An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Excerpt:
The atmosphere had shifted and Jekyll fidgeted, feeling slightly awkward. Utterson’s fingers tapped restlessly upon the rod, his shoulders rigid with tension through his jacket. Jekyll looked out at the river, watching the sunlight dance on the rippling waters. A few minutes passed by before he glanced back at Utterson, his mouth twitching into a slight smile.
“Did you catch many fish?”
Utterson raised his eyebrow slightly, glancing at Jekyll.
“Of course. We were both quite proficient in fishing.”
Jekyll nodded his head to Utterson’s motionless rod.
“Is that why you haven’t caught anything yet?”
Utterson huffed, eyes glinting with amusement.
“You don’t know that.”
“Go on then,” Jekyll teased. “Check.”
Utterson rolled his eyes, then began winding in his reel. After a few feet he lifted his rod and the hook broke the surface, revealing a missing worm and no fish. Jekyll chuckled and Utterson sighed, reeling in the rest of the slack.
“You may as well bring yours in too, seeing as I haven’t caught anything.”
“Maybe they just don’t like yours,” Jekyll retorted, but when he checked his rod it was much the same. He reeled it in and watched as Utterson applied more bait to both rods, then they both recast their lines and got comfortable again.
“Was it because we're sat down?” Jekyll asked, cheekily. Utterson whacked the heel of his boot against Jekyll’s in retaliation and the doctor chuckled.
The pair fell into a companionable silence, broken only by the tranquil trickling of the river and birdsong accompanied by the soft buzzing of various insects. Jekyll watched a butterfly flutter lazily over the river, its colourful reflection warped and distorted by the rippling water running beneath it.
“What sort of fish run in this river then?” The doctor asked, his lanky legs hanging over the riverbank, dipping the heel of his wellington idly into the water.
“At this time of year it’ll be roach, minnows, pikes - there’s trout year round in these waters.”
Jekyll’s mind conjured up a vision of a grilled trout laid out on a plate with halved lemons and his mouth began to water.
“Are we aiming to catch our dinner today?”
Utterson hummed, reeling in his line slightly.
“That would be nice.” “Bored of beef stew, are we?” Jekyll asked, dryly. The corner of the lawyer’s mouth twitched up into a cheeky half-smile.
“Well, neither of us are hardly proficient chefs, are we?”
“Speak for yourself,” Jekyll huffed, jokingly. “I fully intend to add professional bakery to my resume when we return home.”
Utterson glanced sideways at the doctor, his eyes glinting in amusement.
“Ah, of course, my mistake. It is of course a renowned fact that professional bakers often burn their cakes.”
Jekyll grunted and elbowed the lawyer in his side, earning a wheezing chuckle as the brunette squirmed away. However, the doctor was smirking as he looked back at the river, eyeing where his rod’s line disappeared below the surface.
“I shall be writing to Mrs Beaton personally to ask her why her recipe did not include the instructions required to recreate my superior bake.”
“Indeed. I found the faint taste of charcoal to be a most ingenious twist upon the already delectable taste.”
Jekyll let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head in defeat.
“Alright, alright, that’ll do,” he said, reeling his line back in. Utterson hummed in amusement, then lightly bumped his shoulder against Jekyll’s, sending butterflies rushing through the doctor’s body.
“I only jest, Jekyll. It was a lovely cake.”
Jekyll tried to contain his bashful smile, but it broke out upon his face regardless.
