Chapter Text
Fitzroy sniffed and tried to hold back the stinging tears in his eyes. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t cry…not here at work at least…maybe later, alone in the darkness of his room, where there were no prying eyes… It felt just like boarding school all over again. Even gathering up the files he'd been carrying from the ground they’d scattered over, as Phelps dealt out his revenge, was bitterly reminiscent of collecting his homework sheets from the playground, after being beset by bullies. He pulled himself up gingerly from the frosty cobbled stones coating the back alley that Phelps had dragged him into minutes before…wincing against the pain caused by the blows.
He thought he’d been getting on better with the other men…and well perhaps he had…everyone except Charlie Phelps…who still loathed him…even though he’d tried his absolute best to stay out of the man’s way and not antagonise him… Now he'd have to work a night shift with a swollen eye and an aching side…..at least he was spared the embarrassment of other people’s stares and questions until the morning….
Not for the first time Oliver considered just walking out of Scotland Yard and never coming back…but that would be a gross insult to one of the few people in his life who had ever believed in him, taken time to teach him instead of just yelling….and he was still doing some good wasn’t he? Helping to keep the streets safe from murderers and cutthroats…or helping Inspector Wellington at least…Surly he must be doing more good here than locked in his room for hours on end with dead poets and opium for company, suspended in a melancholy haze…that’s what he keeps telling himself anyway….
Fitzroy decides to stay hiding in a dark corner of the alleyway until he’s sure Charlie Phelps, has departed for the evening. The man has a thing about leaving on time, often commenting that he doesn’t like his dinner cold, and is easy enough to predict. However that does mean skulking outside in the freezing alleyway for an hour like some kind of ne'er-do-well.
On checking his pocket watch to confirm enough time had passed, Fitzroy attempts to will himself to stop shaking from cold, shame and fear and ventures back into the station, keeping his head lowered as he does so. The gas lights that illuminate the building at night are dim, so with any luck the Duke won’t see the state of his face and ask any questions. He might even have already left… Then he can just leave the files on the Inspector’s desk. Perhaps spend the night holed up in the records room researching cases. His second favourite room to be in other than his mentor’s office.
These hopes are dashed as he walks up the corridor to the Inspector’s office. Fitzroy swallows back a stab of nervousness as he sees the Duke walk in ahead of him, there’s nothing for it though, so he takes a deep breath and walks through the open office door.
——-
Put the file down. Say good night. Leave. Simple plan, but he couldn’t even pull that off could he.?… He feels the eyes of the other man on him as he turns to leave, he’s praying he’s just imagined it when he hears the Duke’s voice.
“Stop right there Detective.”
Years of harassment in various institutions have taught Fitzroy there’s never any good that comes with reporting a bully….at least not in the organisations that Fitzroy’s been a part of…it’s a bitter lesson that Phelps has just reminded him of. The punishments just get more brutal.
He tries to head off any questions the Duke is preparing to ask, tries to speak confidently with authority, like people are always telling him to do “I’ll not disclose who did this sir” But instead his voice sounds weak and unsteady, he hears it crack and tremble. His resolve utterly crumbles and he’s on the brink of tears again. He looks up expecting to have the Duke bark something like “Pull yourself together!” or “Good God you’re pathetic!” What he gets is a good deal of kindness, understanding and something no one’s ever bothered to ask.
“In that case….How can we ensure this never happens again?”
And for some reason that sends him over the edge, he releases a choked sob. Mortified, he tries simultaneously to wipe his eyes and hide his face in his sleeve, like he can fool himself and the other man into believing he’s not standing there sniveling like a child in his superior’s office.
William sighs. Fitzroy is not like his other men, whom he has to bark at to keep in line…. there is no point yelling at Fitzroy, William gets nothing but an anxious juddery liability out of him that way. William’s learnt that Fitzroy is nearly constantly trying to please him, and when he messes up, it’s because some rule or instruction has garbled or confused itself going into the lad’s unique brain. He also feels a little guilty for the whole situation, he should’ve known Phelps would figure out how he knew who’d spoken to Sinclair.
William shuts his office door and puts an arm around Fitzroy’s shoulders, giving him a warm squeeze “….Enough of that now eh?” he says gruffly “…only hopeless people cry….and you’re far from hopeless…” William states, trying Henry’s old words of comfort to him. After a few moments the lad quietens.
“You’re the only one who thinks that sir…” Fitzroy sniffs. Attempting to pull himself together.
“Go sit by the fire and warm yourself up eh lad? You feel frozen” William said releasing him, and giving Fitzroy a small shove toward the stone fireplace. Fitzroy nods and sits down in the vacant wooden chair, after a little while, he feels the warmth begin to return to his body. William takes some overproof rum from one of his drawers, then pulls a chair up next to Fitzroy’s, who glances at the bottle in the Inspector’s hand.
“I thought you preferred whiskey sir?”
“This isn’t for drinking…it’s for your face” William explains gesturing at Fitzroy’s rapidly swelling cheek. “Unless you like rum… in which case help yourself…you look like you could use a drink.” William pours a generous amount of the liquid onto his handkerchief and presses it to meet the cut under Fitzroy’s eye.
The young man winces, catching a hiss of pain in his throat.
“Shh…. I’ll wager it doesn’t hurt as much as that punch did…”
Fitzroy swallowed and nodded in agreement “…No…Thanks sir…”
“Here hold it against the cut for a while” William instructs. Fitzroy takes the proffered cloth, then turns back to the crackling fire to avoid the Duke’s eyes.
“So Detective….let’s return to my question….” William settles back in his chair, surveying Fitzroy “How can we ensure this never happens again?”
Fitzroy shrugs and looks miserably at the floor. In the gesture William sees the months of Fitzroy’s carefully constructed professional pride evaporating “…I suppose I should be more careful what I say in future…I shouldn’t tell tales on people..” Fitzroy mutters, and he is met with a long silence from the Duke. It stretches so long that Fitzroy fidgets and risks looking up at his mentor, he needs some kind of confirmation.
“Is that the only thing you can think of?” William asks eyebrows raised.
Fitzroy senses the Duke’s disappointed in him, and/or his answer, but well..he can’t think of anything else to say apart from suggesting he quit the police force, and he doesn’t think that’s what the Duke wants to hear….nor what he really wants to do “I’m not sure what else to say sir…I have tried to ‘Show respect’ to this individual, just as you once suggested…though I am not saying you were wrong sir..” He rushes to clarify “…only it doesn’t seem to improve their opinion of me at all…and I’ve tried going to the pub with the other men…I try to be polite too sir…I really am trying-I just don’t know what else to do-”
William holds up a hand to silence him, he can hear Fitzroy’s voice threatening to break again. “I know you’re trying lad…” William is not looking for more self flagellation from his mentee and moves to clarify. “I’m not looking for a list of ways you should make yourself smaller or more apologetic… you’re not the main problem here… The answer I was hoping for is along the lines of: ‘The next time a bloke lays a hand on me, I’m going to snap his arm off’”
Fitzroy blinks. That answer seems even more ludicrous to him than the ones he’s just given, but he’s careful not to say that to the Duke..still he is confused… “But..wouldn’t that be assault sir? Besides I’ve never been any good at fisticuffs…my father attempted to teach me at one point…but it didn’t go very well…he said I was too feeble minded to learn…A sentiment that has been echoed by my PE teachers at school, as well as the drill sergeants during my time at Sandhurst….”
William very much doubted that Fitzroy’s father had tried to “teach” him anything at all, except how to take a beating, he’d likely just used his son as a punch bag in the ring.
“That’s nonsense…You’re definitely not too feeble minded Fitz, I’ve seen simpletons catch a man with a haymaker to the face just fine….If anything, your problem is you think too much and have too many thoughts rattling round that head of yours….we just need to find you the right teacher…someone that’s used to dealing with…” William is about to say nervous wreaks but stops himself, that will do the lad’s confidence no good….even if it is accurate. Unfortunately he’s seen Fitzroy dissolve into a cowering mess of anxiety as soon as he’s shouted at, or in any kind of physical altercation. William searches for the right word to finish his sentence “…dealing with beginners …”
Fitzroy blinked as the words sunk in. Amazed that the inspector had managed to sum up the entire problem with his mind…the entire problem with his life even…he thought and worried about everything ALL the time…to the point it was paralysing.
"Could you teach me sir?” Fitzroy asked hopefully. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather learn from. The Duke was a formidable fighter, if he got even a fraction as good at handling himself as the Inspector, he’d be happy.
"No.” William replied bluntly. He had thought about it, but he had a realistic understanding of his own weaknesses and temperament. Fitzroy was a thoroughly decent young man, a good person, and loyal to a fault, William even found some of his eccentricities endearing. But after an entire day with the lad his patience wore thin in places. He knew he wouldn’t make a good coach to the boy if he was tired and irritable. William cast his eyes over his mentee, who was staring down at his shoes again looking disappointed by the rejection and beginning to curl in on himself once more. William put a hand on his shoulder.
“Look lad we can spar together in the gym, once you get some basics under your belt alright? But I have a very busy schedule…. we need to find someone who has the time to bring you up to speed and give you a good foundation.”
Fitzroy looked consoled by the words, and his face lifted slightly.
William stood up “I have an idea…”
“Sir?”
“Get your coat and come with me, I’ll explain on the way” William said slipping his own jacket on.
Fitzroy nodded and headed towards the door. Suddenly he turned back to William, a happy smile on his face. “I must say sir, I don’t think anyone has put it quite so succinctly before…”
“Put what so succinctly?” Even after months of working with the lad, he had trouble following Fitzroy’s sudden context shifts.
“ I think too much ! It’s so simple! Have you considered moonlighting as a psychiatrist sir?”
William smiled to himself. If Fitzroy was back to babbling that meant he was feeling better. He only had to worry about the lad when he was quiet. “I’ll give it some thought…come along Detective” William said heading out of his office.