You left the market with a full basket and a panicked feeling in your chest - heart hammering fast and stomach feeling as if it had twisted itself into a million little knots. Suddenly everyone at the side of the streets seemed more suspect than ever before - their unrelenting and steady gazes, cigarettes smoking in their dirty fingertips and eyes as cold and bloodthirsty as a tiger - waiting and watching as the prey scrambled past. 
                              
You didn't realise it until you were so many streets away from Jacob's apartment, but you had practically jogged most of the way home - the words of the seller playing like a torturous tune over and over again in your head.
                              
As you reached the street where home was, you were aware of your breathy gasps and watering eyes from the running, the basket handle having rubbed the crease of your elbow red raw and your ankles ached a little. 
                              
An overwhelming sense of sadness consumed you as you stepped into the hallway and headed up the stairs, feeling oddly saddened by the experience how anxious it made you feel. You didn't want to be living each day like this, afraid to do your job because you felt unsafe.
                              
Opening the apartment door, you fought back your teary eyes and shrugged off your shawl, leaving the basket on the table.
                              
Jacob was sitting in the study area of the apartment, where the various books lined the bookcase in some messy, yet organised fashion.
                              
He looked over from a piece of paper he was glancing at, and saw your somewhat disheveled state, reddened cheeks and windswept hair - not to mention your audible heavy breathing and the general skittishness of your demeanour which had not been there before you left.
                              
"Is... everything alright?" He asked, tone composed as he cleared his throat. 
                              
You instantly looked over at the sound of his voice, finding the Frye brother dressed in a dark black and grey pinstripe waistcoat which coordinated well with the dark pants, and contrasted the crisp whiteness of his shirt that lay underneath the waistcoat.
                              
You felt your lip threatening to tremble, but the last thing you wanted was for Mr Frye to see how this experience had affected you. Taking a deep breath, you used all your might to rein the tears back in, swallowing back the lump in your throat.
                              
"Yes fine, just..." you started, seeing the way his dark brows arched up quickly as if to say 'stop lying'.
                              
Jacob settled the paper down on the desk and sat back in the chair, his supported arm across his chest in the off-white sling.
                              
"You're clearly not fine, you look as if you've been chased home." His eyes surveyed you in concern, and they stopped when they met your glance - his brows furrowed. "You weren't chased, were you?"
                              
You shook your head, bowing your head as you felt like a silly child.
                              
"No, it's just the man at the market, on the stall. He said some unsettling things to me. Makes me feel as if I can't ever walk these streets safely." You explained, eventually lifting your eyes to look at Jacob. "I don't want to feel like that. I'd be useless here in that case."
                              
Jacob's tongue wet at his lip, raising one brow at your slightly. 
                              
"And what did this seller bloke say then?" He asked, leant back in the chair.
                              
You took a shaky breath, recalling the way his words sent a chill down your spine in that very moment.
                              
"He basically told me Whitechapel isn't a nice place, which I know of-" you babbled, "b-but he told me that women aren't safe here. I thought with the Ripper gone it would be at least somewhat safer..."
                              
Jacob's gaze dipped at the mention of the killer, and he cleared his throat gently - leaning forwards in the chair, his good arm braced forwards, hand on his knee.
                              
"So you ran home because you don't feel safe." He summarised, and you corroborated his statement with a nod.
                              
"I know it's silly, I'll be useless if I don't feel safe to go out." You returned to the Frye twin, rubbing your temple with a frustrated sigh.
                              
Jacob's next answer surprised you somewhat for a man who had been pretty much nothing but icy cold since you'd got here.
                              
"Would you like me to accompany you for a while? If you need to go somewhere?" He asked, the fact he'd even offered stunning you into silence somewhat. "Just until you feel safer, whenever that may be." His tone tailed off a little by your silence. 
                              
"Oh, Mr Frye, I can't ask that of you. You're not well." You replied apologetically, "you need rest, not to be dragged around the market by me."
                              
He bore a half smile and a little chuckle, a pleasant little surprise from the man who hadn't so much as flashed a glimmer of amusement since you'd gotten here.
                              
"I think it's time I started trying to get out again, I think if I look at these walls any longer I might go mad." Jacob explained, "besides, if it makes you feel more comfortable to do what you need to, then I suppose it's the least I could do." He said, his dark eyes lighting up - even the injured eye, which still somewhat looked red and painful, but appeared better than what it had been, from what Evie had told you.
                              
"Only if you feel up to it, Mr Frye." You thanked him, "thank you. I appreciate this offer." 
                              
Already Jacob could see your behaviour has mellowed, the frantic breaths and the panicked motions had subdued to the calmer maid who had first walked into his apartment. 
                              
He smiled in acknowledgement to your gratefulness, half returning to the letter he was reading (catching up on Brotherhood business), however half somewhat distracted as he watched you busy yourself unpacking the ingredients for dinner.
                              
He thought to himself in that moment, that he might even possibly be able to welcome your help... because he was certainly welcome to your presence so far. 
                              
-
                              
A/N: Sorry this is somewhat short, just trying not to rush this too much! Thanks so much for reading