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concussed-to-pieces · 5 years

Text

Throw Your Love Away

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Robert E. O. Speedwagon/OFC

Rating: Holy shit M

AN: I don't know what even happened here. This AU (or maybe just a prelude to his run-in with Jonathan Joestar?) burst into life yesterday morning and now, dare I say, it's finished. I don't know whether I've ever written that much that quickly, and it's all for the Speedwagon. Also! If anyone feels the urge to look at the most beautiful Speedwagon that I've ever seen, I will invite you to take a gander at suzannart's Tumblr. Because holy moly. Holy Moly. Enjoy!

[!WARNING!: For my abysmal attempt at writing a Cockney accent and 'historical' things in general. I'm so, so sorry.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For brief attempted sexual assault and canon-typical violence. Stay safe!]

Speedwagon couldn't have told a soul why he lingered where he did on that particular evening. He still couldn't quite parse it out to himself, so he had precious little hope explaining it to anyone else.

Ogre Street was relatively quiet that night. Things tended to get pinched and shallow during the winter, folks conserving their energy by huddling up to the nearest heat source and biding their time until Lady Spring graced them with her presence once again. But Speedwagon had never paid much mind to the cold, just flipping the lapels of his coat up against the chill wind while he made his rounds.

He had stopped for shelter in a small alcove midway through his jaunt, the wind threatening to sweep the hat clean off his head. Speedwagon heard some muffled grunting in the pitch black of the alley to his left, but he paid it no mind. Probably some drunk fumbling around in the dark.

“Please don't touch me-!”

Speedwagon's shoulders shot up around his ears. That was a woman's voice, high and cracking like she wanted to scream but couldn't draw the breath. The women of Ogre Street were just as ornery as the men, if not more so, so she couldn't be a resident.

“C'mon sweeting, let me see what's under that fancy party dress of yours…” came the slurring reply. “It’ll only hurt a little, I promise.”

“Get away from me!”

Speedwagon had heard more than enough, his jaw set in a grim line as he stormed further into the sheltered alcove. “Oi! What're you playing at there lad?” He shouted, probably louder than he needed to.

As his eyes adjusted to the significantly dimmer light, he could barely make out a lighter-colored mass on the ground. Something brushed past his arm and on instinct he grabbed, snatching a handful of homespun wool. The man squealed in surprise at being caught, twisting wildly this way and that to try and get out of Speedwagon's grip. “Mercy, Speedwagon! I-I didn't know she was yours! I wouldn't have-”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have your guts for garters right here an’ now.” Speedwagon snarled, his face inches away from the other man's.

“Ah, I might have...er, my hand slipped a bit…” The man hemmed and hawed, holding up his hands and a bloodied knife as if to appease Speedwagon. “Honest, it were an accident!”

“Get out of my sight.” Speedwagon tossed the man a good three feet, not turning until he had bolted back out into the street. “Oi, girl! You alright then?” He asked sharply, getting no reply.

She was lying limp on the ground in the snow, blood slowly pooling at her side. Speedwagon swore a blue streak and clapped a hand over her hip, feeling the frayed material of her flimsy party dress beneath his fingers and the slick heat of injured flesh.

“Easy now love, Speedwagon's got you.” He muttered mainly for his own benefit, taking the worn scarf off his neck and folding it to press onto the wound. “Easy, easy.”

She seemed to have lost consciousness and Speedwagon thanked his stars for that. Hopefully she wouldn't feel him jostling her as he picked her up.

“You are a proper lady. Wonder how you ended up here.” Speedwagon mused once he got a good look at her in the guttering light of the street lamps, perplexed. “No matter, ol’ Rob will have you right as rain in no time.”

She still hadn't roused herself after Robert had bound her wounds and wrapped her in the meager blankets he could scrounge up. He sat beside the pallet on the floor and took her hand. He wasn't sure why, but he'd seen doctors do it a few times so it invited imitating. Speedwagon realized after a minute that he could feel her pulse under his thumb, and he started absently counting the beats in time with his breathing. It was fast, almost made him lightheaded. That can't be good. Speedwagon frowned, brushing the hair off her forehead. He was no doctor, was Speedwagon, and they were hard to come by without the coin.

So he sighed and resigned himself to a sleepless night of watching her like a hawk.

…

He awoke to screaming and, still half asleep, Robert had his gun drawn and cocked before he realized what was happening. She was cowering on the pallet, blankets still wrapped around her as she flailed her leg out at--

A mouse, questing curiously up the worn bedding with little regard for her. Speedwagon didn't mean to chuckle, holstering his pistol and carefully shooing the vermin off the bed. “Go on lad, go on.” He murmured.

“Where am I?” She demanded after a momentary stunned silence.

“My sleeping quarters.”

“I mean where! I can see that I'm in some flea-ridden excuse for a bed!” She snapped at his glibness, clutching the blankets even tighter.

“Lord, you're lively compared to the gel that was all aswoon last night.” Speedwagon couldn't resist teasing a bit. “I'm glad that your side's not painin’ you overmuch, love.”

“My side? My…” She trailed off, her eyes half-lidding. “What happened?”

“One of the guttersnipes was tryin’ to...get to know ya’ a bit better. I warned him off, but not before he made to see the color of your insides.” Speedwagon winced inwardly, knowing that his language was rough.

She paled immediately, one hand vanishing beneath the blanket. “What am I wearing?”

“One of my shirts. I had to...you were bleeding.” Robert didn't know why he was fumbling. “Why weren't you wearing a corset? Whalebone or metal ribs might have stopped that blade before it did harm.”

“It's none of your business what undergarments I do or do not wear.” She replied primly.

“Fair enough and true that may be. Would you at least tell me what you were doing down in my slums then? I doubt you were here on purpose, out and about dressed like that.” Speedwagon tipped his hat back on his head, tugging thoughtfully at his forelock. “Though you rich folks seem awful poor when it comes to common sense.”

“I was...at a party.”

Speedwagon waited a moment, expecting more and huffing, “Well? That's it then?” when it didn't come.

“Why would I tell you more? I don't even know who you are!”

“Look here love, I'm of a right mind to stove in a head or two. If someone dropped you down here for a laugh, I'll march to his doorstep and give him a good drubbing. If someone made you leave your home in the dead of night dressed like that, I'll thrash him. I'm in no mood for japes that put young ladies in harm's way.” Speedwagon announced firmly, “The name's Robert E. O. Speedwagon, my lady.”

“Well. That was a lot of information.” She said weakly. “I'm afraid you'll have to drub me though, since I'm the one who put myself in that alley. I-I'm not familiar with this city. I came out to visit my fiance, you see, and…” She paused and Speedwagon spotted the sheen of tears before she blinked them away. “Pardon, I suppose I should not refer to him as such anymore.”

“Did he die then?” Speedwagon wished he could take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, cringing.

“Oh it's a terrible thing to say, Mr. Speedwagon, but I almost wish he had!” She cried. “That wretch has been stringing me along, stringing along my whole family! All his heartfelt platitudes and lovely poetic letters, just a means to an end! I caught him in such a compromising position with another woman and I couldn't bear to be in his presence one more second, I simply ran out of the house.”

“No doubt the side lover that a good married woman wouldn't know about.” Robert said darkly. “Well my lady, you're wrong on one account. Sounds like this betrothed of yours is the one what needs a straightening out.”

“He didn't force me to leave, Mr. Speedwagon. I was a coward and fled.” She wrung her hands in obvious distress. “A stronger woman would have confronted him.”

“Aye, and withstood the hellfire that was sure to come. I mean no disrespect love, but your frame doesn't strike much fear.” Speedwagon got to his feet, donning his coat and tossing her flimsy dress to her. He gestured at the battered washstand in the corner. “Scrub yourself in the basin, loving. Then, old Speedwagon will be your bloodhound.”

Her face hardened and she wiped away her tears, nodding jerkily.

Speedwagon leaned against the wall outside the door, doing his best to give her the privacy of a good cry and wash. Though she may be full up on weeping, judging from her resolved expression. He sighed and tugged at his lapels. A fine mess you're getting into, Speedwagon. You know these rich folks love to have pissing matches with one another.

…

She clung to his arm, shivering even under the extra layers of his shirt and jacket over her dress. “M-M-M-Mr. Speedwagon, are you not chilled?” She stuttered through her chattering teeth.

“When you been sleepin’ rough as long as me, loving, you tend to get used to the cold.” Speedwagon tossed her a grin. “Besides, if your description an’ memory is correct, we’re almost there! How's the side?”

“It stings a bit, but I'll manage. It was barely a graze.” She replied bravely. “Still, I'm glad you found me. In such a state, I don't know how long I would have lasted.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady. I come across helpless damsels in the gutter all the time. A regular Prince Charming am I, you might say!” Speedwagon said cockily, chuckling when she elbowed him in the ribs.

“You say such silly things, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“Darling?”

Speedwagon felt her jerk at the sound of the male voice, her grip on his arm threatening to bruise. And he was no small man! “Mr. Speedwagon, I'd like to introduce you to my former fiance, Lambert Coverdale.” Her tone was as cold as the weather and Speedwagon glared down at the well-dressed man who had called her ‘darling’.

“Darling, your family has been worried sick! You ran out so quickly last night, you didn't even give me the chance to explain!” The man was dressed like he was headed for a ride, tall boots on and riding crop at his side. “I was about to go and search for you again!”

“As you can see, darling, I'm quite fine. A little chilled, but none the worse for the wear. Don't let me stop you from going a-calling.”

“And who is this...er…” Speedwagon got an insane surge of glee from watching the Coverdale heir try and come up with a non-offensive term to use when addressing him, a man so clearly below his caste that he may as well be subterranean.

“Speedwagon.” Robert intoned, not offering his hand in a plain show of disdain. The man snapped the riding crop down into his palm, obviously agitated by Speedwagon's rudeness. “I've come to bring this gel safely back to her parents. Lead the way, love.” Robert made certain to keep his body between her and her former fiance as they brushed past him, his shoulder bumping the other man's a bit harder than necessary. “I'd advise you and your lot to leave as soon as things are sorted. That man is not to be trusted.” He whispered to her once they were safely out of earshot. “I'll wager he means to lay claim to you since he's gone this far. He may have even spent the night weaving a story for your parents.”

She had gone pale again. “You think he would try to force himself on me?”

“I can't tell for certain, love. All I know is that animals are dangerous when cornered, and that man's as slippery as a viper.” Speedwagon growled.

The door to the large townhouse burst open before they could reach the steps, and an older gentleman came storming down to greet them. Speedwagon was reaching for the brim of his hat before he could think about it, hastily turning it into a doffing gesture. That was close.

“Emma! You've returned to us!” The older man (Speedwagon could only assume her father) said gladly, entirely ignoring Robert and catching his daughter up in his arms like she was a wee child. She had started sniffling at the sight of him and simply nodded against his shoulder, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging tight. “When Lambert told us about your quarrel, we had feared the worst. Thank heavens you're safe.”

“Our quarrel?” Emma asked in confusion, raising her face.

“Oh yes my dear, he said you two had a terrible argument and that you left in tears! You were so distraught you even ignored his pleas to stay.”

“He said all that, did he.” Emma's eyes had gone hard again. “Papa, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Robert Speedwagon. He is a true gentleman and he saved my life last night.”

Speedwagon went bright red at the praise, stammering awkwardly and adjusting the collar of his shirt. Emma's father grabbed Robert's hand and pumped it vigorously. “I don't know whether we can ever repay you. Won't you come inside, Mr. Speedwagon?”

He hadn't actually stopped shaking his hand. Robert was afraid his shoulder would drop off at this rate. Damn these rich folk and their gratitude! He thought ruefully. “Oh no, uh, I wouldn't want to impose on your hospitality.” Next to the older man's cultured tones, his rough Cockney accent seemed all the thicker.

“Emma's mother was just getting ready to have tea. Please Mr. Speedwagon, I insist!”

And so Robert E. O. Speedwagon found himself seated on a filigree chair that he fairly dwarfed, fumbling his way through the niceties of tea. Emma kept shooting him grateful looks and he wasn't entirely sure if it made up for the trouble he had been put through, but it was a start.

“Listen.” The blond man said finally, his saucer clattering too loudly on the slender side table for the umpteenth time. Christ, if he ever lost his temper surrounded by furniture like this it would be reduced to naught but matchsticks! “I don't care much for beatin’ round the bush. Lo-er, Lady Emma, you ought to explain the situation.”

“Situation?” Emma's mother appeared to be a little more grounded than her father, the older woman sipping her tea and giving Robert an inquisitive look over the cup.

“I did not leave last night because of a quarrel.” Emma had been put into a different dress, still free of corset, Robert noted. It would be difficult for her to wear one with the wound on her side, he theorized, and he had to admit he hardly minded the view her lack of corset provided. She dug into the ruffles of her skirt, her fingers picking at unseen seams. “It would seem that I am not Lambert’s first choice.”

“Not his first…” Her father trailed off, stunned. Her mother just looked pained. Clearly the other woman had suspected as much. “Emma, have you any proof?”

“I found him in his study last night, wrapped around another woman. I...I'm afraid I lost my senses.”

Aye, and more besides I'll wager! Speedwagon thought wryly.

“I demanded an explanation and when none was forthcoming, I simply...walked out the door. I don't recall much, I ran for what seemed an eternity. I didn't feel the cold at all.” Emma tilted her chin towards Robert, indicating that it was his time to butt in.

“My residence is Ogre Street, sir. I make my rounds as usual on cold nights or warm. I had stopped for a moment in a small alley to wait out the wind, wherein I stumbled across Lady Emma and another miscreant. I regret to say I am a bit on the slower side, I didn't manage to keep him from slittin’ her. You'll want a doctor to have a look at the wound, I'd imagine.” He had gotten to his feet, beginning to pace. “I wrapped it as best as I could, she slept through the night. On waking and hearing the sad tale of her exodus, I decided that someone so churlish as that man's shown himself to be ought to get his jaw knocked.” Robert realized he'd gone on a bit of a tirade and he grimaced, tugging at his forelock. “Ah, I mean no disrespect, of course. And if it's all a misunderstanding, I'll be on my way without so much as a sneeze in the cur's direction.”

“Mr. Speedwagon, please sit back down.” Emma's mother said firmly. “There'll be no jaw knocking until we have a proper idea of the situation.”

“What exactly did you see Lambert doing, Emma?” Her father asked gently.

Emma flinched. “Father, I…” She trailed off, flushing. Robert felt a weird protective squeeze in his chest and he cleared his throat. “It's not something that I would care to repeat in polite company.” She said faintly.

“Lucky for you, Lady Emma, I weren't exactly raised a choir boy.” Speedwagon joked, trying to give her the courage to continue.

“True enough, Mr. Speedwagon. Father, Mother, Lambert was in his study very busily ravishing another woman who I know lives nearby.” Emma said all in a rush, her face wholly crimson. “I was so shocked, I couldn't even move for a moment. I stood there in the doorway and so complete was his focus on her, he didn't even notice me until I was beside him.”

Emma's father sputtered wildly. In a moment of fancy Speedwagon would have sworn the older man's mustache bristled with rage.

“I asked him to explain himself. He said he didn't have to, that this was the way things were.” Emma twisted her fingers. “I didn't understand, I was just so startled and hurt that I...I simply left.” She looked up at her father and oddly enough, at Speedwagon as well. “Am I wrong to be upset? Is this how things are?” She asked, her voice tremulous. “Am I simply naive, thinking that I would be enough?”

“Lady Emma…” Robert was at a loss for words, the blatant pain in her eyes catching him off-guard.

“Emma, my dear sweet Emma.” Her father held open his arms again and Emma all but collapsed into them, crying softly while he stroked her hair. “You are worth so much more love than that man's fickle heart could have ever given you.”

“Mr. Speedwagon, might I speak with you privately for a moment?” Emma's mother asked. Despite it being phrased as a question, Robert knew there was no refusing.

“‘Course, my lady.” He was relatively certain he was about to get his ears boxed by this prim and proper old woman, following her out of the sitting room and into the hallway.

“I will need your assistance in this matter, Mr. Speedwagon.” Robert blinked down at her. “Don’t look at me like you're some sort of buffoon! You brought our daughter home safe and from what I can gather unmolested, but I must ask more of you.”

“Me? But what could I possibly do for y'ladyship?” Speedwagon queried, more than a little startled. “I'm just a thug from Ogre Street.”

“True. Yet you obviously hold yourself to a higher standard than the ruffians you're surrounded by. Clearly higher than the scoundrel we promised our only daughter to. My husband, God bless him, is not getting any younger. If Lambert sees fit to lash out, I doubt the authorities would arrive in time to stop a tragic incident from occurring.” She raised an eyebrow at Speedwagon. “We are on Coverdale familial grounds and can do very little while we are here. I would be much obliged if you could maintain a presence here for a few more hours. If you would be so kind.”

“I...ma'am, what you're askin’ of me is a bit of a strange tint, make no mistake. I am...I will, then. Until you lot are safe back on your way, consider Mr. Speedwagon part of your merry band!” She seemed amused by the way he extended a hand to shake, humoring him by doing so.

“We need to get everything packed back up. This was to be the first trip of many, and these things take time. If you would just settle back in the drawing room, I'm certain we can be on our way in a few hours.”

Six hours later, Speedwagon was so bored he was considering trying to filch the entire tea set, tray and all. The fancy gold scrollwork on the ceramic would fetch a fair price, he was certain of that, and the spoons and tray could be melted down to a silversmith’s liking. As he pondered, he was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps coming ever closer.

The far door to the sitting room flew open and in strode Lambert, looking like he had just fucked the handsiest whore in London. His clothes were askew, his hair was thoroughly mussed, and overall he radiated a smug air that made Speedwagon want to drag him back outside by his collar and introduce his face to the cobblestones. It seemed Lambert didn't notice him in the now dim room, as the man took a moment to preen at himself in the looking glass by the door before turning on his heel and heading across the room.

“Got anything stronger than tea for your courage, Coverdale?” Speedwagon drawled, making Lambert squeak. “I'm about full up of this weak pekoe brew.”

The other man whirled, eyes narrowing when they landed on Speedwagon. Robert simply looked up at him, deliberately keeping his face neutral. “You're still here then?” Lambert finally asked rudely.

“Why, where else would I have gone? What with my betrothed on her way back to me, all's well in the world.” Lambert visibly stiffened and Robert prayed he hadn't played his hand too early.

“Your betrothed? Certainly, there must be a misunderstanding.”

“Oh aye, she came tumbling into the rough streets late last night, sobbing her eyes out over some chap that done her wrong. I couldn't let that go on, so I told her I'd marry her instead of that jackanapes.” The large blond offered Lambert an infuriating grin. “She's enthusiastically accepted my gracious offer, so you're free to do as you wish with your other woman. I'd say I've done you quite the favor by taking the gel off your hands.”

“You...you cannot be serious.”

“On the contrary, lordship, I'm very serious.” Robert's grin didn't waver. He took sadistic delight in calling the gentry by the wrong titles, whether too high or too low was anyone's guess.

“Stop this ridiculous farce at once!” Lambert yelled, the butt of his riding crop nervously slapping at his thigh. “I'll have you brought before the assizes, you miserable wretch!”

“Why, whatever for?” Speedwagon rose to his full height, straightening his threadbare waistcoat. “And here I thought you'd be thrilled! Rich folk are so odd, you've got everything you could ever want and yet you bluster at me like a spring storm! I've half a mind to drub you anyway, no man ought to be breaking his vows ‘fore they're even spoken!” Robert growled.

He was a full head and shoulders taller than Lambert and he made that abundantly clear, glaring down at the fop until Lambert looked away with a huff of, “Where is Emma, you brute?”

“Ah, none of that. You can guess well enough where she is, but I won't be letting someone like you get anywhere near Lady Emma.”

Lambert scoffed loudly. “Lady Emma, she's a common-”

“I'll offer you the courtesy of shutting your mouth for you if I don't care for the words that come out it, Lam my lad.” Robert snarled. “I don't give a toss what comes of you after Lady Emma departs this house, but I expect you to behave as the gentleman you pretended to be during your courtship while she's still here. If you can't muster up that level of propriety, I'm not afraid to get into a dustup with the likes of you.”

“You will not threaten me in my own house!”

“I threaten you no more than the average schoolmarm, sirrah.” Speedwagon knew it was probably mean of him to take joy in this, but he recalled the fact that an innocent girl, barely a woman, could have very well died due to this man's indiscretion and his guilt withered away. “You seem as though someone ought to have given you stricter teaching. Not much one for catechism then?”

“You're one to talk, street trash!” Lambert seemed to be on the verge of losing his temper and Robert dropped a heavy arm around his shoulders.

“I meant no disrespect, y'lordship. I merely say as I see fit. You must understand, I'm just a thug from Ogre Street.” Speedwagon sighed mournfully. “Hopefully with this marriage, my fortunes will improve a bit.”

Coverdale appeared to have been struck dumb by Speedwagon's bold assumption, the young man sputtering while Robert gently steered him towards a chair. “You overreach your place, gutter vermin.” Lambert finally seethed once he was seated.

Robert shrugged, digging in his ear and then uncouthly flicking his findings onto the no-doubt costly rug. “I've not much an issue with that, sirrah. When your place has always been under the heel of someone else's boot, you get to longin’ for the sunlight.” He folded his arms across his chest and leveled the man in the chair with a stern look. It had quelled the rowdiest of his compatriots and it appeared to work quite well on the Coverdale heir. “I'll not lay a hand on you with ill intent if you behave agreeable toward the gel and her family. You and I will sit right here and wait until they're all packed, you'll see them off and that'll be the end of it.”

“I will not be ordered around by some-”

“I've been awful lenient with you, lordship. I'd hate to damage that winning smile you use to tup the ladies.” Speedwagon clenched his fists. “I would ask what your plan was with Lady Emma, but I'll wager a guess it had something to do with family land or money.” He fought the urge to spit on the rug.

“Oh very good, I'm incredibly impressed by your display of logic.” Lambert replied sarcastically.

Speedwagon leaned forward and was gratified when Coverdale shrank back from him. “If you would just stay in that bloody chair and keep your trap shut, I'd be much obliged.”

“Unbelievable.” Lambert sneered, folding his arms and hoisting his nose into the air. “Very well, you churl.”

“You honor me, your grace.”

Robert didn't take his eyes off the man sulking across from him for the next half hour, toying absently with the brim of his hat. A sudden bang! from the stairwell and a loud series of thuds heralded the approach of Emma and her parents, each one dragging a trunk. Speedwagon rushed forward, easily hefting the one Emma's mother had been saddled with.

“Are they all this light, my lady?” He jibed, making the older woman hide a smile behind her hand. “If you just leave those two on the landing, ol’ Speedwagon can take care of the rest. Strapping fella’ that I am!”

“Uncultured oaf.” Lambert muttered from his chair.

“You offerin’ to help, Coverdale?” Speedwagon asked, his smile wide with false cheer.

“I am not some manservant.” Lambert snorted.

“Well that's plain enough to see.” Speedwagon snarked back, strolling down the ridiculously wide staircase without so much as a glance backwards. Rich folk are impossible! He thought with a huff after he settled the first trunk onto Emma's family carriage. The second and third followed suit with little incident, Emma's father ensuring they were safely lashed to the rack of the carriage.

As Robert strode back into the townhouse for what he hoped was the final time, he heard a ruckus from upstairs. He sighed heavily and started up the stairs, rolling his sleeves to the elbow as he did.

Throwing open the drawing room door, he found himself faced with a sight he didn't care for in the slightest.

Lambert had Emma by the arm, his face purpling magnificently as he raised his riding crop with a self-righteous, “I'll teach you respect!”

“You spoilt, pampered ponce!” Speedwagon shouted, “Harm that woman and I'll separate the hand from your body with nothin’ but a tip of the hat!” He gestured to his chapeaux and the color left Coverdale's cheeks when he caught the glint of steel in the brim. “I didn't survive as long as I have on Ogre Street without pickin’ up a few tricks.” Speedwagon continued, easing forward to help Emma off the floor and usher the shocked young woman into her mother's waiting arms. “I'll be down to see you off in a minute, Lady Emma. Just as soon as I finish my conversation with this fine gentleman.”

Again, Robert felt a twinge of guilt at the way he was enjoying himself. And again, his mind reminded him of the abuse that surely would have taken place had he not been present.

Lambert brandished the riding crop at him, holding it like a fencer's rapier. “Do your worst, you baseborn scum!” He hissed.

Speedwagon simply knocked the crop aside with his free hand and then stepped into reach, his right fist lashing out for a furious blow to the chin that landed Lambert prone. “You couldn't handle my worst, sirrah, and that's an ironclad truth it is. You'd best keep your nose clean. If I hear of you sniffing about from any of my lads, I'll have to show off my parlor tricks. And I assure you, it'll be far less enjoyable than that love tap I gave you a moment ago.” Robert straightened his waistcoat, turned on his heel and left Lambert in a pile on the landing.

…

Emma wrote to him after spring had come, inviting him to call at their estate in the country. How she had gotten hold of his address, Speedwagon would never know. He debated on writing back. Ink and parchment were a bit more precious than he would care for, so Robert ended up returning her missive via the back of some receipts picked up at the local butcher. His handwriting was untidy at best, but he tried to even out his scrawl to the point of vague legibility.

Course I'll visit. Have to find a work crew headed your way though. Travel by train is murder on the pocket.

Speedwagon expected that to be the end of it, so when the damn woman herself showed up at his door he was a tad perplexed. He actually ended up rubbing his eyes a few times, not believing that she was standing on the worn stairs next to his humble abode. “Lady Emma! Is that you? My stars, a better sight for sore eyes I haven't seen!” He greeted her in his usual enthusiastic fashion, a little startled to find that the words were entirely true. “You're just as lovely as the first time I laid eyes on you!” She had grown worryingly pale, if memory served him proper.

“Ah yes, bleeding in an alley as I recall.” She quipped, smiling up at him.

Robert coughed awkwardly, toying with his forelock. “Well, er, perhaps a bit more lovely than that. I meant no disrespect, my lady.”

“Not at all! Are you ready?”

“Ready?” Speedwagon asked in confusion.

“I'm here to fetch you, Mr. Speedwagon.” She actually pulled at his arm like he was a small boy. “Hurry and get your things, otherwise we'll be late for the train!”

“Train?! Stars, you shouldn't tease a man so!” He scolded her, bewildered when she frowned fiercely. “You...surely you haven't.”

“Hurry!” Emma repeated.

Robert grabbed his hat and jacket, wet his thick hair down and hurriedly rinsed the dried blood off his wounded knuckles (he had been taking care of business directly before receiving word that a young lady was on his stoop). He dashed back out of his lodgings, twirling his hat before placing it on his head at a jaunty angle. Speedwagon then offered Emma his arm and a rakish grin, feeling like a mischievous boy once more. “How am I to repay you and yours for such a luxury, Lady Emma?” He bemoaned as they walked. “I'm none too influential, but I've a few favors I can call in.”

“Nonsense! Your company is more than sufficient.” Emma waved off his offer, going so far as to rest her free hand on top of his elbow.

Speedwagon flushed and found himself a bit teary at her offhanded admission of affection. Damn rich folk, their glibness will be the death of me for certain!

…

The Halford estate was modest in size by estate standards (so enormous by Speedwagon's standards), set on sprawling lands and bordered by thick copses of silver birch.

It was like a dream, being surrounded by greenery in its natural and uncultivated state. Robert took a deep breath in of the bracing air, dawdling as Emma pointed out the vinca that grew in the underbrush alongside the road. She bent down and picked one of the purple blossoms, then reached up to put it in the band of his hat.

Speedwagon blushed and obligingly removed his hat so she could place the bloom, laughing self-consciously when she worriedly pointed out how red his cheeks were. “It's just the fresh air turnin’ me ruddy, Lady Emma! No need for concern.” She could never be happy with the likes of you, and you're a damn fool for entertaining the notion. Speedwagon scolded himself.

“What's got you so pensive, Mr. Speedwagon? Surely you can't be worried about seeing my parents again? After all your heroics last time!” Emma chided him, misinterpreting his gloomy expression.

“Heroics?! Now love, I don't know what you recall me doing,” Robert began to protest, “Ol’ Speedwagon was simply doing the gentlemanly thing is all, nothing heroic about it, and you can't say the lad didn't have it coming what with his infidelity and brazen behavior, I was-”

“Mama will surely call a doctor for your hands.” Emma interrupted his ramble, frowning down at the scabbing skin on his knuckles. “Maybe I can say you had a tussle with the rose bush.”

“Unless your rose bush is over six foot tall and answers to the name Eurich, I'm not sure if your story will hold water.” Speedwagon smiled once more, a bit on the rueful side. He was caught off guard by her laughter and he relished the happy sound (coupled with the way her hold on his arm tightened). “You've got a lovely laugh, Lady Emma!” He complimented her, “Ought to do it more often.”

“I am certain I sound like a gaggle of hungry geese, but it's very kind of you to preserve my vanity.”

Speedwagon's reply was an over-loud honk! and that set her off again, the two of them laughing their way up the front steps of the Halford estate.

…

Speedwagon bedded down for the night in a guest room that was three times the size of his lodgings on Ogre Street. The bed felt gargantuan and too soft, like it was fit to swallow him whole. He stared up at the ceiling, raising a bandaged hand and wriggling his fingers.

“What are you playing at, Speedwagon?” He sighed. “These folk have no business harboring a gutter rat like you at their country estate. Especially with their lovely daughter around! Rich folk and their gratitude will be the death of me, sure as the sunrise.” Robert muttered. A knock on the door startled him and Speedwagon hurriedly fumbled to right himself in the too-giving bed, awkwardly asking who it was.

“It's just Emma, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“Ah.” Panic flooded him, certainly this was some sort of breach in propriety?! She couldn't possibly be this dense. Unsure of what to actually do, he did the only thing he could think of. “Uh, c-come in!”

She was wearing a simple nightgown that buttoned at the throat (Speedwagon was struck with the sudden urge to run his fingers over the smooth column of her neck), and she wasted no time clambering up onto the huge bed like that was where she belonged. Robert clutched the coverlet to his bare chest, feeling oddly exposed.

She had a thick book with her, he noticed dimly, the spine of it emblazoned with some incomprehensible gibberish of branded letters. “Look here, Mr. Speedwagon! Tomorrow, if it's alright with you, I'd love to show you some of my favorite flora on our estate!”

Speedwagon blinked at her owlishly. He had thought for certain that when she crawled into his bed…

Relief and disappointment settled over him in equal measure while she flipped through the pages of sketched plant life and pointed out the ones they would be seeing on the morrow. She really was just this sweet, this lovely. What an angel! Emotion tugged at his heart and Robert found himself leaning closer, blond hair falling into his eyes as he listened intently without hearing a damn word.

A gentle rap on the ajar door interrupted her excited tangent and Robert looked up guiltily, seeing her mother in the doorway. “Emma love, it's time for bed.”

“But Mama, I was…” Emma trailed off and sighed, almost pouting.

“Mr. Speedwagon will be here for you to bend his ear in the morning, I'm fairly certain. Come along now.” Her mother's tone was full of fond steel. Clearly she knew her daughter well, and loved her despite it all.

Robert fidgeted with the covers, flushing scarlet when Emma hugged him and then bounded off the bed with her book in tow. “I-I look forward to the stroll tomorrow, Lady Emma!” He said belatedly, tugging at his forelock in that nervous gesture.

Emma's mother lingered in the doorway after the younger woman had left, her expression thoughtful. “Mr. Speedwagon, Robert, if I may be frank with you for a moment?” She asked finally.

Robert's heart sank and he nodded mutely, certain that this was where he would be given a stern warning against familiarity with the gentry.

“My daughter is...she's a bit simple, Robert.” The older woman sighed. “She doesn't understand what suitors are actually interested in hearing about. All she cares for is her plants. And ever since what happened with Lambert, it's as though she's given up entirely on even feigning interest in polite conversation.”

“I'm not certain I grasp what y’ mean, my lady.”

The confusion must have been plain on his face because the older woman’s expression softened a bit. “Robert, my daughter has displayed an enthusiasm around you that I haven't seen from her in months. I had feared she would fall into poor health and entirely withdraw from society. But with you here, it's almost as if she's come back to life again, so to speak. I...thank you, Robert. Be delicate with her.”

Speedwagon barely slept that night. Be delicate with her. Was the mother giving her approval?! Surely not. That couldn't be it. Maybe she just assumed that their friendship might be beneficial in keeping her daughter's spirits up. That must be it. The rich folk certainly did seem to love having a token lower class in their midst, if only for the rough accent or entertaining idioms. The court jester to their kings and queens.

Robert groaned and buried his face in the pillow. That was all he was, so he may as well get used to it.

…

He didn't count on falling in love with his Lady Emma. Rather, he hadn't intended on it. But as spring turned to summer and summer to fall, he found himself a semi-frequent caller at the Halford estate. Emma was always delighted to meet him at the train station and he knew people must gossip about them. They made quite the pair after all, the rough-talking plug ugly from Ogre Street and the jilted Halford daughter who had nearly faded away like her beloved flowers at the first frost.

“What could she possibly see in him?”

“I bet this is some kind of gamble to trick her into signing the estate over to him! He's a con man through and through!”

“They just don't understand. And they don't care to.” Emma replied simply after Robert had voiced his concerns about the terrible things people said. It was less for his own comfort and more for hers, of course, he didn't give a damn what anyone called him. “You, Mr. Speedwagon, are my dear friend. If they cannot accept that, then I cannot accept them.”

With the chill of fall in the air, Ogre Street grew more frenzied. Winter was around the corner and Speedwagon found himself in the middle of more brouhahas than he would like as tempers thinned.

He stopped replying to Emma's letters, his focus wholly on survival, so it should come as no surprise to him that she popped up on his doorstep once again.

Speedwagon had been involved in a thunderous row with another upstart gang on Ogre Street and he could feel regret in his bones as he slowly dragged himself up the stairs to his lodgings shortly after sunrise. When he raised his eyes and spotted a lacy hemline, he stopped where he was. His brain sluggishly reminded him that it was rude to stare at a woman's ankles and so he tilted his head back. “Ah.” He rasped.

“Robert E. O. Speedwagon, what on earth has happened to you?!” Emma sounded distressed and Robert cursed himself roundly for concerning her. “You haven't replied to any of my letters, I feared the absolute worst!”

“I apologize for that, Lady Emma, I've been a bit...preoccupied.” Robert tried for a smile. “Had a run-in with a few boys from across the way. Am I to come a-callin’ to the Halford estate then?”

She stomped down the steps and threw her arms around him, startling him into silence. “You stupid man.” She muttered against his waistcoat, her voice thick. The feeling of her body against his sent shudders down his spine and Speedwagon was ashamed to admit that his greed got the better of him for a few moments. His arm wrapped around her and he cradled her head to his chest, murmuring nonsense into those thick raven curls. “Absolutely stupid.” She repeated shakily. “I have been worried sick, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“You were afeared for me, Lady Emma? Your kindness knows no bounds.” Speedwagon attempted to joke, his poor heart taking more of a beating than his body had. She had no business saying things like that to him, no business at all. “It's been a hard time of it here, I'm about ready to be whisked away to the country I'd say.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we, my dear Lady Emma?”

She stared up at him for a moment and Robert was instantly self conscious, mind running from the scar on the left side of his face to the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his somewhat-crooked nose. Truly he had a wide variety of unflattering features to peruse!

“What?” He asked finally.

“There's…” Emma fumbled with her sleeve for a moment, retrieving her handkerchief and daubing gingerly at his mouth. “You've got a little...something.” She said faintly. Robert licked the corner of his mouth on instinct and she flinched the tiniest bit, as if the sight of his tongue had startled her, before returning to her task of patting over his bottom lip.

“Easy Lady Emma, you'll take it clean off!” Speedwagon teased, trying to hide the tremor in his voice from the tender attentions she was paying to his split lip. His heart was being crushed to powder in his chest, ash that scattered to the wind every time he sternly reminded himself of their differences. “Much as I would like to sit here and have you doctor me, love, I'm certain we'll miss your train if we linger.”

…

Speedwagon cursed his infernal bad luck for the tenth time that morning, a violent sneeze rattling his whole body. It would seem that getting into tussles in the brisk fall weather had landed him in bed with a fever. He couldn't even recall the last time he had been ill! What damnable timing it was, to be bedridden while at the Halford's!

Though…

He cast his gaze upon the young woman who had firmly declared she was his nurse, watching the way her lips curved around words as she read aloud to him from yet another one of her favorite books. Perhaps it wasn't such a terrible thing to be nursed back to health by his dear Lady Emma, he admitted to himself. Though it pained his heart, at least for this pitifully short time he could play at being the one she gave her affections to.

And such affections! She alternated between fond exasperation and gut-wrenching tenderness, the combination often enough to have Robert pressing his reddened face to the pillow after she would depart. At least that he could blame on the ague, thank his stars for small favors.

It was havoc on his body, so starved for gentleness that he found himself helplessly coloring at every careful touch on his forehead. It didn't make matters easier that he was already so fair, a flush rising at the slightest change in his temperature.

The way his bones ached from the fever had him curled up in a miserable ball, still shivering under the heavy blankets. “Thank you, Lady Emma.” He managed to say when she brought him some water. “Afraid I'm none too formidable at the moment. Imagine what your town folk would say if they saw me lyin’ here, the meddlesome and dangerous thug from Ogre Street.” He grinned weakly and she gave him a light bop on the head.

“You're so much more than that, Mr. Speedwagon.” Emma huffed. “Don't forget, you fought for the honor of a woman you barely knew.”

“And I'd do it again in a flash! Let that bastard come!” Speedwagon boasted, his heart speeding up a bit when she fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Er, once I'm well, of course. But with your doctoring I'm sure I'll be back to the old Speedwagon in no time!”

“Mm, more’s the pity. I've rather enjoyed having you at my mercy.” Emma actually perched on the edge of the bed and leaned in, as if to kiss him. Robert was frozen stiff in disbelief, unsure if he should push her away or simply pull back or--

She brushed her nose against the tip of his own with a childish giggle and Robert couldn't help his startled laughter, a little overwhelmed by the panic that had flooded his body. “You shouldn't tease your poor Speedwagon, Lady Emma!” He protested after a moment, probably sounding just a touch hysterical. “A gel like you with a man such as myself, it’s unthinkable!”

“Is it though?” Emma asked flippantly before she flounced from the room.

Is it though?

Speedwagon's heart plummeted to the floorboards. “It absolutely is.” He muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap.

…

“I haven't got anything to give her, Master Halford. I can't offer her safety or wealth or anything but a hard life. This is what I'm...this is why I'm leaving. I don't intend to hurt the gel like that other cur and as such, it's for the best that I leave immediately.” Robert focused on the mantle, the young man unable to meet the eyes of Emma's father.

“You think that leaving without saying a word won't harm her, Robert?” The older man asked quietly.

“I know it will and damn my eyes for it, I just don't know what else to do!” Speedwagon cried, covering his face with his hands. The idea of leaving her filled his stomach with lead, but what other choice did he have? He could provide so little! She would probably say it didn't matter. It did matter though!

“You're avoiding another possibility, Robert. Stop wallowing in self-loathing and listen to me.” Speedwagon looked up through a haze of tears and found that Mr. Halford had moved to stand beside him, the mustachioed man's expression thoughtful. “My daughter cares deeply for you. I daresay, far more than she cared for Lambert. The union of Coverdale and Halford was one of convenience for both families, but my wife and I had also believed Lambert's intentions much more honorable than they were. Maybe we were blinded by pedigree.” He sighed. “You are...a strange exception, Robert.”

“Saints preserve me Master Halford, my heart is all a-pieces from her.” Speedwagon admitted. “Leaving her would be like tearing off my arm, but I've got no choice in the matter. She's a finely-bred lady and deserves a man that can improve her status, not one what makes the neighbors count their silverware after every time he comes callin’.” He continued with a dejected air, raking the hair back from his face in a fierce bid to regain his composure.

“Robert, do you really think that matters to her?” The elder Halford gave him a rueful smile. “All she seems to care for in life is her flowers and a certain rapscallion from Ogre Street.”

“Master Halford, I-”

Speedwagon's reply was cut short by the door of the study flying open and hitting the wall. Emma stood there, her skirts gathered up in one hand while she caught her breath. Robert was struck dumb by the magnificent picture she painted, all flushed from whatever mad dash she'd taken to arrive at that spot. “You cannot leave.” She ordered sharply. “Not until I have said my piece.”

“Lady Emma,” Robert began to protest, nervously glancing at her father.

“Just! Let me talk, Mr. Speedwagon.” Emma strode into the study, stalking back and forth in front of the two men like a caged tiger. “Mr. Speedwagon, did you not save my life in that alley?” Robert sputtered in confusion. “I could have very well died that evening and yet you stepped in and prevented such a tragedy from occurring.”

“Lady Emma, that's not-”

“You also handled young Coverdale for me, a feat that would not have been nearly so simple for anyone else in my family.” She talked over him, waving a finger. “You have been gracious and kind to me at every turn. You suffer from the admirable and woefully stupid condition of not reaching beyond your so-called place, convincing yourself that we should be nothing more than dear friends.” Emma placed her hands on her hips and glared up at the speechless blond. “I will have you know that I've been courting you for months, Mr. Speedwagon, and I refuse to let all the time we've spent strolling in my gardens go to waste!” She announced with authority. “That is why you cannot leave!”

“L…” The words died in his throat. She had been courting...so she wanted…? “Are you absolutely certain of this, Lady Emma?” He questioned her finally. “I am no fine gentleman. I won't be able to shower you with gifts for a good while. You would take me, even as low as I am now?”

“How can you say such things about yourself, Robert?” His name from her mouth had his body aflame. He had waited so long to hear her say it. “I would rather someone honest and kind than someone who can throw trinkets at me. I've had more than my fill of empty words and pointless flirtations. I want you, Robert.”

“Oh Lady Emma, you...stars, I could just about burst with joy right now!” Speedwagon sniffled, doing his best to dash the tears away. “This must be a dream. I've still got that damn ague, no doubt.” She hugged him tight enough to steal his breath and Speedwagon covered the crown of her head in kisses, too overwhelmed to think of doing anything else. “The best dream I've ever had.”

…

Their wedding was in the spring, to Robert's panic-stricken delight. And certainly, members of nearby estates could mewl and huff over the impropriety of it all, but Speedwagon tossed his care to the wind. His Lady Emma had chosen him, found him worthy instead of wanting. The sensation was so unfamiliar he could scarcely fathom it and he took every chance he got to display the affection he held for her.

She was no Ogre Street woman for all her ferocity and many were the times that Speedwagon reined himself in for her, terrified of accidentally going too far or making her uncomfortable.

Indeed, he was more of a blushing bride than she was on their wedding night, covering his red face with his hands while she straddled his hips. “Stars, I love you so much.” He sighed as she undid his suspenders and fought with the buttons on his placket. “You're an angel, you know that?”

His hands found their way to her hair after she settled into an age-old rhythm, carefully removing every pin that he could find. Robert stroked his fingers through her tangled tresses, luxuriating in the exquisite greed of being able to touch his wife, his wife. To think a man like him had a wife!

“I'm a husband now.” He murmured to her after they had finished and she had collapsed in his arms.

“That you are, Robert. My husband.” She mumbled against his chest.

“And you are my precious wife, Lady Emma.”

“You don't have to call me Lady-”

“Hush, I want to and I will.” Robert clenched his fist over his heart. “My dearest Lady Emma, I pledged myself to you before the clergy and all our guests earlier, swore that I would be the best husband a gel could ask for. But now...I swear to you, Lady Emma, you alone, that I will work as hard as I must and then some to become a husband you can be proud of! If...if it makes it easier for the time being, you can continue to be a Halford! I understand that the Speedwagon name is not exactly brag worthy and I-!” A messy kiss silenced his post-coitus rambling and Robert tensed.

“I am happy to be Mrs. Speedwagon, Robert.” She whispered when they parted, her eyes searching his own. “Truthfully, nothing would make me happier.” Robert’s eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away, smiling at him. “The news can't be that repulsive, can it?”

“No! ‘Course not, Lady Emma! I am quite...I am just a bit...er, flummoxed is all!” He floundered, cradling her to his chest once more and stroking her hair. “You're such an angel to me, my love.” He breathed when he was certain she was asleep, fondness making his voice catch. “An honest-to-stars angel.”

Live every moment, love every day, because if you don't, you might just throw your love away...

#robert e o speedwagon #jojo's bizarre adventure #pre-jojo #Because I am trash #robert e.o. speedwagon/ofc #alternative route #how does the jojo fandom even tag #godspeed speedwagon #canon-typical violence #gosh i love him #my stars #title taken from a speedwagon song of course #hey if you're reading the tags thanks for being here my broski I appreciate you #speedwagon is eternally done with rich folk #aside from jonathan of course #last names taken from band members #alternate universe #enjoy!

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