For the fic ask, giving you some Mercy Street throwback feels: Mary x Jed, childhood
For so long at Mansion House, Jed felt like he was running out of time. Time to conquer his addiction before it conquered him. Time to save so many boys from senseless death. Time to spend with Mary, to work through his feelings for her. Time in Mansion House was precious, fleeting, flitting away as quick and soft as a shadow.
In Boston, they have nothing but time.
He sits by Mary’s bedside every day as she convalesces. He reads her the newspaper and letters from Emma, from Henry and Matron and even a terse one from Anne that makes him laugh and Mary blink back surprised tears, shocked that the British nurse cares enough to ask about her. He reads to her from the extensive library in her house, his voice hushed as he relays words from Shakespeare and Dickens and the Brontes until Mary is gently lulled to sleep. When this happens, he closes the book and watches her, his hand gently resting atop of hers, drinking in every moment in case he never gets another.
But, blessedly, the moments keep coming.
They talk, as well. They talk until Mary’s throat is hoarse and Jed berates himself for making her put in the effort, until the shadows grow long and that woman comes to chase him away from Mary’s side. They talk of Mansion House and of their lives before the war--Mary tells him of her Boston friends and he relays her with tales of his medical training in Europe and beyond. They talk about everything and nothing, as if they have all the time in the world--because for the moment, they do.
“What was your childhood like?” he asks one crisp, bright morning. Mary is sitting up in bed, a shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders--she’s nothing but skin and bones now, but she’s recovering, and she’s still his Mary. A bit of the color has returned to her cheeks, and she is finally on the mend.
She seems surprised by his question at first, blinking her huge brown eyes at him, and he goes on. “It’s just I feel you know so much about mine, and I so little about yours. I think you said you had a brother?”
“Two,” Mary answers with a small smile, “with me in between them. My older brother used to call me Maisie, growing up. “
Jed smiles. “And what was young Maisie like, I wonder?”
“Stubborn, as you can imagine,” Mary says immediately, making them both smile. “She never did like to be told no.”
“Sounds like you never quite broke that habit.”
“It’s only gotten worse with age, I fear.”
“And I wouldn’t have you any other way.” He grins and brushes a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes.
“I loved animals. I still do, but oh, as a child! I never met a robin or rabbit I didn’t secretly want to tame and bring home. My mother tried to forbid me from bringing the barn kittens into the house, but I never listened.” Jed smiles as he imagines a tiny Mary, a head full of dark curls and fierce brown eyes, marching into the house with half a dozen kittens cradled in her arms.
“A champion of the downtrodden, even then,” he said admiringly.
“I suppose. I did try very hard to be good, but it was hard sometimes. I imagine my parents and brothers didn’t quite know what to make of me.” She sighed softly, her fingers plucking idly at the quilt beneath her. “Sometimes I wonder what they would make of me now.”
“They would be immensely proud of you, my Mary, just as I am,” Jed promises, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her forehead.
She nods, her eyes growing far away just for a moment. “I do hope so,” she breathes. Her gaze slides back over to him, and she gives him an expectant smile. “And you? You’ve told me a bit, I know. But what was Jedediah Foster like as a child?”
“Me? An absolute hellion, of course. Just count yourself lucky you know me now, and not back then.”
