Chapter Text
"Lady Belle? Lady Belle?" Sneed murmured, his voice as even and as calm as Jack's usually was. Belle had to laugh again.
What alternate world had she crossed into? Where Jack was the emotional one and Sneed the calm one?
Though, she supposed, She wouldn't be anywhere near calm if it were Jack on the table.
"Will she live?" Spoke her mother, who sounded as though she'd just now realised how much danger her daughter was in. Belle would've rolled her eyes if she were physically awake. She rolled them anyway in her head.
"I don't know yet." Sneed spoke, a tinge of irritation to his voice. "But you just sent the best surgeon I've ever seen to his death."
Belle desperately wanted to applaud. After denying any clue that Belle was actively dying, that she would likely be dead by...well, today, at 25 years, 5 months and 16 days old, her mother had decided to kill the man who saved Belle.
Ah, the irony.
Belle could not make out any other words past Sneed's last statement, only sniffles and the soft, laboured breaths that filled the spaces between the sniffles.
Warmth spread throughout her forearm from a hand laid on her wrist again. It was different this time. It was less warm than Jack's. Her mother, probably.
Belle wanted to shake her mother's hand off her arm very much.
Cruel. Her own voice echoed in her head.
No. Belle answered herself. Not really. Not if Jack was truly to be hanged. Her mother would not know the end of her cruelty. Would never again know Belle's kindness.
The noise of someone moving around the surgery table caught Belle's attention. The clicks of her shoes echoed off the walls of the silent theatre. They did get a little softer, however.
She was probably speaking with a nurse to organise a bed.
The muffled sound of Hetty's voice as she spoke to someone became clearer, and Belle could hear a masculine voice answer in a soft grumble.
Aputi.
"Well, I found this in the supply closet. It should be good enough, eh?" Another, louder voice came from outside and footsteps entered the theatre.
And Tim.
Belle's mother gasped, her grip on Belle's wrist tightening for a moment, then releasing. Belle grimaced mentally. Not only did her mother know Aputi as the gravedigger (which, Belle would acquiesce, would worry anyone with half a mind in this situation), but she was once again reminded that Jack was not standing beside her anymore.
Belle felt herself be lifted into the air, slowly and carefully. She was then lowered onto something, possibly on the ground.
Perhaps a stretcher?
If only Belle could move her hand to touch the material below her palm.
Yes. A stretcher indeed.
Belle knew that there were a few stretchers kept in the hospital storage closet for the most urgent of emergencies.
Thank heavens that they did. Belle didn't want to think of the side effects of being carried in one's arms so soon after surgery.
It wasn't long before Belle was lifted once more, this time being softly deposited on a soft bed, multiple pillows immediately surrounding her shoulders and neck.
Time to wake up.
Belle grumbled at herself again. She truly was tired of laying still.
A dull twinge of pain from her wound. Her feeling seemed to be coming back.
Another twinge.
Perhaps her body was listening to her and was shaking off the ether!
Belle took solstice in this hope. The quicker she was awake, the quicker she could do something about Jack. Or so she hoped.
"Mama! Mama, how is Belle?" Fanny's voice rang down the hall.
Another reason to be happy. Belle supposed. Fanny will surely take her mother's attentions off her for a spell.
"She is resting, Fanny. Lower your voice."
Her voice was clipped in its usual style again. Belle felt a smidge of her earlier irritation return. Of course she wouldn't feel anything other than her holier-than-thou attitude. Not regret or shame.
No.
Never.
Belle could hear Fanny settle beside the bed, her hand slipping into Belle's own.
As if she couldn't hold herself back, Fanny began rattling off the events of her day (she'd spent the morning at tea with another aristocratic lady), how she felt when the footman told her of her 'kidnapping' (Fanny's tone changed on the word as though she would never be convinced that that was what'd happened) and how she had rushed over just as soon as she'd changed (Sneed was here, after all).
Belle listened partly to her sister, the other part of her focused on the twinges of discomfort that were getting more frequent. She'd also noticed her mother had returned and was praying softly under her breath.
Belle rolled her eyes at something Fanny said, expecting it to be a mental movement as it had been for the...however long since Jack put her under.
Thus, the sensation of her eyeballs shifting below her lids gave her a fright.
Belle paused, waiting to see if either Fanny or their mother had noticed. When neither reacted, Belle settled in for another of Fanny's spiels about another lady's suitor who had taken her travelling in mainland Europe.
It was a good 15 minutes before Belle noticed anything else amiss. This time, it was being able to shift her left hand. Again, Belle waited for someone to react. Again, they did not.
Belle sighed heavily. A spike of excitement filled her as she actually felt her chest lift and lower with the sigh. Another spike when Fanny's voice hesitated for a fraction of a moment.
Would someone notice that she was awake?
Fanny's story continued as if nothing had changed.
Not yet.
[ 1 hour and a half later ]
Something told Belle that she could move.
Slowly,
gingerly,
She adjusted her head against the pillow, pursing her dry lips that had been frozen open. Her tongue flicked out to wet them.
Belle's eyes slowly opened. The light of her hospital room was so incredibly bright that she had to close them immediately. She tried again after giving them a moment of respite.
Finally!
She took in the adjacent wall of her room, hearing a gasp from lower down the bed. Her mother stood, eyes wide as she came closer to Belle.
"My darling. You're awake." Her voice remained devoid of real emotion and maintained its clipped timbre.
Figures. Belle thought. Can't even show emotion when your daughter has returned from living death.
"Edmund!" Her mother called over her shoulder. "Edmund, get Rainsford and come here."
With that, her mother went back to fussing over Belle. Or, what likely looked like fussing but felt very disingenuous.
Belle swallowed, ignoring her mother and searching every inch of the room with her eyes for one person.
Belle knew in her heart of hearts that the chances that Jack would be there were lower than rain falling upward rather than down. Still, she looked.
Movement on her right caught her attemtion and Belle turned her head to that side.
Her eyes widened and a small smile graced her lips. "Jack.." She whispered.
Jack was standing on the other side of the glass wall. His eyes were teary but happy from what Belle could see. Her eyes fell to his arms.
Her blood still adorned the puffy sleeves of his top, and silver handcuffs bound his wrists tightly. However, he was still alive, thank God.
Tears filled her eyes. He had saved her.
She wanted to hold him, to let him feel her heart beating evenly for the first time. She remembered how Jack had fallen asleep feeling her pulse the night she had revealed her aneurysm to him.
She wanted to offer him her wrist again, even if it was all she was allowed to do. To let him believe that he had succeeded.
Her thoughts were disrupted when Jack suddenly jolted sideways, a red jacket falling atop him.
A small squeak left her lips and Belle fought to sit up, trying to see. She felt her mother pushing her back down. The tears that had come to her eyes in happiness; in relief were streaking down her cheeks in distress and worry.
"Mother." She spared the older woman a brief glare, trying to shove her hands off her arms. Her struggles amounted to nought as Jack was dragged away by a second red jacket.
After everything, she was cursed to watch the love of her life, her saviour be dragged away in cuffs.
How much she would like to be anyone else.