding out a hand. After only a momentary hesitation, Gabriel gave him the book.

"For goodness' sake, Henry, can't you go five minutes without stuffing your nose in a book?" Robert asked, teasing.

"No," said Henry, "and especially not this one." He flipped open the cover and nearly squealed in delight. It was an English first edition. He looked back up at Gabriel. "You've read it?"

"Once or twice," Gabriel mumbled, looking anywhere but at Henry.

"God," said Henry, rapturous. "It's illustrated! Are you actually an angel?"

Gabriel muttered unintelligibly, tugging on his ear.

"Why don't we," Robert said, "continue this conversation over dinner, hm? Just the three of us?"

"Yes yes, whatever you say," said Henry, already engrossed in the pages.

"You can see he'd be lost without me," Robert remarked dryly. He flung an arm around Henry's shoulders and started steering him away. "It's imperative to look after him when he gets like this, otherwise he'll forget to eat or sleep."

"Gracious," said Gabriel, who was apparently tagging along as intended.

"God, this is beautiful," Henry muttered. If he wasn't careful, he was going to start crying. "And you were just going to—to give it away?"

"What?" said Gabriel. "Oh. I suppose. Haven't much use for it."

"Use? I don't envy you, then," said Henry. "But I'll buy it off you, if you're determined to be rid of it."

"Oh no you won't," Robert scolded. "We've talked about this, Henry, I'll not have you winding up destitute."

"You needn't worry," said Gabriel. "If he wants it, it's his. Clearly . . . already it's in better hands than mine."

Henry looked up at him, starstruck. The corners of Gabriel's mouth were pinched, a little gleam in his eye.

"Robert, I'm leaving you," Henry said vaguely. "I have to marry this man."

Gabriel went off on a bluster to rival February, and Robert smacked Henry in the back of the head.

"Stop that at once," he admonished. "You've embarrassed the poor fellow, and we've both of us done enough of that for one day."

"But Robert—" Henry pleaded, clutching the book to his chest.

"Yes yes, keep the book, but don't go proposing to strangers, God's sake," said Robert. He looked over Henry's head at Gabriel. "He doesn't mean anything by it."

"Hm," said Gabriel, rubbing his mouth with his thumb. Robert went on talking, and Gabriel caught Henry's eye.

Thank you, Henry mouthed.

Subtly, but with a great deal of gravity, Gabriel winked.

After his fourth glass of wine, Gabriel finally started to loosen up.

"So you're a lawyer, are you?" Robert asked, four glasses deep himself. Henry had not let go of the book yet, but he'd also had his fair share of wine. They were all three in Robert's room, mostly because it was the nicest.

"Nearly," said Gabriel. "Exams and things, you know."

"I daresay you'll make a fine one," said Robert. "I believe I saw you the other day, or a photograph of you."

"Did you?" said Gabriel, frowning.

"Yes, in the dictionary. Right next to lawyer."

"Oh, well," said Gabriel, and muttered at length.

"Robert is a career flatterer," said Henry.

"And Henry is a career recluse who wishes he could be a career flatterer," Robert said, kicking him amicably.

"I'm learning," Henry said, defensive.

"Whatever the both of you are," Gabriel said, "you've got very good taste in wine."

"I have, thank you," Robert said, pressing a hand to his chest. "Henry will drink anything you give him."

"I've got taste," Henry objected.

"A taste for excesses," said Robert, quirking an eyebrow at him. Henry shrank into himself, squirming.

"Very good taste in books," said Gabriel.

Heat rose to Henry's cheeks. He took a sip of his wine to cover his blush. If he drank enough, he'd stop feeling embarrassed altogether—but that would be his taste for excesses coming into play. The wine turned bitter on his tongue.

"One would hope," Robert said. "He spends enough time buried in them."

"Working," Henry mumbled.

"Fairy tales are not working," Robert scoffed.

"That would depend," Gabriel said slowly, "on the work. Hm?"

Robert sighed, rolling his eyes.

"I can see I'll gain no ground against the two of you," he said, flicking a hand theatrically. "Please do go on about your book club, while I drink the rest of this very fine wine."

Henry wrinkled his nose and shifted in his chair, then propped his feet up on Robert's leg.

"If you ever read anything other than party invitations, you might be able to join in," he said.

Robert elbowed him in the shin. "Ever so many parties, none of which you're invited to ever again. I shall have Gabriel come with me instead."

"I?" said Gabriel. Henry couldn't tell if he was affronted or simply shocked.

"You!" said Robert. "And why not? You seem a decent fellow."

"I am not a . . . party fellow," said Gabriel. He took a pen out from his pocket and began fiddling with it.

"No?" said Robert, clapping a hand to his cheek in coquettish shock. "I never would have guessed! And you carry yourself with such aplomb."

"Robert's parties are unbearably dull," said Henry. "You'd fit right in."

"Henry!" Robert cried, scandalized.

"I—oh," said Henry, realizing what he'd said. "I'm sorry, I didn't honestly mean that—"

Gabriel had taken his pen and placed it on his face like a mustache, holding it against his nose by pursing his lips. He wiggled it at Henry with a twinkle in his eye.

"Ever so dull," he said, his mouth pinched to keep the pen in place.

"I do believe he's drunk," said Robert, delighted.

"If he is, it's your fault," said Henry.

"I'd hardly say fault. Would you, Gabriel?"

"No, no," said Gabriel. "Nor drunk."

"That's fixable!" Robert chirped.

"You are truly horrendous."

"I'm bribing him with Claret, Henry, it's an age-old tactic."

"Horrendous and insufferable."

"But effective," said Robert. He turned to Gabriel. "Gabriel, now that we've become better acquainted, I did hope I could ask a small favor of you."

"Oh?" said Gabriel.

"A tiny thing, really," said Robert. "Nearly insignificant. You wouldn't mind not mentioning to anyone what you saw earlier today, would you?"

Gabriel frowned. "I shouldn't have done so in the first place," he said.

Robert grinned at Henry and slapped him on the foot.

"I told you," he said, gloating. Henry put a hand over his eyes.

"I don't," Gabriel went on, "ordinarily go poking about in storage rooms. It's only that I had heard a clatter and thought perhaps something had got trapped inside."

"Oh, bless your darling heart," Robert said. "Henry, I believe we've found the only good man in Cambridge."

"No, no," Gabriel said again, a twinkle in his eye. "For you see, sir, now that I know my silence is worth something to you, I am determined to take advantage of it."

Henry leaned back, going cold in his chest. Robert's ease slipped out of place for just a moment as he winced.

"So much for that, then," he said, brittle. "What's your price?"

"Hm," said Gabriel. He swirled his glass. "Regular payments of fine wine and excellent company, I should think. That would suffice. Yes. I should be hard-pressed to keep quiet about a pair of strangers, but I would never dream of causing any distress to a couple of friends."

Robert blinked at him. Henry laughed, more out of relief than anything.

"You are a twisty man, Mr. Utterson," Robert said.

"I," Gabriel said, eyes a-twinkle, "am a lawyer." He raised his glass to the two of them. "It's what we do."