Author's Note: For Sawyer Fan, as her present for Christmas :)

Entering a world he recognised only vaguely was somewhat daunting, even with the odd feeling of peace he was getting from his surroundings, and it was without realising that he sat on the warm, hardened ground of the African savannah. Animals roamed in the distance, heat waves that rose from the ground distorting their quadruped forms off towards the horizon, making them ripple oddly as he watched, a lazy smile tugging at the left side of his mouth. Eyes narrowed against the beaming sun, he felt the gentle and almost indistinguishable breeze lift his blonde locks gently around his brow as he sat there, seemingly without a care in the world. Oddly, that was how he felt; at peace, and without troubles. He felt as if nothing had ever wronged him, and watching that far-off herd of elephants was just so calming to him that his recently waning optimism lifted once more, making him feel content and relaxed.

When a figure crouched a little awkwardly and sat with a sigh beside him, he almost didn't notice, but turning his hazel-flecked green eyes to the right showed him that he had company… and of a somewhat unexpected variety at that. This was the first time he'd seen this man since… well, for a long time.

Tom Sawyer blinked slowly, and cocked his head. "Quatermain," was all he said, by way of acknowledgement; as stunned as he was inwardly.

"Sawyer," he received in response. The older man smiled warmly in his direction, his wise dark eyes beaming with unspoken pride, though Tom was confused as to why, really; he had never really done anything worthy of the famous hunter's recognition in such a way. At least he didn't think so, anyway.

"What're you doin' here?" Tom asked quietly, turning his head to watch those grazing and distant animals once again.

Allan Quatermain followed the youth's gaze and admired the beautiful view. "I was going to ask you the same thing," he said with a chuckle, his accent somehow comforting to the spy. "Remember, this is Africa… a place I called home for many years. So, in matter of fact, I'm not the one out of place." He looked to his protégé with an inquiring smile.

Tom considered this question… and then realised he didn't have an answer for it. He cocked his head once more, shrugged his shoulders, and looked around as if for an explanation, or even the rest of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, who were nowhere to be seen. There was nothing but the two adventurers and the wildlife for miles in each direction; as far as the eye could see. "I… I don't know. How did I even get here?"

"You made it happen, Sawyer," Quatermain revealed, "not me. That's a question you ought to be asking yourself, don't you think?"

"But I don't know the answer," Tom corrected, narrowing his eyes anew. Confusion swarmed his mind, and lingered in his expression. As he sat there, a few options became open to him, and after a while, he almost smiled, understanding dawning in his eyes as he turned them to the hunter at his side. "I'm dreamin', aren't I? That's how I got here, and why you're here too." With a sad edge to his voice, he added simply, "You died."

"Yes I did," Quatermain agreed bluntly with a nod and sigh. "I died."

"So this is just a dream."

"Yes it is, Sawyer. It's just a dream, and when you wake up, it'll all fade away." With a whimsical light in his intelligent eyes, the last of the great white hunter's looked meaningfully to his student and advised, "So enjoy it while you can, 'eh?"

Tom had to smile then; how could he not? Even a light laugh escaped past his lips as he bowed his head for a moment. When he lifted it once more, Quatermain was standing, and endeavouring to walk around. With little in the way of hesitation, Tom rose to his feet, and joined him. The two proceeded to stroll leisurely across the dusty plain as if through a park on a Sunday afternoon, so casual that it seemed the situation were perfectly normal. One dreaming spy and one dead hunter was nothing out of the ordinary… considering it was a dream, after all.

But that didn't comfort Tom as much as he thought it should. He had questions, and he supposed he might as well ask them while he had the chance. As Quatermain had said, he should 'enjoy it' while he could. Not that he would get much enjoyment out of recalling for himself the details of his mentor's death. Guilt and melancholy were still everyday emotions for the young spy, and he knew that the hunter didn't need or want to hear about that. He would tell Tom not to blame himself, and that he had made the choice he'd felt was right, and so on… but again, it didn't console him very much. It didn't change the way he felt about it all. If only he'd…

"Wasn't your fault, Sawyer."

Tom blinked, and even halted in his movement to stare in wonder at the hunter's back as he strolled slowly onward as if nothing had happened. Furrowing his brows, Tom mouthed words that took on no sound for a moment, before he said, "How…"

"How did I know what you were thinking about?" Turning back, he saw Tom's disbelieving nod. "Simple. It's all you think about, isn't it? Since it happened, you've had it haunting your thoughts, whether you're awake or otherwise." Sighing, the late hunter turned steadily, and worked his way back to stand in front of Tom. "There's something you've got to understand about what happened, Sawyer… and it's this; you did all you could, as do we all, every day of our lives. We all strive to make a difference, and in the end, whether you succeed or not, you have to remember that one thing; you tried the best you could. There was nothing else you could do." A fatherly smile lingered on the ageing features, and Tom frowned. "As did I. I had to ensure the next generation carried on in my stead. I was old… I'd had enough." Chuckling, he added, "It was my time, you could say."

"But it wasn't fair…" Tom complained quietly and woefully.

Laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder, Quatermain frowned. "Life rarely is. You'll understand it more as life goes on, but it's best to start early. These things happen, and fate has a way of catching up with us and… kicking us in the behind when we least expect it."

Tom smiled lopsidedly, but only for a moment as his head dropped slightly.

"We get old; we lose fights… sadly, we die. We all die, Sawyer. It's the worst thing, and it's cruel and upsetting and tragic… but it's real. And it's how it goes. You've seen it first hand, sadly more than you should have, but you know that everybody meets their end at some point or another."

Closing his eyes tightly, Tom had to force back his sorrowful emotions, and the tears that had burned in his eyes for a little while as Quatermain had been speaking. They had welled, and now they were being stubborn. They didn't want to go away. Opening his eyes reluctantly, he looked to the hunter, at a loss, and said, "You saved my life."

Quatermain smiled fondly, and patted his shoulder gently. He simply nodded.

Confusion reigning again, the question that had been bothering him since the event burned in him once more, perhaps brighter than ever, before he couldn't take it any longer, and asked, "Why me?"

The light laugh that came from the hunter was far from expected, but it was also far from teasing. "Because you're Tom Sawyer." When Tom cocked his head in bewilderment, Quatermain persisted with, "And I got bloody fond of you. I wasn't about to watch that bastard kill you after I shot Moriarty, was I?"

"But–"

"No, it was better that way. I saw in you – and still do – the lust for life I'd lost years ago, when I lost my son… I lost everything. You've suffered as well, but you have a fire in you that won't die." Here, he laid his spare hand firmly on Tom's chest, over his heart, and looked him straight in the eyes. "I see in you what I had always wanted; life and the thrill of it all. I had it once, but it faded… it died. I had nothing left. I taught you what I thought you needed to know, and when I saw you with that knife to your throat… with Moriarty standing right in front of me, I knew I had a choice. I could kill our villain, or I could save someone I'd come to admire and respect." He smiled kindly and in that paternal fashion once more. "Even someone who reminded me of my Harry."

Tom's eyes stung with tears once again here, and he frowned, but not overly miserable. He just didn't know what to make of all that he was hearing.

Leaning in as if to tell him something of a secret, Allan Quatermain revealed, "It wasn't much of a choice."

Smiling wanly, Tom looked to his fallen mentor. "I miss you, y'know."

Quatermain nodded. "I know. And I appreciate that; being remembered." In a somewhat distant tone of voice, he muttered, "You never truly die if you are remembered by those you loved."

"We all miss you," Tom informed him gently. "In our own ways, we all miss you."

"Even Mrs. Harker?"

Tom laughed. He remembered their bickering and bantering. "Even Mina."

"Well," he laughed, "I suppose I should appreciate that as well."

A period of silence fell on them then as they stood facing one another, and the sun almost seemed to start its lazy descent into the horizon, the animals in the distance starting to fade along with the light. The sky glowed with beautiful shades of orange, red and pink, and Tom admired it for a few moments. It reminded him of how much he had received from Quatermain's gift of life. Though part of him claimed daily he would have preferred to die in the hunter's place, he thought over what Allan had told him in this world of possibility and dream and memory; he had so much to life for. He had youth and opportunities all around; he had yet to really fall in love… even get married and have a child someday. He had his job, and the League; his friends. It was all around him… he had just never really looked.

"Thank you."

Quatermain looked to the young man as if puzzled. "For what?"

Tom eyed the man fondly, before embracing him in a tight hug. "Just… thank you. For everything."

A firm but not overly rough pat on the back told him that the hunter had returned the embrace, in his fatherly way. Remaining that way for at least a few minutes, which seemed to just keep on going, Tom finally pulled back a little. He admired those fading but amazing colours once again and sighed lightly, comforted by their natural grace as they swirled across the sky like flowing paints. Slowly, he seated himself on the ground again, one arm draping loosely over a raised knee. The hunter found a perch on a rock to Tom's side, and smiled faintly, as if remembering past times and happiness.

"Allan?"

There was only a heartbeat's pause.

"Yes, Tom?"

Turning his head just a fraction, Tom carefully inquired, "Your son… did you get to see him again?"

A loving light seemed to radiate from the man then, and his chest heaved with a sigh that spoke of contentment and peace. "Yes, I did… I did indeed."

Tom smiled then, safe in the knowledge that Allan Quatermain had reclaimed what had been taken from him so wrongly. He was back with those he'd loved and lost, and that made his death all the more bearable to the American.

The hunter was at peace.

And for now, staring up at that sky… so was the spy.